Flying Solo

This week marked the first time I solo-parented both kids for multiple nights. A daunting task in and of itself. Tack on being sick and juggling work during the day – my battery was drained before my solo flight even took off.

The “cough” I caught from Bub had turned into a sinus infection. It was the second time I’d been sick in a month. While Steve was away, Bub cut his foot and G bumped her lip while gnawing on a wooden toy screw. At one point, I was laying on the living room floor completely exhausted, Bub was limping around me and hopping from one couch to the other, G’s lip was swollen and bleeding slightly, and Buddha was panting and scratching non-stop from her seasonal allergies. We were a sad sight.

And yet, I’m glad I did it. It absolutely sucked at some points and I wouldn’t do it the same way I did it this time, but I am a slightly more confident parent having gone through it. Now, watching the kids on my own for a night feels like nothing.

One of the hardest parts of solo-parenting for me is that when it rains, it pours. Things that normally would be easy to tackle are harder. Bub wanting to help me make dinner is usually a fun activity for us to do together. It’s not as much fun when I also have to hold G who only wants to be held. Bub dropping a slice of pizza on the floor is not a big deal, but I squeezed my eyes shut and needed to take a deep breath before wrangling a fussy G into her high chair so that I could scrub red sauce off of the white carpet. Bub spilling a bowl of mac and cheese in the fridge because he’s trying to help me put food away is a sweet attempt but one more thing I have to clean up by myself while G is crying in her Pack ‘n Play.

Being the only adult in the house can feel isolating.

On the other hand, there were things I thoroughly enjoyed. I loved exploring a new library with them. I loved doing school drop-off and pick-up. On the drive there, Bub and I laughed with each other about how I didn’t get lost taking him this time around. I loved the slower evenings of just the three of us, rolling around and playing in the living room.

I let myself simply survive in certain areas. Sometimes Bub would have a sandwich for breakfast and lunch. Sometimes the only solid food G would have during the day would be strawberries. I relaxed about bed times, telling myself that it didn’t matter what time they went to bed and to focus instead on making it as smooth as possible. Once both kids were asleep, I’d creep downstairs to eat something myself, do the dishes, and catch up on work.

Flying solo means no bickering with Steve. I make the decisions and don’t have to run them by anyone else. It means learning to be comfortable with the bare minimum sometimes. It means being more vigilante about safety because I’m now the household’s sole guardian. It means tightening bonds with my children and them tightening bonds with each other.

Flying solo also means breathing a huge sigh of relief when Steve texts that “the eagle has landed”. I finally have my co-pilot back.

I hope the kids have enjoyed their flight with me. We hit some unexpected turbulence at times but it was as smooth as it could have been given the circumstances. Now, this mama needs to refuel.

Split

As a parent, I am feeling constantly split these days. If I’m not with Bub, then I’m with G. If I’m not with G, then I’m with Bub. If I’m with my kids, then I want to be by myself. If I’m by myself, then I want to be with my kids.

On a good day, feeling split may look like spending quality time with G in the morning while Bub is at preschool and spending quality time with Bub when he gets home. I feel balanced and content with both kids. On a rough day, feeling split may look like a sleep-deprived me trying to wash bottle parts while G is screaming and Bub is yelling, “Mom! Mom! Look at me! Look at me!”. I feel over-stimulated, burnt out, and about to erupt.

Having two kids is like having two conversations at the same time. All the time. Bub, being verbal and mobile, is usually the loudest voice in the room. When I’m playing with G, my focus breaks away to the Tasmanian Devil racing around me, yelling “Mom! Mom! Look at me!”. Compared to when Bub was a baby, I don’t have all the time in the world to pay attention to G and that makes me feel guilty.

When I do finally get time with G and she is snuggled against my chest, I get emotional thinking about how fast she’s growing and want to hold her forever. Yet at the same time, I have a strong desire to get up and do something for myself - be it get a drink of water, go to the bathroom, check my email, sleep horizontally, anything. Such is my life. I am endlessly torn.

I try to satisfy both and give her a few extra squeezes before laying her down in her crib. Because I know now that I’ll be a better mom if I give myself a break.

Parenting, I've learned, is all about trade-offs. It’s about feeling conflicting emotions simultaneously. It’s celebrating firsts and lasts all together. It’s finding the discipline to focus on the child in front of me instead of getting distracted with the grocery list. And, it often requires being a hypocrite. I am judged and constantly judging. How is it that I feel dead inside and like I’m thriving at the same time? I am both living the dream and losing the dreamer in me.

This poem by Karen McMillan called “Mother of All Contradictions” nails it:

I’m so happy with my choices

Yet question them daily

I’ve never felt so accomplished

Then suddenly, failing

I’m excited for the future

Yet always looking back

I’m bursting at the seams

With all the things that I lack

I’m vacant

But always so full of you

I’ve learned so much

But still don’t have a clue

I’m close to my limit

But can’t get enough

I’m put upon, I’m passive

But undeniably tough

I’m gentle

But can’t help shouting

I’m certainly

Doubting

I’m oblivious

But care, so much, what you think

I’m the steady, stable one

Always teetering on the brink

I’m unemployed

Yet have never worked so bloody hard

I’m that happy smiling soul

Who’s full of mard

I’m permanently skint

But have never felt richer

I’m mindfully looking

At the bigger picture

I need a break

But always want you close

I’m invisible

But have never felt so exposed

I give others advice

I can’t seem to follow

I find yours, especially

Hard to swallow

I complain that I’m lonely

But just want to be alone

I’m positively grateful

But love a good moan

I’m absent

Yet ever-present

I’m dull

But effervescent

I’m tired

Yet enlivened

I’m loving this

But can’t abide it

I’m strong in my beliefs

Yet lack conviction

I’m reality TV

And a work of fiction

I’m the Mother

of all contradiction

Help Wanted

With my firstborn, I was such a ball of nerves that I couldn’t appreciate help even when I had it. Now as a second-time mama, I’m finally seeing the benefits of having an extra pair of hands with my kids.

I had so many rules when Bub was born that it was impossible for anyone to watch him, myself and Steve included. I was so hard on everyone. At the time, I convinced myself that I had high standards and wanted the absolute best for my child. In hindsight, I had severe, debilitating anxiety. Some of my rules were:

• Only organic food and milk

• No burnt food

• No food cooked on Teflon or aluminum foil

• No food that’s touched plastic

• Only filtered water

• No scented laundry detergent

• No fabric softeners

• No dryer sheets

• No plastic toys

• No clothes made out of synthetic fabrics

• No screen time

• No phones near him at all

Yeah, I was really intense. I still am. Some of these rules still apply, but I’ve definitely loosened up. For instance, he eats non-organic food now and has had a lot…a lot of screen time.

Family members wanted to watch Bub. It was me that refused. I was terrified of someone watching him and not following my rules. My anxiety and refusal put immense pressure and burden on Steve to be the only other person to take care of our child - in a way that wouldn’t send me into a spiral.

Then, I got pregnant with G and I was physically forced to give up on many of my rules. I needed help with Bub, especially on days I could barely get out of bed. If relatives sneaked him artificially-flavored Oreos and pretzels, I wasn’t in a position to ban them from seeing him. I could remind them, of course, but the reality is that when I’m not around, I don’t have as much control over what he eats or comes into contact with.

Last month, my aunt from Taiwan came to town. She doesn’t have a partner and never had children of her own, but she helped raise all of the kids on my dad’s side of the family. She taught me how to do laundry and put on makeup. She was the one who was there when I got my period for the first time. She was the first to teach me to recycle, planting the seed in my mind that our planet should be taken care of. She inspired me to see as much of the world as possible. She is the mom I wish I had.

And now, my kids are able to develop their own relationships with her. When she comes over, she brings warm food for Steve and me to eat, plays with Bub, holds and feeds G, and cleans the house. When Steve and I want to workout together or grab dinner just the two of us, she pushes us out the door. She’s always game to go on trips with us, sitting in the backseat and assisting with the kids. She does it all without being asked, without being paid, without complaining, and always with love and kindness. I’ve never appreciated her more.

Accepting help has opened my life in ways I never expected. I’m able to give each kid more individualized attention. I have more patience with Steve. I can let myself just breathe. Help lightens the motherload.

The Lost Daughter

I had to be persuaded to try for #2. Persistently. By Steve. While he made the case that giving Bub a sibling would make him less of an asshole and that having two was easier than one because they would someday play together, all I could think about was the toll having a baby would take on my body and how hard our lives already were with just one kid. Steve insisted he would do all the nighttime feedings and sleep training. He promised me the time and space to work out and take care of myself after the second baby arrived. Despite Steve’s best intentions, I knew the reality would be very different.

Because the truth is, having children is and always will be harder on the woman than the man. It’s biological. Steve will never know what it’s like to get up and pee four times in the middle of the night because a baby is sitting on his bladder. He’ll never know what it’s like to work full-time while struggling through first trimester nausea or third trimester insomnia. When the baby arrives, he’ll sympathize with my clogged milk ducts and hormone imbalance but won’t know how to help me. Because, I won’t know how he can help me.

Somehow, the logical side of my brain was overtaken by Steve’s persuasiveness and I got pregnant a month later. Steve was ecstatic, practically shouting our news from the rooftop. Though I was excited too, I was a bit more subdued knowing what was in store for me. Sure enough, the nausea kicked in a week after we found out.

With Bub, I waited until I was 20 weeks pregnant to find out his gender. I didn’t want to wait with this one, so I took a blood test at week 7 and found out we were having a girl.

A girl. When I saw the explosion of pink confetti on my computer screen, I immediately started sobbing. I wanted a boy so badly. I wanted another Bub. I wanted to be an all boy mom.

After a period of grieving, I realized that my disappointment was rooted in trauma and fear. Having a daughter would force me to confront the hardest parts of my upbringing. The fat-shaming, the insecurities, the constant fear of being assaulted by the opposite sex. Aspects of my childhood I try to forget.

I’m afraid I’ll fail at raising a daughter. I’m afraid she’ll be shallow, superficial, self-conscious. I’m worried she’ll be a lot like me. I’m worried I’ll have a hard time connecting with her or loving her as much as I love Bub.

On top of my emotional confrontation, the actual pregnancy has been so much tougher this round than the first. I was nauseated more and for longer. I experienced musculoskeletal pain, intense brain fog, and swelling. I mainly craved sugar and carbs and as a result, gained 20 pounds more than when I was pregnant with Bub.

I grimace when I hear people try to convince young moms that the second time around “is so much easier because your body has done it before”. Utter BS. It’s a hundred times harder because I’m uncomfortably pregnant and trying to keep up with my first kid. The only thing easier about having a second kid is that I’ve mentally been through a pregnancy and a delivery already, so I know slightly more about what to expect. I know not to stress about eating deli meat, drinking caffeine, or taking a Tylenol. I did all of these things, some every day.

Over the past eight months, people have shared with me their joys about having daughters and I’ve gradually grown more excited about having one of my own. I know it’ll be challenging to shield her from societal pressures. At first, it’ll be the ones which push her to wear pink, to dress up, to obsess about being a damsel in distress. At some point, it’ll be the ones which encourage her to be gentle, quiet, passive - to be liked above all else.

At the same time, I’m looking forward to helping her navigate this world and to love herself first and foremost. I’m committed to breaking the cycle of generational, cultural, and societal trauma that I experienced. I’m not afraid of her knowing my fears. I hope she sees someday how hard I’ve worked to overcome them and that she realizes she played a big part in my ability to do so.

Photos by Mo ♥️

Days Like These

This trip, he couldn’t get enough of the pool and swimming on his own (with floaties)

The best vacations are the ones where I forget what day it is because one glorious day blends in with the next. Such was the case on our second trip to Florida as a family. We got into an easy routine of waking up, eating breakfast, swimming in the pool, breaking for lunch, taking a nap, going back into the pool, taking a bath, eating dinner, playtime, and then bed.

The days flew by, which is rarely the case back home when we’re trying to entertain Bub all day while balancing work. We decided this time to not bring our laptops and truly disconnect as much as we could. Our skin lapped up the humidity, our hair textured from the chlorine, our bodies tanned by the sun. Quality time together, as a family, with minimal distractions. That’s what I want our vacations together to be about.

The theme for this trip has been going with the flow. Compared to our first trip a year ago, this one has been much more relaxed - mainly due to my headspace. Because we’ve done this trip before, I had a better idea of what to expect and pack. Instead of a large suitcase, we fit everything into a carry-on. Unlike last year when I was still extremely strict about what we fed Bub, we ate at a couple restaurants this trip. I did my best to balance cooking meals and letting him have sweet treats. But, he’s at the age where it’s getting harder to hide snacks and desserts from him. The horror of feeding him non-organic anything a year ago would have given me a panic attack. This time in my pregnant state, we shared popsicles by the pool and near the end of our stay, he had ice cream for dinner.

Restaurants, sugary popsicles, ice cream for dinner?? I don’t know who I am anymore. The drastic difference between Vacation Linda a year ago and Vacation Linda now is wild. I think I like this version more. Sure he’s exposed to things that aren’t necessarily healthy for him (which was going to happen anyway despite my worry). But in return, he has a more relaxed mama who can actually enjoy herself - and him - for a change.

Steve is another huge reason why I’ve become more chill. We’ve learned (painfully) from last year’s vacations what spikes my anxiety. He now does his best to work around them or at least, help me work through them. This pregnancy has also forced Steve to own more of the domestic duties. He habitually does the laundry, no matter what state or house we’re in. He did most of the cooking this trip and almost always cleaned up afterwards. A husband who cooks, cleans, cares for the home, and is an attentive dad. He does it all his own way and perhaps not always the way I would prefer, but I’m finally feeling a load taken off of me.

Parenting is such a trip.

Zonked after a long day of travel the day before, swimming, pizza, and listening to adult conversations about work

Enjoying the sun and warmth as much as possible

Finally got a smile for a photo!

First family trip to the Royal Scoop (make mine a double)

The Naples Children’s Museum is a blast, including an extensive exhibit on India (this is Bub driving me around in a tuk tuk)

We could have spent another hour in the workshop area, but we all needed a nap

Have been wanting to go to the Audubon Corkscrew Swamp Sanctuary for a while

Taking a break at the Otter Watch bench

The swamp where we saw a 12-foot alligator and several baby ones

Exhilarated by the alligator sightings

But, very much tired from the humidity and 2.5 mile walk

One more alligator sighting

Way out yonder where the crawdads sing