All Is Well December 5, 2010

It’s been a while since I last posted on my blog–August, to be exact. To the folks who blog daily, weekly, or even monthly, I commend you. Between my mother visiting for five weeks in October, work stress, and the regular occurrences of daily life, I nearly forgot I even had a blog. I’ll briefly share what has gone on these last several months.

Today officially marks 26 weeks and baby girl (yes, it’s a girl!) is doing superbly. She squirms and kicks all the time, especially at night. I go to the bathroom A LOT. Mommy is also doing well now, but there has been concern about the potential development of preeclampsia. I’d been diagnosed with hypertension in my early 30′s (heredity), so I was already concerned about possibly developing this condition.

For those who don’t know, preeclampsia is a dangerous condition pregnant women can get that is characterized by high blood pressure and excess protein in the urine. The only cure for this condition is delivery of the baby, which is potentially life-threatening for the baby when it is still very early in the pregnancy.

My current OB believes my regular hypertension is simply poorly controlled and has increased my medication and clinic visits. She was much less concerned than the docs in Labor and Delivery who had admitted me to the floor due to my severe headache complaints and consistently high blood pressure readings over the past several weeks. I ended up not having to stay because they were happy with the very low trace level of protein in my urine, my pressure had stabilized, and because I’d said I didn’t want to stay if it was truly safe for me and baby to go home.  And I was literally admitted. They gave me a room with a beautiful view of San Francisco and brought me dinner. So I am a little concerned that my OB is not very worried, but I’m trying to trust her judgment, too.

Other than that, I still work-out with my trainer and am still permitted to fly for the holidays. We live on the West Coast and our families live back East, so the flight is more than 5-hours long. My husband and I are close to making the executive decision not to fly at all. My parents, and my especially my husband’s parents, have encouraged us to stay home as well. If we do stay home, it will be the first Christmas I have ever spent without my family.

But I have another family to consider now. And there is always next year. All is well.

To the Young Mother at Walgreens: August 28, 2010

My husband and I come from similar familial backgrounds, with mothers with deep southern roots and fathers who didn’t tolerate “any mess.” So we tend to agree on many aspects of parenting and for those we don’t, our views are not wildly opposed. We have frequent discussions about how we will raise our children and imagine what we will say and do in various situations. This is something we discussed even before our little one was in the making.

As a child psychologist, I have plenty of examples to use for foundations of conversations about, “what would we do if our child did (fill-in-the-blank)?” Because of what I do, I certainly see a skewed population in terms of behavior problems. Nevertheless, I am still left to wonder if there’s a phenomenon where children and teens are permitted to say and do anything they want with few consequences or corrective action.

Yesterday while shopping for back packs and school supplies for our church’s back-to-school giveaway, an older woman was also shopping. The tiny aisle was blocked as she passed slowly through. She stopped briefly to look at some items when a young ‘tween quickly squeezed past, slightly pushing the woman’s cart to the side. Finally on the other side, the ‘tween was about to continue to her destination.

“No. No. Uh uh. No. You don’t do that,” her mother said firmly.

“But I said excuse me?” the ‘tween said.

“It doesn’t matter. You wait. You wait,” her mother said.

I watched as the ‘tween’s mother made her come back to the other side of the woman’s cart.

“I am very sorry about that,” her mother said to the woman, as they eventually passed through.

The woman nodded appreciatively.

“She’s teaching her well,” I remarked as I made my way passed the woman.

“Um hm. I’m not messing with that. It’s good to see that’s still happening.”

This child will not forget this the next time she finds herself in a similar situation. She will respectfully and politely wait for the elderly person to pass. And she will likely teach her own son or daughter the same.

To the young mother at Walgreens, who publicly, firmly, and immediately corrected her daughter, thank you.

I Can Just Quit! August 27, 2010

It’s becoming clear that I’m not as good as my husband (http://thelifeofafirsttimedad.wordpress.com/) at this blogging thing. I forget. I blow it off. I can’t think of witty or insightful things to say. Sometimes I can’t think of anything to say at all. I really want to do it, but then again I don’t feel like it.

Is this any way indicative of my approach to motherhood and parenting? Will I sometimes feel it and other times not? Genuinely, I don’t think so. I believe it has more to do with the way I have approached many things in my life. I do so full of ambition, desire, and good intentions. And then I tire of it, I forget about it, or it gets in the way of other things I’d rather be doing. Just ask my mother.

Mom enrolled me in every type of enriching, cultured activity she could find, and that I’d sworn with all my heart I’d always wanted to do. At one time or another, I took up gymnastics, ballet, ice skating, violin, clarinet, karate. There are probably others that I’ve simply forgotten about because they were so short-lived. Usually, I would have begged my mom to allow me to do these activities, and she would not put up much of a fight if we could afford it. And I’m not always certain we could.

Each of these were things I’d said I truly wanted to do. But then gymnastics, ice skating and ballet got in the way of my Saturday morning cartoons. Remember those? Violin and clarinet required hours of practice, which got boring when I had to play the same few pieces over and over and over again. When would I have time to talk on the phone? Play outside? Watch T.V.? Talk on the phone? Visit my friends? Talk on the phone? And karate? I really don’t remember why I stopped doing that, but probably for similar reasons.

My husband and I had a long conversation the other day about whether we would allow our children to explore several areas of interest even if they quit time and time again, or teach them discipline and responsibility by encouraging them to remain consistent and committed to one or two interests. If they are allowed to keep taking up interests and quitting, I reasoned, they will not become disciplined and responsible people. Instead, they will be unable to remain committed to anything and give up at the first sign of difficulty or challenge.

My husband entirely disagreed with me.  Children should be allowed to explore and find out what they are good at and what interests them, and that they would likely grow to resent an activity if they were forced to participate rather than given the choice. He also made the point that discipline and responsibility are more effectively taught by making children responsible for themselves in other ways, such as cleaning their rooms and making their beds, doing their homework, doing chores, or other similar types of responsibilities.

I can admit that these and several of his other points were difficult to refute. But I cannot help thinking about the times I had the heart and intention to do activities only to tire of them, quit, and then wholeheartedly want to do something else. I begin to imagine what a fantastic ice skater or gymnast I could have been had I been made to stick with it. Did you know I could do an Axel jump at 6 years old? Would I now be grateful to my parents that they helped me remain committed, or would I resent them for making me (miss out on my childhood, do things I no longer wanted to do, miss out on other opportunities)?

Hard to say. I certainly don’t resent my parents in any way now, and I am so glad to have experienced so many wonderful things as a child. But I also recognize that, for whatever reason, it has always been very difficult for me to press forward with challenging or boring things, which are sometimes a part of life. All because I can just quit if I want to.

What’s in a Name? July 24, 2010

My hubby and I have really gotten into naming the baby. We realize it’s early, but we frankly can’t help ourselves. Of course, we have no clue what the sex of our little one will be. Nevertheless, we text each other back and forth daily, and have created a list of all the ones we like. Unbelievably, we already really like one particular girl name and I think we may have also settled on a boy name. So we may be already set in the first name department.

We’ve also enlisted the help of our parents for middle names. I definitely want my children to have Igbo middle names to honor their Nigerian/Igbo heritage. In many ways, I feel it’s all I have to give them. I don’t speak the language and I’ve never even been to my father’s country, but I still feel very Nigerian. Very Igbo.

So this particular naming will be my dad’s department. And he’s taking it very seriously. He must take his time, he says, because the name will depend on the circumstances. I’ve encouraged him to please pick several names because we really want to have choices. And more importantly, we want to like the name. Not to leave out my husband’s parents, we’ve also asked them if they would do us the honor of providing a middle name.

This is an amazing and important process, the naming of our child. And it is a considerable task not to be taken lightly, as this is who our child will be. I haven’t decided whether or not to share the name we decide upon once it all comes together.

We will have to wait and see.

There’s a baby in there? July 16, 2010

So my husband and I just found out I was pregnant last Thursday night in a midtown Manhattan hotel. Two solid pink lines! Yes, we still have the pregnancy test, which we transported 3000 miles back to California. It’s the only proof we have at the moment because I still can’t believe it.

I’m 6 weeks pregnant as of today.  My first prenatal visit is at 8 weeks. We haven’t told anyone except our parents and siblings, whom we have sworn to secrecy until after the first trimester. I’m not counting on it. The secrecy, I mean. My dad is not very good at keeping secrets.

My mom’s reaction when we told her the good news was unforgettable. She screamed and shouted in my ear. She apparently nearly gave my dad a heart attack–he thought somebody was calling with bad news.

I can’t tell you how many times since then that I have looked down at my presently-flat belly and had to remind myself that there’s a baby growing inside there.

I’m going to be somebody’s mom. Or mommy. Or mama.