You can't take Disneyland away from me!!!

I truly believe there are certain moments in a woman's life when she DESERVES to be there with her children.

The birth (duh!), hopefully first steps, first words, first day of school.  And I'm sorry, but I think I deserve to be there when my daughter steps into the Magical Kingdom for the very first time.

Here's the dilemma.  My handsome nephew is turning four in January and my whole family will be going to Disneyland to celebrate.  Since I work all week, I will have to drive down after work on Friday to be there on Saturday.  (yes, it will be a long overnight drive, followed by a very long day of walking around Disneyland, but I'm willing to do it.)

My mother (bless her heart) tells me that I should let her and my dad take MY kids to Disneyland when they drive down on Wednesday.  That way the kids will have more time at the park with their cousins and it will be an easier drive for me and the husband.

I bluntly told her, "No frickin' way".

I'm sorry.  But I want to be the one to see my daughter's eyes light up when she sees the park.  I want to be on the boat with her as we sing "It's a Small World After All".

If I let my mom take her, then SHE gets to have all those memories and I get to see a three-day-old reaction to the happiest place on earth.

No thank you.

But am I being selfish?

Welcome back!

So I'm back in my parent's house.  Well, let me rephrase that.  Me and my entire family are in my parent's house.

And so far, so good. There haven't been any real problems. And except for my daughter's breakdown (see previous blog post), things have been smooth sailing.

But I wanted to give you all a quick update on the pros and cons of living with your parents when you are a parent yourself.

Pro: They are there when you need them.  

I don't have to drive anywhere to drop off the kids before work.  I just say, "See ya!" and I'm off!  Love it!

Con: They are always there.

Let me be blunt. Trying to "get some" with an infant in the room is bad enough.  But it's worse when your parents are sleeping right above your room.

No scratch that.

What's worse is NOT "getting some" and realizing your parents are!!!

Pro: The house is nicer than when I lived there as a child.

The parents remodeled the house a few years ago and it is niiice!!  The kitchen, the downstairs master bedroom (which is now our humble abode!), everything!

Con: My daughter is one marker away from destroying the house.

Seriously.  She came into my room after coloring her pink sweatsuit with a multicolored highlighter.  My heart dropped into my butt as I prayed she only colored herself and NOT my parent's WHITE microfiber couch!! (she didn't.  yet.)

Con 2.0: The house has wall to wall hardwood flooring. 

When mixed with my family's natural tendency to speak loudly and the fact that the downstairs TV has a volume control problem, well, let's just say Dylan will NOT be noise sensitive.

Pro: My mom's a nurse.

Poor little Dylan has been battling a cold for weeks and it is totally reassuring to know my mom is there to help and answer any questions.

Con: My mom's a nurse.

She knows exactly what kind of virus/flu/plague is swirling around and it's unnerving.


I'm sure there will be more pro/cons during the three or so months we will be living at Casa de Medoro.  But I must say that I am very lucky.  Not everyone can go home again, especially with a husband and two kids in tow.

But my family has always been there when I needed them.  And it feels good to be "home".

What "home" really is.

If you read my last blog post, then you know I (along with my family) have moved back to the Bay Area.  I am the newest reporter for KGO Radio and loving every minute of it.

But the actual move was NOT easy.  Especially for my little girl.

When we first decided we were moving, I told Marley that we were saying goodbye to this house (the one in Sacramento) and would be moving in with grandma and grandpa for a while until our new house was ready.

I know she is only two and a half.  I know she can only understand so much.  But I did the best I could.  I included her in the packing.  I kept reminding her about the move.  I even brought her back to the house when it was empty so we could say goodbye together.

But after driving two hours to my parents house, the moment she walked through the front door, she broke my heart.

With tears in her eyes she said, "I want to go home."

I tried to explain that we don't live there anymore.  I reminded her that we said goodbye.  But she just sobbed in my arms...saying over and over again, "I want to go home."

(Just writing that makes me tear up.)

Once she calmed down, I asked her if she knew what "home" really is.

She said no.

 I said, "Home is where Mama, Daddy, Dylan and you are together. THAT is home".

In this business, you often have to move a lot.  It can be hard.  But the lesson I am teaching my daughter is one I am learning myself.

Home is not an address, but rather a feeling.

Because no matter where my bed is or what zip code I live in, when my children are asleep nearby and my husband's arms are wrapped around me, I am home.

Life changes...keep 'em coming!

I don't know what it is, but each time I have had a baby, another major life change is put before me. Like having a baby isn't a big enough change.

When I had my daughter in 2009, I was back at work for just two weeks when I was offered a job in Los Angeles. The timing wasn't right and I passed.

In June, I had my son.  I just got back to work last Tuesday and my final day will be this Friday.  It's another job offer, this time from KGO Radio in San Francisco.

I'm a Bay Area girl.  I was born and raised in San Jose and actually did my college internship at KGO.  It is the one station I said I would work at when I graduated with my degree in journalism.

And now that dream has come true.

But I have to admit, it wasn't an easy decision to make.  I knew I wanted the job.  That was about it. But I am a Sacramento homeowner, my daughter has friends, WE have friends and a life that I love. 

Plus I just had a baby!  

I know some people say, "just commute!"  Easier said than done.  When I calculated gas and time away from my family (and newborn son), it just didn't make sense to stay. 

So after accepting a work schedule that will still allow me to raise my kids most of the week, we're moving back to my hometown.  My parents and in-laws will be watching the kids, which I am sure will lead to some hilarious future blog posts.

We have started packing (God how I HATE packing!) and will be making the big move in a few short days.  There will hugs, maybe some tears, but hopefully more laughter and excitement at what's to come.

Because if I have learned anything in my nearly six years here, it's that anything you want in this world is yours for the taking.   

To my friends at KFBK...thank you.  Thank you for teaching me, laughing with me and...putting up with me. I know things will be MUCH quieter without my loud voice booming throughout the newsroom. I will never forget any of you and I know our paths will continue to cross.

To those who I have met along my news travels, please know San Francisco is not THAT far away.  Let's continue to collaborate and make some radio gold.

And to those in San Francisco...I'm coming!  I can't wait to bring my personality to the city. 

You might need some earplugs!

Get a life woman!

I try hard not to judge.  I often fail, but I do try.  But what I witnessed this past weekend was so dumb on so many levels that I can't help but blog about it.

I was able to hit up Sacramento's chalk-it-up event at Fremont Park. (GREAT event, by the way.  Marley had a blast!)

Anyways, knowing that there would be colored chalk, oh, I don't know...EVERYWHERE, I put some black stretch pants and a pink tank top on Marley.  She had a ball sitting on the ground and coloring all day long.

At one point when Marley was coloring, a 5-year-old girl came up and starting using Marley's chalk.  Marley became a little upset, since it was HER chalk, but we had a quick talk about sharing and everything turned out fine.  That is until the girl's mother literally ripped her daughter a new you-know-what in front of everyone!

The girl's mistake?  Wearing white shorts that were now covered in colored chalk. 

It all started when the mother told her daughter to not sit on the ground.  But then  this mother turned around and started playing with hula hoops, leaving this child to make one of two decisions.  Listen to mother and just stand here while SHE has all the fun or plop down with this two year old (Marley) and color.  Guess which one she chose?

So after Mommie Dearest had her fill of the hula hoops, she turned and saw her little girl was donning more colors than Joseph's Technicolor Dreamcoat. 

"Oh my GOD!!  Look at your shorts!!! Didn't I tell you NOT to sit on the ground?  They are totally ruined!  This is why I never want to buy you clothes! 
(After taking a picture of shorts with iPhone) "Look at your butt!  Look! LOOK!!
(Now mommy's man is noticing everyone staring) "Uh, I think you're freaking out a little."
"Don't tell me I'm freaking out!!!" 
"You are in SO much trouble!!"


And off this pair went, the mother screaming bloody murder over a pair of shorts and the little girl not ONCE uttering a single sound.  No tears, no apology...nothing.

And that tells me one thing.  This little girl sees her mother "freak out" regularly. And why?  Because a pair of shorts had chalk all over them??

How about this mother dear?  Next time you are bringing your child to an art event, leave the designer shorts at home. 
She's five. She is going to get dirty.  Any parent worth their salt knows at least that much. 
So instead of caring so much about the fashion on your child's behind, how about putting a little love and patience in your own heart?

Staying home vs going to work...the never-ending battle.

I am really interested in hearing from parents (both women AND men) on how they made the decision to stay home with the kids versus going back to work.

Now that I am nearly done with my maternity leave for my second child Dylan, I have made a realization.

Staying home is a hell of a lot harder than going to work.

For one, the at-home work day never ends and there is really no way to make the out-of-the-house "working" spouse understand that.  For instance, my hubby comes home at five after getting up at four a.m. for work.  He's tired.  I get that.

But I have been doing at least three overnight feedings, PLUS I'm the one getting up to let the two year old pee AND explain that we are not "napping", but SLEEPING, which means at least nine hours of shut-eye. (got it kid? no, I didn't think so.)

Not to mention that staying at home AND being a good parent is just plain tough.  Yeah, I could plop my daughter down in front of the boob tube day after day.  But then I'm a crappy parent who is letting the idiot box teach my child.  Trying to figure out what to do with a toddler that is physically and (even better) mentally stimulating is EXHAUSTING!

And yes, kisses and hugs and seeing your child grow into a smart, polite, twinkle-of-your-eye kind of kid is great.  But overall, staying at home can be a very thankless job.

Did I get a bonus when I spent an entire weekend cooped up in the house potty-training my daughter? Where was my gold star when I was able to take BOTH kids to the lake and not have either of them drown OR eat sand??  I just got a lukewarm reaction from the husband, who (might I add) has NEVER gone ANYWHERE with both kids by himself. (easy my ass!)

So as I get ready to head back to work, I realize that emotionally it will be hard.  There is nothing that can compare to watching your child grow before your very eyes.

But I also have to get away.  Criticize me all you want, but I NEED time away from my kids to just be me.  (Who cares if I spend most of that time talking about my kids??)

I truly believe going to work can help me be a better mother.  Since I will be able to focus on something other than housework and kids, when I am at home, I will cherish that time even more.

Where do you stand?

Wait until your father gets home! Oh wait....

I remember my mom yelling "Wait until your father gets home!" if she really wanted to scare the crap out of us when me and my brother misbehaved.

It's not like my dad beat us or anything.  But he was the parent who doled out the spankings.  He also had and still has a deep, thick New York-Italian accent that could make you wonder if you'd be "sleeping with the fishes" instead of in your own bed.

Basically, when there was a good cop-bad cop dynamic being played in my home, mom was the good cop and dad was often the bad cop.

(I remember my mom would try and play bad cop by taking a wooden spoon out of the drawer and threatening to hit us with it.  And I can still remember the day we all realized she would never actually use it.)

At the time, it seemed like all of my friends had the same dynamic playing in their homes.  They could get away with all kinds of stuff with their mom.  But they would be in big trouble if their dad found out.

Now it seems like times have changed.

I talk with my fellow mommy friends and it seems like the dads are often the softies and the moms are becoming more of the disciplinarians.

I'm not saying this is bad or good. Just different. 

Could the shift in "traditional" roles be because moms are more likely to be home longer with the kids during the day? 
Or could it be because once dad IS home, mom cannot relinquish her role as the disciplinarian?

While I do not think a good cop-bad cop dynamic is needed in all households, I do feel a little fear of punishment (by either parent) can go a long way in keeping a child out of real trouble.

Making friends is the answer

I learned an important lesson from my daughter last night.  It was National Night Out, when people are supposed to turn on the porch light and meet those who live around them.

I'm lucky.  I actually know the people who live next to me, across the street and a few doors down. But when I saw that a home near our neighborhood park was having an "official" National Night Out meetup, my family decided to go for a walk and meet some new friends.

Let's say it was a bit...awkward.

As we walked the long block to the home, I was telling my two year old daughter Marley that we were walking to meet some new friends.  She was instantly excited.  When we got close, we saw people barbecuing out front (which I love!)

My little girl immediately spotted another girl her age.  They smiled at each other, grasped hands and didn't let go.  It was so sweet.

The adults on the other hand were a little off-putting.  As my husband and I said hello, they made this face that conveyed the message, "Who are these people?"

Determined to make the best of it, I told the group we were out for a walk to meet our neighbors.  One older woman awkwardly said "Ok" and that was it.  I then introduced myself and they didn't even respond with their names!!  They just said hi.

I'm sorry.  I thought the point of this night was to meet people you did not know.  It seemed these people just wanted to hang with people they already knew.

But then I turned my focus to my daughter.  She and her new friend were smiling at each other and in my opinion, becoming fast friends.

At what age to we lose this ability?  Why does it seem so much harder for adults to smile, shake hands and become pals?

After standing there for a while and not exactly feeling welcome, we decided to go to the park.  There was another girl Marley's age and again, the two instantly became friends. The girl's mother was very nice and we made small talk as we watched our kids play.

THIS is what I was after and what I believe is the point of National Night Out.

If we want to feel safe and take pride in our community, we need to reach out and get to know each other.

And one way to do that is to be like children.  Smile at that neighbor, reach out, shake hands and become friends.

Potty Training in just a weekend??? Really??

At first I was skeptical.  I mean potty training in three days seemed like a parent's dream but an unlikely reality. But my daughter is living proof that it can happen.

Before I continue, I want to make it clear that I understand all children are different and potty training one child one way may not work for another.  So don't start harping on me about how this method didn't work for you. It worked for me and my daughter, so I am giving it a two thumbs up.

I read Potty Training in 3 Days by Lora Jensen. I have to give her the credit even though I do believe many of her tips can be found elsewhere online.  In a nutshell, she advises parents to be at their child's side all day for three days and constantly ask if they are dry.

Here is what I learned. 

1. Buy LOTS of panties.  It helps if you aren't really paying attention when your child puts package after package of panties in your shopping cart. (read previous post to see how THAT can happen!) Marley went through 12 pairs the first day, half that on the second day and only two on day 3.

2. Don't bother with pull-ups.  I was actually tempted to put them on my daughter until I saw how long it took a friend of mine to potty train her daughter.  Pull-ups ARE diapers.

3. With the help of mattress protectors and pads, I never put another diaper on my daughter...even when she was sleeping. I agree that it sends mixed messages to the kid. Marley had one nighttime accident the first night.  The rest have been dry.

4. Toys go a loooong way. Especially those crappy ones that come in kids meals. I save those and can now give Marley something for staying dry all night, peeing before nap time and pooping in the potty...all without breaking the bank!  

Speaking of good ol' #2, Marley did not go until day 4 of potty training.  I was starting to get worried since she is highly regular and had been eating high fiber foods.  

But since I knew she liked to hide when she pooped in a diaper, I let her play alone in her room.  When she was in there for just a minute, I went back in, saw her making the "poop face", rushed her to the bathroom and HOORAY...she pooped!  

So remember, all of us like a little privacy when we want to make our own "poop face". 

 

Will Marley be accident-free from now on? No, probably not. So I'll carry spare panties and clothes for some time to come.  

But I will say that we both have reached a milestone in our lives and it was surprisingly not as bad as I thought it would be.

What the hell was I thinking??

Shopping is not something I particularly like to do.  And do you want to know what makes it worse? Trying to shop with two kids.

What was I thinking?
 
I'm an intelligent woman.  Why would I think I could actually make it through Target without both children completely flipping out on me?

I thought I did everything right. I breastfed the little man, made my daughter lunch and changed both their diapers. So you'd think they'd give, oh, half an hour to shop for necessities.

But I was wrong.  Dead wrong.

I should have seen it coming.  Right after we parked, my daughter demanded to walk instead of riding in the cart.  Ok.  That's fine. But I told her she would have to stay by my side.
"I promise Mama," she said. 
Yeah right.

She couldn't have bolted fast enough.  At first it was just a few feet.  And then she started darting around the aisles.  I'm sure the other shoppers thought she was cute.  I'm sure those with kids understood the situation.

But hollering my daughter's name over and over was one thing.  This trip was about to go from bad to worse.

It started as just a whimper. Then a slight fuss and a grunt.  But within a few minutes, my little Dylan began crying so hard, I thought he was going to throw up.

So into the cart went Marley and out of the cart came Dylan.
But the crying continued.
"I WANT TO WALK!"
"Waaaaaa!!
"I WANT TO WALK!"
"Waaaaaa!"

(where is the damn hair gel aisle? I sure as hell was not going through all of THIS to leave empty-handed.)

So after grabbing half the stuff I was after and waiting in what seemed like the longest check-out line EVER, we leave. Dylan's crying continued of course, but now Marley decided to join in with her best impression of Dylan's crying. Lovely.

The only thing I could do was turn on the Bullfrogs and Butterflies CD.  It's a bunch of religious kid songs and by the time the song This Is The Day came on, Marley had stopped "crying" and was singing along and Dylan was finally quiet.

Thank God!

A time out on time outs

As a child of a generation that faced spankings as a form of punishment, I am quite torn on how well time-outs really work.  I admit, I do put my two year old on time-outs.  But she is a sassy little thing (wonder where she gets that from?) and when I ask if she WANTS a time-out, she actually responds with YES!

But as I sit and watch my tiny little girl plop down in a corner with her lip stuck out and her soft brown eyes looking up at me apologetically, I wonder what I am accomplishing.

Although she says sorry for the offense, I'm not sure of the punishment's effectiveness.  For instance, she colored my Wii Fit board with blue crayon and I put her in a time-out.  I then talked with her about how we color only in coloring books and on paper.  NOT on furniture, windows, my Wii Fit board, the entertainment center, etc.  Then we hugged. 

Fast forward to earlier this week.  I had written my daughter's name on a towel when she had a water day at play school.  She saw the towel and said, "Mama.  You are NOT  supposed to draw on that towel.  TIME-OUT!"

I explained why I had written her name on the towel, but she wasn't having any of it.  "TIME-OUT!" So I sat on my bed in a "time-out".

But looking back at the entire situation, I wonder what part of her "punishment" really stuck with her.  Yes, she put me in a time-out after seeing the towel, but she also understood the reason behind the time-out (no drawing on towels)

So was it the time-out, the talk explaining why it was happening or a combination of the two?  If I had only talked with her about why she shouldn't color on my Wii Fit board, would it have still made a lasting impression without the addition of the time-out?  What do you think?  And do you use time-outs as a form of punishment?

Casey Anthony is guilty where it matters most

A lot of America is still in shock over the Casey Anthony verdict.  Most of the people I talked to thought this young mother killed her beautiful little girl Caylee.
Why? Because Casey lied to police about her daughter being with a non-existent nanny and then continued to party it up while her daughter was missing.

No mother whose child was missing would behave that way.  They would be canvassing neighborhoods, hitting the the airwaves and pleading for their child's return. But not Casey.  She apparently went into a "dark corner" and pretended nothing was wrong. She blamed her behavior on past sexual abuse by her father.  She eventually claimed Caylee died in a swimming pool accident and her father made it look like a murder.

Riiiight. Because THAT is what innocent people do.  They make accidents look like crimes.

So while Casey was found not guilty of first degree murder by a jury, the same cannot be said for the court of public opinion. Social media sites were blowing up with exasperated posts about a child killer being found innocent.

And those posts got me thinking.

What is worse? Being behind bars as a convicted child killer or out in a public that believes you are a child killer that got off scot free? It's a reputation O.J Simpson knows well and Casey will too.  While I'm sure she will have friends and family standing by her side and may even get married someday, I doubt many people will be able to meet her and not think "She's the one who killed her kid."

I hate being "that girl".

If you have a spouse/significant other, there is probably SOMETHING they do (or don't do) that bothers you. Maybe they leave their socks on the kitchen floor or never empty the dishwasher or fail to change the roll of toilet paper.  So you ask them to stop doing it or start doing it and they say they will, but then they don't and the cycle starts again.

And soon...ever so slowly...you realize you've become "that girl". And by "that girl" I mean a nag.

I even asked a male friend if I was being mean by harping on my husband.
"No Nikki. Of course not.  You nag just the right amount," he said. (gee thanks!)

I don't WANT to nag "just the right amount".  I don't want to nag at all.  What I want is for something to be done in a reasonable amount of time after I've asked and he has agreed to get it done. 

But what's a reasonable amount of time?  That day? That week?  And if it is NOT done, do I do it myself and then "nag" about having to do it myself?

How do I stop being "that girl"? Or is this just one of the roles I must sometimes play in this adventure we call marriage?

Don't start what you can't finish. Household chores and your husband.

After sitting through a recent session of female complaining, I want to share my opinion on a common complaint. Household chores and a man's ability to do them.

I firmly believe women should not start habits that they don't want to keep for the REST OF THEIR LIVES. Many of my friends complain endlessly about what their husband/boyfriends EXPECT them to do. But in many cases, I believe it is the woman's fault the men act this way.

A perfect example is laundry/cleaning the house/any other household chore.
Yes, it may seem nice to do your man's laundry when you first get married, but please remember that he will most likely want you to continue doing it until death do you part. So just don't start!

My husband and I lived together for four years before we wed.  And except for the few times I put his clothes in the dryer or get a load of his socks going...I DON'T DO HIS LAUNDRY.

I don't expect or want him to do mine, so I believe it is fair.  He is a grown man, fully capable of bringing a load of clothes out to the garage, adding soap and turning a dial.  He is also capable of transferring said clothes to the dryer.  But what I have learned is he is NOT capable of removing those clothes from the dryer and instead uses the machine as his own personal closet. (annoying, but hey...he does most of the laundry)

Am I mean?  I don't think so.  (So what if he works in the laundry business!) I do ALL of our children's laundry.  Sometimes (when I ask) he will put the clothes in the dryer or take them out so I can fold them.  So if you add it all up, I do plenty of laundry.  He can do his own.

But this tit-for-tat can get tiresome.  We have always had the "rule" that if I cook, he cleans and vice versa.  We also take turns bathing our daughter. Sounds nice, right?  But it kind of sucks on those nights when I get home tired from work.  Since he gets home before me, dinner will most likely be made for me. But then I have to clean up the dishes.  And then it will of course be my night to bathe the child. So a long day gets even longer and I can't complain since this is the setup we have always had.


Despite those nights, I still wouldn't change our agreement.  Will it work for everyone?  I'm not sure.  And it may be difficult to change a setup that has been in place for years.  But this works in my house and it may work in yours.

When tragedy hits too close to home

For those of you who regularly read my blog, you know the impact my work as a news reporter has on my role as a wife and mother.  When I cover a story about child abuse or - worse - a child who is murdered, I see my own child's face. I believe it is a natural reaction for any parent.  And it is frightening.

While I have shed more than a few tears for these children I have never met, I also know my decade-long career has allowed me to develop an armor that protects my sanity.


Venting helps.  And that's why after a particularly hard day at work, I come home and tell my husband about any stories that really get to me.

But last week, our roles were horribly reversed.

My husband had left to help a friend move.  He was gone for maybe an hour when he called to tell me that I should watch the news. A four year old girl who lived a few blocks away had been hit by a truck right in front of my husband and his friends.  They all were covered in blood as they tried to keep the girl alive.  My husband hugged the family and other children who were outside on this sunny, summer day that suddenly turned dark. 

He told me the girl was alive when they took her to the hospital.  But when she got there, she was pronounced dead.

It was after midnight when my husband finally came home.  He was absolutely devastated.  Through his tears, all he kept saying was "She was just a baby."  I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything, except that I was sorry.

Because I was sorry.  I was sorry that he will forever have to live with the image of a little girl getting run over by a truck.  I was sorry he has to keep a memory of her broken body covered with blood.  And I expect that at least for a split second, that dying child has the face of our daughter.

When my daughter woke up in the middle of the night that night, my husband ran in to comfort her.  He kissed her over and over while telling her "I love you. I love you".  I stood in the doorway with tears in my eyes.

While my job puts me in difficult situations where I have to report on heinous crimes, I can say that I have never witnessed the death of a child. 

I don't think my armor would hold up.

Can I please just shut the hell up??

I have become sick of my own voice.  I never thought I would be one of these women. But ever since my son was born, I have not been able to stop saying the words "NO" and "STOP" to my two year old daughter.

And I feel sooo bad about it. 

It actually started the day my daughter met her brother for the first time.  She came in and her face lit up with excitement.  I put her on my lap and then put the baby on her lap.  With my arms wrapped around both my children, I was filled with love and happiness.

Then the baby began to cry.  And before I knew it, my daughter was pushing the baby off of us.  "No!  You can't do that!!  The baby is DELICATE.  We have to be GENTLE."

And then there is this face she makes. Whenever she looks at my son, she clenches her teeth with such intensity and bugs out her eyes that it looks like she is going to eat him or smother him to death. 

And she has already thrown a remote control at him, keeps poking him on the head and has pushed him too high for comfort in his baby swing.

But my daughter is my baby too.  And I don't want to keep scolding her.  If anything, I feel like bitch-slapping myself every time I find myself getting too short with her. 

So how do I protect my newborn from his sister's unintentional aggression while at the same time limiting the reprimands?

The "walking" epidural and other lessons learned from my Labor days

So it's been about a week since I gave birth.  Boy has it been quite a week!  (In case you missed my live tweeting during my labor, you can read it by going to @MamasMic)

Here are some of the memorable (and sometimes graphic) moments.

I got a Foley bulb to kickstart my labor.  I won't describe what a Foley bulb is, but let's just say I will never look at a balloon the same way again.

Minus backlabor, a rocking chair is a kick-ass way to push through contractions.

Having a doctor break your water doesn't hurt, but the lasting effect is uncomfortable to say the least. Imagine peeing your pants...constantly...all day long.  It's disgusting. 

Now for the "walking epidural".  Everyone I told about this did not understand what it is.  Basically, the combination of drugs allows you to still have some control over your limbs while still numbing the "baby chute".

WARNING: Just because you were able to walk from the bed to the rocking chair after getting the so-called "walking epidural", does NOT mean you will be able to walk back.  I realized this as I began slowly sliding to the floor with a mixture of confusion and drugged euphoria on my face.  Thank goodness I have a buff doctor who was able to lift my dead weight off the floor.  "Pregnant woman DOWN!"

The drugs did let me take a two-hour nap.  But I was sooo tired that I literally could not open my eyes the entire time I was pushing.  Seriously.  I think I could have fallen asleep while delivering my baby.  I was THAT exhausted.

It doesn't matter how many times your husband says he really wants a boy but will be just as happy with a girl.  I really felt I was having a girl and was worried my husband would be disappointed.  But hearing my husband announce that we had a boy filled me with absolute disbelief, relief and love.

Now that we finally knew the sex, we now needed a name.  Here were some of the contenders.  Connor, James, Michael, William, Judah. 

We ended up naming our son Dylan James. 

Where did Dylan come from?  I had mentioned it to him previously, but the hubby said no since I used to be a huge 90210 fan.  (yes, he's a pain in the ass)

But finally I told him that we had to choose something, try it on and see if it fit.  I said I liked Dylan James.  He said, "I could like that." My jaw hit the floor.  I asked him if he was actually agreeing to a name and he said yes...but we had to hug on it first.  And so we did.  And now our son is named Dylan James.

Well, Dylan is calling and this milk maid needs to answer.  Stay tuned for many more stories about being a mama of two...including "How to keep my two year old from seriously injuring my infant" to "You blocked the pee but forgot the poo!"

So until next time my friends....

Induction conundrum

40 weeks and four days.  I've been here before.  My firstborn didn't come until nine days after my due date.  This one is looking to be on that track as well.  But the difference this time is I am at home instead of down in the Bay Area.  (The decision to travel from home when I was "past due" is not a decision I regret, but won't be repeating)

And this time, I have set an induction date.  I set it thinking that by having a "date", my body will go into labor beforehand.

I really don't WANT to induce.  I want this kid to decide when he or she wants to come out into this world. I feel like I'm fiddling with some cosmic destiny by artificially pushing things along.

I know I can wait.  I know I can cancel the induction date.  I know I have a few more days before an induction will really be necessary.

But I also want my own doctor to deliver my child. Since doctors rotate through labor and delivery, I would like a familiar face looking up at me while I am - ahem - looking down. I have really bonded with my doctor, which I don't know many women can say. 

So I set a date for when I know my doctor will be there and before I have to do risk tests for this pregnancy.  But still...I hope for those contractions to start on their own.

So this kid has two more days until I go in for my induction.  Maybe something will happen tonight.  But it really is out of my control. All I can do is release my worries and believe things will happen as they are meant to happen. Perfectly and beautifully. 

The birthing tweet

My husband burst out laughing when I told him what I had planned. "I'm going to tweet through my labor," I said. (you can insert more laughter here)

Some of you may wonder why I would want to do this or if I even CAN do it.  As for the latter, I'm wondering the same thing myself.

But as for the why, there are several reasons.  The main one is it will be a distraction.  And any kind of distraction is a good thing when you're trying to ignore the sensation of sparks flying out your backside.

The other reason is it will be something my child can hopefully read when he/she is older.  (barring of course any profanity-laden tweets about bastard nurses who won't give me my pain meds)

I just want to try.  I cannot make any promises on how long I will tweet or that the spelling will always be correct (but that never seems to matter on twitter, does it?)

The only promises I will make are that I will tweet as much as possible and try not to get too graphic.  No one wants too many TMI tweets.  As for the profanity.  Forgive me for that now.

If you'd like to follow along, just follow me on twitter @MamasMic

Patiently impatient (Or impatiently patient?)

Here I am, days away from my due date and you would think that I would be anxious to get this kid out. 
And I am. 
But I'm also not. 
You see, this isn't my first time at the circus.  I fully remember what I call the "rough parts". The labor, the sleepless nights, the seemingly endless diaper changes.
And with my firstborn, it was just her. 
Now I know I will have to deal with all those "rough parts" AND run after a toddler.  Just thinking about it makes me exhausted.
But while I know the level of exhaustion will be exponentially greater, so will the amount of room in my heart.
Why then am I still afraid?
Why does every twinge inside make me nervous that this is the moment my life will (once again) change forever?
Why have I been putting off packing my hospital bag, setting up the baby's bassinet, even getting the car seat in the car?
Do I think that by avoiding these things, I will miraculously be granted more time to become "ready"?  Can any parent, no matter what number child they are on, be truly "ready"?
I don't know.
What I do know is that I can't wait to lay my eyes on my newest child.
But I am also trying to make the most of my final days as a mother of one.

Kick once for yes, twice for no

I truly believe one of the hardest parts of being a parent happens before the child is even born.  What the heck do we name it?

Maybe it would be easier if we knew the sex.  But just as with our first child, my husband and I decided not to find out. It may seem like torture for some women, but for me, I LOVE not knowing.

Except for the fact that this child does not have a name.  So now we need TWO names, I'm weeks away from delivery and we can't seem to agree. 

For my firstborn, it seemed kind of easy.  We looked through a baby name book and chose a boy name we liked.  And then over breakfast, I mentioned a girl name and the baby actually kicked me.  It was a sign.  That would be her name.

This time around, it's a battle. 

These are my husband's "rules". 

~We cannot use the boy name we chose for baby #1 because that was baby #1's name and since "it" was a girl, that boy name is no longer in contention. (whatever)
 
~If it's a boy, it cannot be named after him and it cannot (as I want) be named after the hot guy from the television show Sons of Anarchy. (Jackson or Jax is sooo cute, don't you think?)

~AND (get this) the entire name - first, middle and last - must have an odd number of syllables. (he's serious)

He mentioned Hunter for a boy, but I don't want to name our child after a sport.  Plus it was listed as the #5 most hated name online.  (full disclosure: Jackson was #10)

Our baby book has 1001 names in it.  You'd think we could choose two.  But at this point, I'm looking to my belly for a sign. 

For my kids, big events happen in utero.

It was about a month before I gave birth to my daughter in 2009 when I watched Barack Obama's presidential inauguration.  I remember rubbing my belly and telling my child that it was a momentous day for America.  I even wrote the event in her baby book.

Fast forward to May 1st, 2011.  My first-born is now two and I have another baby on the way in about a month.  I had just sat down to relax, turned on the tv and saw the news scroll "Bin Laden Dead". 

I think I said something along the lines of "oh shit!" (pardon the language)

After telling my husband the news, I immediately began tweeting and updating my facebook status page.

I then sat back down and rubbed my belly.

At first, I really didn't know what to say.  But then I repeated what I had said two years earlier. 

It's a momentous day baby.

With one child in utero and another only two years old, I don't have to explain 9/11 or the place Bin Laden has in American history.  And I'm also thankful that I don't have to explain why some people are cheering his death.

But if I did, I think I would use the moment to teach about forgiveness.  Even Osama's death won't bring back the lives of those killed on 9/11.

And I would also touch on the tragedy of war.  While I understand the need and purpose of our military, I pray for a day when they are not needed....both here and abroad.

Hate only begets hate.  Killing begets killing.  But love...only LOVE can save us all.

Working mama's guilt

Working mama's guilt is nothing new. You WANT to be there for every moment in your child's life, but you can't. You like/love/need your job/career and thus your little one spends a good chunk of the day with someone else. But I am lucky. One of my best friends is also my babysitter. Her daughter and my daughter are best friends. It's great.

But the guilt is still there.

For instance, I just put my two year old daughter in play school. It's one day a week and gives her a chance to meet new kids and bring home all kinds of art projects. On her first day, I took the day off work. I wanted to be there to drop her off and pick her up. I mean, it was technically her first day of school.

Dropping her off was a breeze. Apparently, my daughter is just like I was at her age. I plopped her into the room, gave her a hug and a kiss and watched as she (of course) found the one musical instrument in the room and began to play with it.

No tears. No screaming. Just my beautiful child being her independent self.

When noon hit, I peeked through the bars watching all the kids play. Where was mine? Finally I spotted her sitting on a bench. And then...she saw me. Her face lit up and she yelled "Mama!" and ran into my arms. I was in heaven.

Fast forward one week. I took her to school and again there was no crying. But I told her unfortunately, I wouldn't be picking her up. She looked at me and said, "You have to go to work?" Yep, mama has to go to work. I was bummed. She (thankfully) did not appear to be.

So why do I feel so bad?

She didn't cry (good).

She understands that I have to/want to/need to go to work (good).

So I guess it is for purely selfish reasons.

I want to be the one to see her face light up when she's being picked up.

I want to hear about her day and check out the art project first.

But I can't.

And it sucks.

Stop the blame and help the children

I don't think there is anyone who wants to hear the horrific details of child abuse cases. The nightmares can be found in every city and in every state across America.

And the Sacramento region has its share of terrorizing headlines. There was four year old Amariana Crenshaw, whose charred body was found in 2008. There was also four year old Jahmaurae Allen, who died after being brutally beaten that same year. Five month old Gracie Lynn Johnson's name is etched in my mind. She had been dead for days, maybe even weeks, before her body was discovered inside a home six miles from where I live.

What all these children had in common is they were in the system. Child Protective Services. And that system failed them.

After the Amariana's death, a Sacramento Bee investigation found numerous problems within CPS. This led to an internal investigation, where employees were found to be overworked. Then came allegations of falsified records. But ultimately these CPS workers, for whatever reason, failed to be the savior these children had been praying for.

But instead of pointing fingers, I'd like to look for solutions. It is sadly unrealistic to believe we can end the abuse of all children. What we can do...what we MUST do, is find a way to make the job easier for those who watch over these kids.

Caseloads will always be piling up. Things put off one day only grow exponentially the next. I believe the answer may lie in technology.

Utilize electronic data systems and voice recorders to reduce the need of handwritten or even typed-in notes. In my mind, I picture a CPS worker with a handheld device, where he or she talks into it to record what is seen and heard. Where pictures and other recorded information can be immediately sent to an online file...and the proper authorities.

I truly believe most CPS workers decided on that career because they desperately wanted to help children. But that passion can get lost somewhere between the tower of files filled with the faces of abuse and the threat of arrest when a child is killed.

Everyone needs to move past acknowledging there is a problem and get working on a solution. Because everyday that passes, another abused child's burning hope at being saved is tragically extinguished.

The naked truth

There have been two stories in the past two days on 14 year old girls sending naked pictures to their boyfriends. Reputations were ruined and one girl is actually facing child pornography charges.

So as a parent of a daughter, I am contemplating how I am going to keep my child from making the same mistake.

I can try and keep her from having a cellphone for as long as possible. But once that happens, how much freedom will she have with it?

In my perfect, future world, my child will hand me her phone willingly, since she will have nothing to hide. I will check her texts and see nothing but pictures of friends...with their clothes ON.

Realistically, I know I will need to set ground rules from the beginning. Limit texts and talk times. Monitor their computer use and social media sites. Set up consequences and then follow through with appropriate punishments.

But is that what some parents are not doing? Did the parents of these 14 year old girls just trust them too much? Did they just hand over the cellphone and say "Have fun!" Do they just let their kids stay online for hours without any supervision?

There needs to be conversations. Over and over again. Parents need to give their children the confidence and personal moral code to stand up for and respect themselves.

I want my daughter to laugh in her boyfriend's face if he tries to get her to send him a naked picture of herself. I want her to know that if THAT is what it takes to have someone love you, than you don't want that kind of love.

I know it won't be easy. It will take a lot of talking, patience and prayer. But I'd rather talk for hours on end then be another parent looking down at a naked picture of my child on the internet.




Link to articles: http://nyti.ms/dN8Aax
                       http://bit.ly/dSfuM6

Unspoken Love. A mother is kept away from children because she is handicapped.

If you have no voice to soothe your children's fears...if you cannot move or hold them...are you still their mother?

To me, the answer is unequivocally YES.

But Dan Dorn of Southern California apparently believes just the opposite. A year after his wife Abbie is left paralyzed and unable to talk or feed herself after giving birth to their triplets, he divorces her, takes their children and now refuses to give her any visitation.

According to the LA Times, Dorn thinks that since Abbie cannot ASK to see the children, she must not WANT to. His attorney says Abbie's parents are the ones who really want visitation, but they are not legally entitled to it.

Dorn also maintains the now-four year old triplets are too young to understand what happened to Abbie. And he thinks they would feel guilty knowing their mother was injured while giving birth to them.

In my opinion, this legal battle must be a nightmare for Abbie. I cannot imagine what it must feel like to be trapped inside a badly-damaged body...unable to defend my rights as a mother, slap my bastard ex-husband or call out for my children.

I truly believe in most cases, a man fully becomes a father the day his child is born. But a woman becomes a mother while the child is still in the womb. There is a connection formed between a mother and child that cannot be adequately explained. A father can have his own type of connection, but it is not the same.

I believe these children want to know their mother. Who is Dan Dorn to say that they don't? Who is HE to make the decision to keep them away from her? He says the kids would be harmed by seeing their mother in her severely disabled state. But I believe that risk is NOTHING compared to the harm done by making these children believe they don't have a mother at all.

Link to LA Times article: http://lat.ms/bzA9hI

Mama/Reporter and the tragedy that fills my day.

The old saying goes, "all in a days work." Well for this mother/news reporter, "a days work" has been taking quite an emotional toll on me.

It began nearly two months ago.

December 14th, 2010: I drop my two year old daughter off early with my best friend/babysitter while I go to a shooting in South Sacramento. When I arrive, I learn a young mother was shot and killed while shielding her two year old son from the flying bullets. Her body was still covered up on the ground, waiting to be removed by the coroner. After doing a couple of live news reports, I called my friend and asked her to hug my little girl. We talked for a few minutes about how easily someone can be gone, how this little boy's life will be forever changed and the sacrifice a mother would make to save her own child. I know that if MY child was caught in the middle of a gun battle, I would do the same thing and possibly be on the ground...covered in a yellow tarp.

Then a little more than a month later, I'm assigned another heart-wrenching story. January 20th, 2011. An Amber Alert is issued for four year old Juliani Cardenas. He was snatched from his grandmother's arms by his mother's ex-boyfriend. It is revealed that little Juliani was yelling "No Daddy! No Daddy!" while being kidnapped. Knowing these were probably some of his last words continue to haunt my memories. And instead of Juliani, I see and hear MY daughter. Arms outstretched, screaming to be let go. Sadly, two weeks after being kidnapped, Juliani's body was pulled from a Patterson canal.

And then a few days later, I am sent to a Placerville elementary school, where a popular principal was murdered inside his office. The scene was chaotic. Parents were yelling and crying and just wanting to hold their children. I completely understood the desperation these men and women were feeling. I know what it's like to hug your child and tell them everything will be okay, when in actuality, you need THEIR hugs to make yourself feel okay.

But as it is in the new biz, tragedy never seems to take a day off. On Wednesday, we received word that a 17-year-old San Joaquin County girl had given birth, killed the baby and then buried it on her parent's property. This was a child killing a child. My heart once again ached for both of them. But I wrote the story up, put the information out there and went home to kiss my baby.

It seems so easy for people to criticize the media. I have heard us be described as heartless and even evil. But what I don't think people understand is that we are not all the same. Each reporter goes into a story as an individual. I see the face of my daughter in the face of all children. I use my compassion as a filter for the questions I ask and the angles I take.

And while you can change the channel, we are hired to stay on the story until the very end. We hear all the gruesome details and witness some things that are too horrifying to even put on air. And then we have to go home, close our eyes and try to move on.

I'm not trying to defend all media. There are those who go too far to get "the story". But there are many of us who just try and give people the details they need and leave out the stuff they don't. The public doesn't need to know all the gory details of a tragedy. Leave that burden to us.

Is knowing worth the risk? Why amnio-caused miscarriages may soon be a thing of the past.

It's funny. There are always questions people ask when they find out a woman is pregnant.  One of them is whether it's a boy or a girl, which is promptly followed by a question about preference.  And inevitably, most women will say that they don't care if it's a boy or a girl, as long as it's healthy.

And while it's cliché, it is also very, very true.

I learned this when I was pregnant with my daughter.  My doctor asked if I wanted to take something called an AFP test.  Basically, it's a blood test that checks to see if there is a possibility that your unborn baby has a birth defect, such as Down syndrome. "Sure," I said without hesitation.  My doctor then began to tell me that many women forgo the test because it has such a high rate of false positives.  But I felt I had nothing to worry about and willingly gave my blood.

Fast forward a week or so later.  I checked my voicemail and my doctor (not the nurse or receptionist) had left me a message asking me to call him back.  And you know what?  I wasn't even worried.  Never once did my mind even go back to the AFP test.

I remember I was sitting on the floor of my living room.  I can still vividly see my husband sitting on the couch as he watched my face go from nonchalance to shock to absolute sadness.  I listened as my doctor told me that my AFP test had come back with a possible risk for Down syndrome. 

Anyone who knows me knows I never shut up.  And in that moment, on the phone with my doctor, I had nothing to say.  I remember tears fell silently from my eyes as I looked at my husband's confused face.  I listened as the doctor explained that this was just a POSSIBILITY...that the test does not mean my child HAS Down syndrome, just a risk for it.

It didn't make me feel any better.  We had to go in and have an ultrasound, where they would look for any markers indicating that my baby had Down syndrome.  Before we went in, we were told that if there were any markers, I could have an amniocentesis, which would give us a definitive answer.  But the amnio carried a risk of miscarriage and I could also end up losing an otherwise healthy baby.

My husband said we should not have the amnio if there were no markers.  Why risk the baby if there didn't appear to be a problem?  So I agreed.  And we had the ultrasound. And there were no markers. (Thank God!)

While we never had an amnio, I would be lying if I said I didn't want it.  For the rest of my pregnancy, there was this cloud hanging over me.  I would forget about the AFP test results and then the worry would come rushing over me. At times, I was consumed by fear. I just couldn't wait to have my baby in my arms so I could see for sure that he/she was alright.

And she was! 

I have a picture that was taken seconds after my daughter was put in my arms.  My eyes are closed and I'm kissing her forehead.  And I remember what was going through my mind.  "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

But soon, risky amnios may be a thing of the past.  A Chinese study found that new technology has been able to detect Down syndrome with a simple blood test.

No more needles through the belly.  No more deaths of otherwise healthy babies. 

Whether the results of the test matter is a personal decision.  I know that for my husband and me, it didn't matter if the child had a birth defect.  Termination was not an option.

But researchers say the blood test could one day be given during the first trimester.  And that may make it easier for a couple to decide whether to continue with the pregnancy.

Looking back, I wish I had listened to my doctor and never taken the AFP test.  Although my daughter is a picture of health, I can still remember the fear that occasionally ate away at my happiness.  So with excitement, I wait for the day when those long needles are put away and the knowledge about a baby's health can be found in a tiny vial of blood.

"New" autism news. Are parents listening??

You always want to protect your child...from both the seen and unseen dangers in the world. And when a headline screamed the words "AUTISM LINKED TO VACCINES", parents sat up and took notice.

Now there are headlines stating that the 1998 British study that launched the autism-vaccine link has been retracted. The British Medical Journal stated that the study's author misrepresented or altered the medical information of the twelve (TWELVE??) patients in the study.

How many of you parents are sitting up and noticing now?

It is quite a conundrum, isn't it? You've been trying to be the best parent you can. You've been reading all the magazine articles, listening to the news and following current recalls to make sure your baby isn't sleeping in a drop-side crib or wearing a hoodie with drawstrings.

And when the supposed autism-vaccine link was made, you reacted. Maybe you spaced out your child's vaccines or didn't vaccinate at all. And after putting stock into one idea, how do you flip back to the other side? Or can you? You believed that news story/author/parent back then. Can you really change your mind now??

When my daughter was born, I was very concerned about vaccines. But I had been actually hearing for quite some time that the autism-vaccine link didn't hold any water. And despite knowing this, I still spaced out her shots.

Why? Because it made sense. While I wasn't sure if there the MMR shot would suddenly change my happy-go-lucky kid into an autistic, I did realize that pumping several drugs into her little body wasn't the right thing to do.

So instead she gets one type of shot at a time. That way, if there is a reaction, I know what she is reacting to. And honestly, it eased my mind.

But I know there are those of you who believe there are too many vaccines and that they are given too early. And I can agree to a point. For instance, why do ALL infants have to be given a Hepatitis B shot, when it seems unlikely that they would come in contact with the blood or semen of an infected person? It seems to me someone (read: Merck) is making a whole lot of money off all these shots. And that makes me nervous about whose best interests are being protected.

So after hearing this "new" news, how many of you are willing to change your mind about vaccines? What would it take to make you believe that vaccines DO NOT cause autism? And if you are holding steadfast to the link, why? I'm sure many parents (like me) would love to hear both sides.

Until next time....