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.
June 25, 2011
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.
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.
June 20, 2011
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?
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?
June 15, 2011
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....
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....
June 7, 2011
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)