Izzy's Self-Esteem Age 2

Is there anyone out there who can say they sailed through grammar school unscathed? Anyone who can profess that they weren’t teased and weren’t ashamed of how they looked? Anyone, girls in particular, who didn’t identify with some sort of body image? Perhaps there are a few, but for the rest of us memories of those critical years of development probably sting on some level. I want so badly for Izzy to grow through those years with a positive outlook on who she is and what she can accomplish. And it starts now. Yes she’s two years old, but she can understand what I say to her, about her and about myself. So I’m starting now.

I like to wear makeup. I think I look better with it on. But lately I’ve been concerned about dressing up my face in front of Izzy. She asked what I was doing and I just stared back at her. I didn’t want to say I was making my face look pretty because that would mean that I think I’m not pretty without make up. So I told her I was making my eyelashes darker. Then she asked if she could put some on. I paused again, not because I would ever let my two year wield the mascara wand, but because my gut reaction was your lashes are beautiful and you don’t need it, quickly followed by you’re a child only adults wear makeup. So how do I explain that some people need to enhance how they look? Again, I know she’s two and she doesn’t need to know everything now, but how I talk about myself starts to influence her now. That day I gave her some chapstick to “protect her lips from the cold” and she was happy. And now I put makeup on when she’s not around.

After I got my face ready to, err, face the world, it was time to get dressed. Squeezing my post pregnancy body into my pre pregnancy clothes is an embarrassing Olympic sport. It’s a game to see how many outfits I can get in and out of in the small amount of time I have before one kids crying and the other kid is bored. Exasperated sighs and grumpy “huffs” filled the air. I’m not sure why three months after having by second child I expect my clothes to zip or button or mask my squishy spots. So there I was glaring at my reflection in frustration while my sweet little girl looked on. “Momma OK?” she whispered. Again it dawned on me. Here I am putting myself down in front of my daughter. I should have been celebrating that not only can I pull my pants over my thighs, but my thighs look pretty good. My middle may not be back to normal yet, but I just had a baby! My middle may be getting an extra big hug by clothes because there was a baby in there for 9 months. And carrying around my new double D’s doesn’t help my back any, but hey, I didn’t even have to have surgery to get a double cup increase.  I know I need to work on my perspective some, but I also need to watch what I say about myself. It really hit home the next time Izzy was getting dressed. I picked out adorable little leggings and as she pushed her little feet through and tugged on the pants she started grunting just like mommy when mommy gets dressed. Ouch.

Those are just two examples that I’ve witnessed where Izzy is learning, quicker than I expected, what people think about themselves. And here’s how I know it effects how she’ll think about herself. Ok I love my mom. I have to say that whenever I say something about her that could be perceived as negative. But here it goes for honesty’s sake. My mom is a beautiful woman. She’s nearing 60 and she has a gorgeous smile and stunning cheekbones. Seriously, women in Hollywood go under the knife to have the definition that she does. But I’ve never heard her say a nice thing about herself. She set a fantastic example of going to the track to sweat it out when she wanted to lose a few. In fact, she’s the reason I started running. But she didn’t applaud her own efforts or embrace the beauty that I knew she had.  To this day, the first thing I look at in any picture of myself is my arms. I think they’re big and flabby, just like my mom always said about her own arms. She NEVER said anything negative to me. Never pointed out any trouble areas. So why do I look at my body for the same issues that she “had.” Let me point out that my mom didn’t have these issues either. Maybe it has something to do with feeling like I look like my mom, so anything she said negative about herself must also be true of me?

Kristin Armstrong, author of Mile Markers: The 26.2 Most Important Reasons Why Women Run,  wrote about body image and her daughters and her efforts to celebrate her own body for the sake of her daughters. I didn’t think much about it until I saw my little Izzy inquisitively looking on as I piled on the eye makeup, or when I confused her with my struggle to find clothes that fit. I started thinking about it more and noticed how much of what my mom said about herself is what I feel about myself. I know she’s only two, but why not start now? Why not say positive things about myself in front of her. Why not focus on all the wonderful personality traits that make us who we are instead of what size the label in my pre preggo jeans says? I don’t try to sweat the small stuff, but when it comes to something as fragile as a little girls self-esteem I sure will do whatever it takes. 

Am I Doing it Right?

Why is she still screaming? What can I do to get her to stop slamming things on the ground when she's upset? Is she playing with the iPad too much? Is he still hungry? Does he have colic? Will he be able to nap at daycare if he isn't swaddled? Why am I deserting my children by going back to work? I start my day with questions, and the big guilt cloud just hangs over my head. Am I doing it right? Am I a good parent? And if so, how can I be a good employee when I go back to work? I thought having a second child would erase these doubts. I thought I gained confidence from going back to work once before, but now there are knots in my stomach and I'm physically ill about leaving my kids again. Where did my confidence go?
I love spending time with my kids. I feel like I've gotten to know Izzy so much better during my maternity leave. Yes, she still goes to daycare or grandma's most of the time because I didn't want to shock her schedule when I return to work. But the days that I'm home with her (and Donovan of course) are eye-opening. Izzy hit the terrible twos a while ago. When she's frustrated with something, or trying to assert her independence be on the look out for flying objects and be ready to block your ears from the wailing. Yesterday morning she spent 10 minutes screaming for the iPad that I left downstairs while we went to get dressed. Those minutes felt like an eternity and kicked off a string of questions and self doubt. I hate it when she cries, but I know enough not to give in. So why do I feel like I'm doing something wrong? I took child development courses in college, the books are next to my bed for some "light" reading. I've watched Super Nanny over and over. I participate in online forums discussing discipline. Yet, I still feel like my kid shouldn't be getting so upset when she can't get her baby out of her stroller. After restating, "If you need help, say Momma help please" at least 15 times, I started to see a slight change. I still worry that I'm either too firm, or not firm enough.
Despite her outbursts and my guilt and constant questioning, I still had a fantastic day with my kids. Izzy is at such a fun age where she's discovering new ways to play. I'm digging into my creative side and playing like a kid again. For those moments when we're immersed in a tickle fight, or having a dance party, it's 100% joy. And cooing with Donovan and seeing his beautiful smile and personality develop is amazing. So why am I going back to work? Why am I leaving them, five days a week, to bring in money that we don't need? Yes, if I don't work we will struggle a bit, but it's not impossible. It's an opportunity. But I'm afraid of two things. One that without daycare the kids will not be well-rounded. That somehow I'm not a good enough influence to prepare them for their future schooling. Funny as I type that it I feel like I'm being hard on myself. But where's my confidence to shoot down these doubts and lock them away?
And then, when I do finally go back to work, I can't fathom being able to accomplish all of my tasks and execute them as well as I had in the past. How will I stay on top of things when I'm worried about picking up the kids on time? And how will I dispel the concerns that the kids miss me too much while I'm away. It's distracting me now, and I'm sure it will only get worse once I'm away from them every day. If I had a different job, maybe worked for a company that understood work-life balance, perhaps I'd think differently.
So I'm left with this overwhelming fear that I'm not doing something right. If I stay home with the kids, they'll somehow suffer from lack of social involvement and a tired mommy. But if I go to work, they'll miss me and I won't be able to give them or work the focus they truly deserve. Confidence isn't something I can just decide I have. It's not just being sure of myself and my decisions, it's not fearing failure if I'm wrong. I think I've abused the question mark enough for one post. I know things will be clear with time, but in the interim, I really need to work on my confidence.

6 weeks +1

I did it. I got out there and pounded pavement unplugged for 45 minutes. It was my first real run since Thanksgiving 2011, and I did it without my headphones. I've been looking forward to the first race for quite some time. I didn't feel right  about running while pregnant, but I made sure I walked and kept fit.
While it felt great to get out there, it did feel a bit discouraging to feel like a first time runner again. Before I had Izzy I ran a half marathon and I was so proud of my accomplishment. Two kids later, it felt like the first time I ran a lap around my high school track. Instead of letting the challenge of getting back in running shape get to me, I'm choosing to be excited about setting new goals and surpassing them all over again. Getting to do it all over again means getting to reset the clock. I'll always have the memory of my past accomplishments, but this post baby runner's world means I can enjoy running a mile straight for the first time all over again. I can choose to feel the thrill of running my first race after the baby. I can kick some of my bad habits (like running with a crutch, er I mean headphones) from my past. Hopefully switching gears and focusing on the excitement of being a "new runner" will help get me over the hurdle of my past. It'll be tough to leave the antagonizing wishes to be running as far as my friends. But hopefully with each mile I run, I'll be further from the "runner I used to be" and closer to "being a runner" again.

Just some personal stats that I hope will keep me motivated:
149lbs
3.3 miles - 46 minutes
3 min warm up
1min run - 2 min walk
7 min cool down uphill

Baby G2 Is Here

Donovan Joseph was born Aug. 11 and weighed in at a mere 9lbs 13 oz. Oh yeah, that's right almost 10 lbs and no prediction from the Dr. this time. I had a great birth experience despite being induced for a second time. (I tease my husband that he has gifted our kids the "late gene" that seems to plague him since both children were induced after 8 days late.) It has been an incredible roller coaster ride since.

As you can imagine, the adjustment from one child household to two has been pretty . . . Challenging. Challenging in an exciting, new, exhausting, feeling like I have a purpose kind of way. First there was the anticipation around Izzy meeting her new big brother. How would she take to being a big sister? Then there was the anxiety of introducing our "little" baby to Willow. And now, 5 weeks later, I'm wrapping my head around how do I balance chasing the toddler and nursing a voracious infant on my own.

Izzy was instantly in love with "baby" when she met him. In fact, it's hard to keep her from disrupting his sleeping and eating because she wants to hold him, or give him paci. Maybe because I'm exclusively breast feeding, but she has yet to try to feed the baby. I knew watching her interactions with him would be adorable, but it literally brings tears to my eyes when she tries to console him while he cries; her sweet little voice repeating my phrases like, I know, It's ok baby, Don't cry. Her little eyebrows go up in the center with real concern for her baby brother. And I'm super spoiled because she's such a helper. She insists on throwing away diapers, or retrieving things that are just out of reach for me. Of course we're always with her when she's interacting with Donovan, she tends to pet his head, which is more like a grab. She isn't trying to be rough, she's just too young to control her hand movements just yet. So even though I find myself constantly supervising and hovering, it couldn't be more rewarding to see how happy she is with her brother. And soon we'll see how happy he is with her. Something tells me they will be a dynamic duo who find trouble together.

Speaking of trouble, Willow our 90 lb lovable lab has been just that. She's a doting momma dog who follows me and the baby around without jumping up and snatching the baby's socks. When We brought Izzy home from the hospital there was an infamous incident of Willow taking Izzy's sock from her feet while I was holding her. I raced upstairs and hid in my room with the baby for several months after that. It was so bad that when we had visitors they came to our bedroom and I didn't dare venture downstairs. I thought I was going to give my dog away. (For the record Dakota was awesome and never a cause for concern.) After months of training and confidence building we were finally able to peacefully coexist on the same floor. Willow is amazing with Izzy. She lets Izzy pull at her ears and give her lots of kisses. But I had doubts that brining another baby home would be a smooth transition. I'm not usually so happy to be wrong, but Willow has been a star. She checks on the baby, but doesn't chase me down when I'm holding the baby. She greets all visitors with manners and doesn't knock people over even though she's slightly starved for attention. (I'm just one person after all.) The only tricky thing now is getting her exercise in while taking care of everyone else.

For the first time, I had all four of my babies home with just me to watch over them. Izzy has been going to daycare to keep her routine the same and keep her mentally stimulated. So most days it's me, Donovan, and my two fur babies. On Tuesday, I decided to take a trial run at having all of them home with me. I was nervous that the day would lead to an emotional wreck of a mom, and two neglected children. So not the case! I managed to play with Izzy, teach her to draw circles, feed the baby on demand, get the dishwasher fixed, and spend time with the dogs without anyone having a meltdown. It was encouraging and exhausting, but I was so happy to have done it. I'm thinking of trying again next week. I learned a lot about anticipating what the kids need, keeping them on a schedule, and having purposeful playtime for Izzy.

So while I have not yet had more than 4 consecutive hours of sleep, and I have a to do list a mile long, I'm feeling really great about all the changes. The fear in change is really a fear of the unknown. But as each day passes, and I learn something new, the fear dissipates. I am becoming more confident and comfortable with the change. And someday, who knows, maybe I'll look back and decide that it was easy?

Oh, a hiccup, I must be going into labor . . .

The countdown of days begins. I'm nine days away from due date. Like I mentioned in my previous post, the dates just an estimate, so really any day could be The Day. And what I find funny are the possible labor queues that are completely irrational. This morning I felt nauseous and threw up in my mouth a bit. Yesterday I had a ton of energy to get stuff done around the house. Last night I woke up every hour. All very silly, but deeply seeded in my head is that each occurrence, although only slightly different than normal, could be a sign that I'm going into labor. 

It's so funny to read/hear about signs that make women think they're going into labor. Some of them are a little too personal to post about, but here are a few of my favorites:

- Baby's movement has slowed down, he must be resting up for his departure.

- I'm frantically cleaning (or as people in the know refer to it as nesting) and organizing every little shelf in my home. Presumably this happens because once baby's here I'll be far too busy to do it. 

- Wild surges of hormones that make me cry and mutter through sobs about how terrible of a (insert mom, employee, wife here) I am or will be. Not sure how this corresponds to impending labor, for some reason being a little more crazy makes me think that baby should be here soon. Because I need to be less crazy. 

- Overwhelming my 21 month old with cuddles and kisses. I always give her plenty of attention, but lately I can't stop squeezing her or holding her. Part of me thinks that I'm banking all the squeezes I can now because when baby 2 is here I won't have the same amount of time to spend with her. I check on her every night before bed. Lately I find that I'm lingering crib side just watching her sleep. 

So between the screwy antics, and the discomfort of late pregnancy I'm thinking this baby will be here any day. I'm sure I'll eat my words. I'm sure he'll decide it's best to be a mid-August baby and he'll take his time arriving. But I'm certain he'll be here before August 2. And I'm sure the brunt of that is wishful thinking. 

38 weeks

Just like many other pregnant women, my eyes have been glued to the calendar. For several weeks now I have been counting down to the big due date. August 2 is the date that I've highlighted in red circles on every calendar I own. The calendar in my office, that's nearly as large as my white board has DUE DATE emblazoned on August 2 so no one misses it. Now that I’m just 14 days away, my electronic calendars notify me daily that I’m one day closer to “The Big Day.” All this preparation for a day that is just an estimate. I’ve heard all sorts of statistics, 10% give birth on their due date, 50% give birth after, 30% of babies come before their due date. The numbers never seem to add up, but it does add to the fact that the estimated due date should be considered more of a time frame to be on alert than the date you will have your baby.

With my first pregnancy, I was on watch from a week before due date up until 9 days after due date when I was induced. With each passing day I grew more anxious, and more frustrated that my body wasn’t complying with the date issued by the doctor. Going through this a second time, however, has changed my outlook quite a bit. I’m not expecting baby to come on August 2, I’m not expecting that he’ll be early, or late. All I want is for him to come when he’s ready and for him to be healthy. Now, will I get frustrated if I’m late? Probably. I don’t want to deal with the doctor telling me he’s huge and I have to be induced. Will I freak out if he’s early and I’m not prepared? Probably. But with the knowledge that there is no way to predict his arrival (other than medical intervention) I just have to hang in there.

It’s different for me this time around. With Izzy I didn’t try any of the natural induction methods until I was overdue. I didn’t want to go walking for fear that she’d show up before she was supposed to. I didn’t want to complain about fatigue and aches because I thought I wasn’t showing my appreciation for the gift that would soon arrive. Conversely, I remember wanting everything 100% ready for her arrival. Her bedroom even had paintings on the walls courtesy of yours truly. And it’s not that I don’t appreciate this little guy, but I feel as though all the preparation became a mental block for me. If I wasn’t done with negotiating a contract at work (final contract signed two days before induction with Izzy) then I wasn’t ready to give birth. This time I want to be ready for the obstacles and challenges that need preparation, but I don’t want to put birth on hold while I make everything perfect. I’m sure it sounds a little silly, especially when it’s not up to be when he arrives, but I’m trying my hardest to accept that he’ll be here whenever. He’ll make his appearance regardless if Izzy’s toys are still sitting in his pack and play, or if I haven’t packed my hospital bag. Maybe he’ll be here August 2 even. All that matters to me is that he will be healthy. 

Am I Overbearing?

We had an absolutely blissful week of vacation in Biddeford Maine. It's one of my favorite places in the world and for the second time I got to enjoy it from a whole new perspective. I watched in amazement as Izzy discovered the beach and the ocean, the rocks and the seaweed. We went up last year, but now that Izzy is super mobile, it was a brand new experience.
I caught a few moments here and there on my iPhone. Viewing the video brings back the excitement and wonder as I hit play over and over. After viewing one of the many videos for probably the millionth time I caught something. On three or four separate occasions you hear my voice warning Izzy to be careful about what she was doing. My fear was that she would fall and get hurt, but there were several times where you hear me calling out to her, cautioning her to "Go Slow!", "Easy!" "Be Careful!". I only noticed it because there's also a clip of my aunt following up my cautionary statements with, "Oh come on, it's a beach."
She's right. It was a beach and my over cautious, borderline over bearing,  frantic warnings weren't making for a more enjoyable experience for anyone. Part of me wants to blame pregnancy hormones for my anxiety and constant direction to Izzy. (Seriously, I'm starting to think I've been touched by the crazy preggo fairies. I had to sit behind my husband while he drove to Maine so I didn't drive him crazy.)
But really I know it's part of my personality. I've always been super cautious, and now I'm scarred from the seeing Izzy get a few bumps or bruises along the way. With laser like focus I hone in on any obstacle that could be in her way, adeptly moving it from her path or guiding her around it. I see scraped knees from hidden rocks and sea glass when most people see a beach. I see choking hazards, when others think wouldn't it be nice to give Izzy this tiny piece of candy. Yes, it's part of my job to protect her, and to watch out for her. But when does it become over protective and over bearing?
For me the video is proof that I need to "relax" as my super mellow husband would say. At first I was upset that I ruined these precious moments on camera by picking on myself and looking at the negative. Now I'm glad that I noticed because I can be cognizant that I go a little overboard, and hopefully reign it in. The videos can still bring the same amount of joy, watching Izzy with an ear to ear grin as she dances in the sand and splashes in the ocean can't be altered. And noting that I need to tone it down is kind of a gift.