Valentine's Day is one of the most challenging days of the year at any age. When you're a kid at school, it's the popularity contest of who will get the most cards. When you're in the throes of teen angst and you are desperately hoping your crush will take advantage of the most romantic day of the year to return your love. When you're in a new relationship and you don't know just how far to take the romantic overtures. When you've been married for years and you both agree not to do anything on this crass, commercial excuse for a holiday but then one of you brings home flowers and the other doesn't. Or if you're single and wishing you had someone special to share the day with.
Personally I've always felt it's more important for the one you love to demonstrate romance on a regular basis than on one day of the year. My husband and I usually celebrate with hugs and kisses and the odd giant Toblerone bar. That's about it. And since my son's birthday falls a day before Valentine's Day, we put more of an emphasis on that celebration now.
However this year, I really fell flat on my face when I screwed up at daycare. Let me explain. It's become something of a thing that at every holiday, the parents give little presents to the other kids in their child's class. I missed the boat at Halloween when one mother gave all the kids toothbrushes. But at least I wasn't the only one. So at Christmas I gave each kid a little gift bag with some fun stuff in it. I really didn't think Valentine's Day was major enough to warrant more than the traditional little cards. Boy was I wrong.
When I dropped my son off and went to place our dinky little cards in each kid's cubby, I found a pile of goodies in my son's cubby. Shit. With no time to run out and get gifts for the kids I resigned myself to placing the lame cards in each box, noting the plethora of matchbox cars, play dough, stickers and bubbles, all wrapped up with cute Valentine themed packaging. Clearly I was the clueless mom this time.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to compete with the other parents. I just felt terrible that my son came home with tons of loot without giving anything in return. I guess I just didn't think that at two years old, this was something important. I mean, let's face it, these kids have no idea what any of is about. It's the unwritten rules that are sometimes the hardest to follow. And apparently Valentine's Day is a big deal with the preschool set. It's not like I didn't walk by the Valentine's displays at Wal Mart a hundred times in the past month. I just didn't think it mattered. It does. Is it all a little overboard? Probably. But when I'm the only one who doesn't do something, I definitely feel like the biggest loser.
So I apologize to my son's classmates and I promise to make it up to them at Easter and heck, just for good measure, at St Patrick's Day too!
As I swallowed my pride and wrote thank you notes to the other parents, I hoped they wouldn't judge me and silently promised to do better next time.
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Friday, 15 February 2013
Tuesday, 15 January 2013
Living in an ‘on demand’ world
Happy New Year! Hope your holidays were as fun as mine. I think I’ve come to terms with the fact that the word “vacation” will not be synonymous with the word “restful” for a very long time. I took two weeks off from work, and between lots of family activities for Christmas and New Year’s, we kept our vacation pretty busy with play dates and social activities.
In our down time, we tried to enjoy the winter weather and play outside with our son, but it’s not terribly easy for an almost two-year old to navigate through piles of snow with a snowsuit on and all that other gear. So I will admit that we often plopped down in front of the TV just to keep him entertained when nothing else interested him. And I have to say that he’s getting pretty hooked.
I know, I know, you’re not supposed to let kids watch TV under the age of two. But I’ve never felt like that was realistic in today’s day and age. Sometimes, you need to let your kid veg in front of the TV for a short while so you can get things done without being interrupted. Let’s be honest – we’ve all done it. Also, since starting daycare, he has been sick a lot (as chronicled extensively in my last several blog posts). When your child is sick, TV becomes your best friend.
As such, my son has developed an obsession with two big celebs in the toddler world: Elmo and Mickey Mouse. I thank my lucky stars every day that Barney is no longer popular, or I would probably have lost my mind long ago. That being said, I’ve realized that it’s easy to feed this obsession. My son is a child of the PVR generation. Between watching videos on You Tube, on our iPad, DVDs, PVR’d and “on demand” episodes of his favourite shows, it’s all Elmo and Mickey, all the time.
When I hear those pleading whines for “Mickey, mickey, mickey!” or “Elmo, Elmo, Elmo!” it’s too easy for me to find my nearest device, call up an episode or clip of his choosing and his demand is satisfied. Tantrum averted.
In my day, we had to walk five miles in the snow to get to school! No, wait, that’s not right. Let me try that again. In my day, we had to wait until Saturday morning to watch cartoons! True, Sesame Street was on every day, but you had to wait to watch it on PBS at 10 am. My parents were not exactly the kind of tech geniuses who knew how to program the VCR to tape our shows. Even if they were, I’m pretty sure they would have laughed in my face if I had made that request.
Times sure have changed, folks. That crazy interweb has made it so easy to satisfy our demands instantly. When we want to know something, we just Google it. We have an iPad, we have WiFi… ta-da… instant gratification! Now my son just has to see our iPad and he automatically whines “Mickey iPad!”
So I can’t help but wonder – am I teaching my kid that he can have what he wants, when he wants it? Is that the way the world really works? I guess it is these days… What a change from our own upbringing when we only had a fraction of the toys and entertainment and had to find ways to entertain ourselves using our imaginations.
With every new app, website or technological advancement, we as adults are enchanted and captivated by all the really cool things we can now do. I mean, sometimes I think Songza must have been designed with exactly me in mind. And I’m not just talking about widgets and social networking – the most important thing on my tablet is my online banking app. It has simplified my life to no end.
I guess I feel like mixing children with technology is a bit of a double-edged sword. In some ways, I don’t see any value in keeping them from using it as it is a part of our daily lives. On the other hand, I hope that my son will always have a part of him that will be fuelled by his imagination. That he will always see two laundry baskets lined up in a row and automatically play with them as they’re a choo-choo train. His daycare educator assures me that he’s very creative and makes up all kinds of games to play with his friends, which I love. I just have to make sure that he never loses that creativity and that I don’t one day lose him to the TV / web / video games (or whatever else is invented in the not-too-distant future).
What do you think? Do our kids have it too easy, living in an “on demand” world? Do you limit how your children watch television or use technology?
Friday, 20 July 2012
A quiet moment
A few years ago, I used to travel for business fairly regularly. These days I don’t have the opportunity to travel as often, which is appealing to me as the mother of a 17-month-old child. Life is less complicated when you don’t have to leave the house at 7 am to catch an early flight from Montreal to Toronto. Today, I took my first business trip since returning to work from maternity leave. Until last night, I wasn’t too stressed about it. After all, it’s just a day trip for some meetings in Toronto, something I’ve done millions of times.
My own preparation for the trip involved absolutely nothing. In fact, less than for a normal day at work, since I had no lunch or gym bag to pack, no errands to plan for on the way into the office. I simply needed my purse, my laptop and my boarding pass. At the last minute I threw a 3 month old issue of Today’s Parent into my bag in case I found myself with time to read on the plane.
But suddenly last night I remembered my son. Oops. My trip meant that my mother would have to come over early to babysit, I couldn’t prepare his lunch and snacks for the day in the morning like I normally do – and since I would be arriving home later than usual, what the heck was the plan for tonight’s dinner? So I scrambled to get it all done last night after coming home from doing groceries after dinner while my husband looked after putting my son to bed.
But I’m not complaining. It’s par for the course. Business travel when you have kids requires a little extra planning. No biggie.
What I found disorienting today was the fact that I had forgotten how much time you spend waiting around when you travel. As the mom of a toddler, I just don’t spend time waiting around anymore. I have to-do lists and I am always trying to accomplish something, whether I’m working or I’m home. Idle time is normally planned and scheduled. In other words, if I sit down to watch TV for two hours at night, it’s on purpose.
Even with my blackberry and laptop on me and meetings planned for the day, I still underestimated how much time I found myself with at the airport and on the plane. The kind of time that in the past did not seem to go by as slowly. These days, I am amazed at what I can accomplish in an hour. I can zip through items on a to-do list and multitask like nobody’s business. So once I had accomplished whatever work I could possibly complete, read an entire magazine while chatting about vacation plans with the colleague who was travelling with me, I thought, what the heck am I going to do on the flight home? Especially when I found myself seated next to an empty seat (yes!).
I briefly contemplated taking a nap, which would have been so gratifying. But I’m not a pretty sleeper. I am the person whose head rolls around the seat, mouth open with a trail of drool running down my chin. Since I would like my professional integrity to remain intact for a little longer, I opted against the nap.
There was no in-flight entertainment, since I was travelling aboard a small regional jet on a short flight.
I suppose I could have sat alone with my thoughts for the hour and stared peacefully out the window at the view below, but that would have inevitably led to the abovementioned nap, so that wouldn’t have been a good idea.
So I’m blogging. And as I write this I’m truly amazed by the speed at which I now operate. How many things do I cram into my time now? How hard is it for me to disconnect, really? My mind is constantly racing, thinking, planning, plotting, working. Thinking about projects, assignments, the office, my job, my son, my home, my husband, our plans, our upcoming vacation, what we have do at home, what’s for dinner, what’s planned for the weekend, finding time to go to the gym, what I’m going to write about in my blog, when I’m going to find the time to write my blog, what’s happening on Facebook, when will I read this month’s book club selection, and oh, I have to remember to fill in my son’s forms for daycare before August 6th.
Whew. I’m exhausted. Maybe I will take that nap after all.
Tuesday, 17 July 2012
Talk that talk
The words are starting to emerge from my son’s mouth, usually garbled through the ever-present pacifier that he is refusing to relinquish (but that’s a post for another day!) I’m finally starting to feel like my son and I are communicating, sort of. There’s still a lot of whining and pointing when he wants something specific, but now he’s starting to use what sound like real words to communicate.
Like many other children, his first word was Dada (or Daddy, which he uses a lot as well). Naturally, Dada was thrilled with that one, but from what I hear it’s pretty common, because it’s one of the easiest things to say. No offense, Dada!
Next up was “l’eau,” the French word for water. My little guy is growing up trilingual, and spends most of his time with his Grandmaman who speaks to him exclusively in French, so it’s natural that many of the first words are coming out in French. Speaking of his grandmother, he’s now starting to occasionally pop out the odd “G’mama” when he sees her or when our car pulls up to her house.
He loves The Cat in the Hat and the book “Go Dog Go” where he learned one of his new favourite expressions “Go go go!” And when the Euro soccer tournament was in full swing, he learned to associate kicking a soccer ball with the word “Goal.” In keeping with the evolution of using words that start with a “go” sound, he’s now saying “good,” especially when he likes a particular food.
Most of these words are pretty simple, but he does have a few more sophisticated words in his lexicon as well. Whenever a plane flies overhead (and it happens often since we live somewhat close to the airport) he points to the sky and makes a sound that could be interpreted as “avion” (the French word for airplane). Finally, once or twice he has said the word “dangereux” (French for dangerous) which his grandmother says to him fairly often when he comes close to touching or doing something he shouldn’t. That word required some creative interpretation to understand, but we believe that he was trying to say it.
What amazes me more than the words though is that he understands almost everything we say to him now, and he responds to our questions and instructions like “give me your hand” or “show me your nose”. He also has sounds that he makes for certain things, like “broom broom” for cars, trucks, and basically anything motorized or on wheels. He barks in a high-pitched voice when he sees dogs, and makes a similar sound for birds.
With the newfound ability to communicate comes a newfound level of frustration, though, and for all the fun he’s having learning words, he gets upset sometimes when we don’t understand him. I guess it’s only normal that he has so much he wants to say but his language doesn’t always correspond with ours. Especially when it’s a mash-up of three languages. I’m never sure if the word he’s trying to say is English, French or Greek!
Lately, we have been watching videos that we took over the past year and it is absolutely astounding to see what a difference a year makes. A year ago, my son was a chubby baby who couldn’t even sit up on his own. Today he’s a toddler who runs (a lot), has an almost full set of teeth and babbles incessantly. He loves other children and is always trying to hug them (usually taking them down in the process but that is also a post for another day). He’s truly becoming his own person every day.
Like many other children, his first word was Dada (or Daddy, which he uses a lot as well). Naturally, Dada was thrilled with that one, but from what I hear it’s pretty common, because it’s one of the easiest things to say. No offense, Dada!
Next up was “l’eau,” the French word for water. My little guy is growing up trilingual, and spends most of his time with his Grandmaman who speaks to him exclusively in French, so it’s natural that many of the first words are coming out in French. Speaking of his grandmother, he’s now starting to occasionally pop out the odd “G’mama” when he sees her or when our car pulls up to her house.
Source: google.com via Aubrey on Pinterest
Most of these words are pretty simple, but he does have a few more sophisticated words in his lexicon as well. Whenever a plane flies overhead (and it happens often since we live somewhat close to the airport) he points to the sky and makes a sound that could be interpreted as “avion” (the French word for airplane). Finally, once or twice he has said the word “dangereux” (French for dangerous) which his grandmother says to him fairly often when he comes close to touching or doing something he shouldn’t. That word required some creative interpretation to understand, but we believe that he was trying to say it.
What amazes me more than the words though is that he understands almost everything we say to him now, and he responds to our questions and instructions like “give me your hand” or “show me your nose”. He also has sounds that he makes for certain things, like “broom broom” for cars, trucks, and basically anything motorized or on wheels. He barks in a high-pitched voice when he sees dogs, and makes a similar sound for birds.
With the newfound ability to communicate comes a newfound level of frustration, though, and for all the fun he’s having learning words, he gets upset sometimes when we don’t understand him. I guess it’s only normal that he has so much he wants to say but his language doesn’t always correspond with ours. Especially when it’s a mash-up of three languages. I’m never sure if the word he’s trying to say is English, French or Greek!
Lately, we have been watching videos that we took over the past year and it is absolutely astounding to see what a difference a year makes. A year ago, my son was a chubby baby who couldn’t even sit up on his own. Today he’s a toddler who runs (a lot), has an almost full set of teeth and babbles incessantly. He loves other children and is always trying to hug them (usually taking them down in the process but that is also a post for another day). He’s truly becoming his own person every day.
Thursday, 19 April 2012
Mom Mentors Wanted!
In my social and family circles, we are in the thick of a baby boom. I fall into the 30 – 35 age range, and this is prime time for baby-making. Seems like every few months, there’s a baby shower to attend or a new baby to visit. I’m not complaining – I love it! It’s a blast having friends and family with children of the same age group and it has opened up a whole new world of social activities, discussions, issues, etc… I even find that I have more in common with colleagues at work now that I have a child. There’s no ice-breaker like trading war stories from the parenting trenches.
Not only am I surrounded by other young, first or second time parents, but I’ve come to realize there’s another tier of fellow parents in my life… those with children aged between 8 and 18 years. These are the parents who have been there, done that, and have the scars to prove it. They are still busy parents but they’ve survived the sleepless nights, potty training, daycare dramas and living through everything for the first time. Thank goodness for these parents. They’re the ones who give the best advice and support because they’re not so far beyond parenting young children that they’ve forgotten what it’s like. I love my parents and in-laws but 30 years later, they don’t remember much about raising little ones. They’re probably still trying to recover from the trauma of raising teenagers and paying for weddings, but I digress.
The mid-stage parents, as I like to call them, are the ones who can listen, offer encouragement and tell you “don’t worry, it gets easier.” They have assured me that while I may never sleep the way I did before I had children, one day I will regain some independence. One day, I won’t have to do every single thing for my child. One day, I will be able to go to the bathroom in peace, or find time to exercise or maybe even take up a hobby. They’re the ones with the awesome recipes that kids love, or the great family-friendly vacation ideas and the strategies for dealing with public temper tantrums. Best of all, they’re the ones who don’t try to tell you how to be a parent; they just smile and say “just do whatever it takes to stay sane.”
It got me thinking – wouldn’t it great if there was a “Mom Mentoring” program, a buddy system of sorts? That would be awesome. There’s probably some kind of money to be made in that idea but heaven knows I’m in no position to start up a business now. It could be like Big Brothers and Big Sisters, but for grown-ups with babies! There’s no handbook on parenting (just a lot of overpriced volumes that usually provide useless advice) but a Mom Mentor would be a great thing. Then, once you’ve passed into a comfort zone with your children, you could become a Mom Mentor yourself!
I could name a handful of mothers that I know that are amazing role models and “super-women”… wonder if any one of them wants to be my Mom Mentor?
I could name a handful of mothers that I know that are amazing role models and “super-women”… wonder if any one of them wants to be my Mom Mentor?
Friday, 30 September 2011
My first lesson in parenting
As mentioned in my intro post, I had warm and fuzzy visions of myself blogging from the beginning of my baby's life, talking about all the ups and downs of new motherhood while he napped happily in his crib for 3 hours at a time. I would be sipping a cappuccino in my spotless kitchen and tapping away on my laptop with beautifully manicured nails... Ahem, sorry, daydreaming again. Needless to say, that hasn't happened yet!
However, in my last long and boring weeks of pregnancy, I did start writing, so I may as well share the one and only blog post I wrote during that time. Here it is... enjoy and feel free to laugh at me. I know I'm laughing at myself today! Shoulda known that would have been my last full night of sleep - be careful what you wish for!
February 11, 2011 - My First Lesson in Parenting
As I write this, I’m 41 weeks pregnant… a full week past my baby’s due date, and just one of a majority of women who learn the hard way that 75% of babies make their way into the world late.
As a general rule, I’m a very organized and always punctual person. I almost hate myself for always obnoxiously arriving everywhere early – even when I try to be fashionably late, I can only manage to get there five minutes late. I don’t do it on purpose; I was just wired that way. Possibly, it has something to do with my own birth, which was scheduled early on September 28th, very reasonably so that I would be accepted into school right before the deadline of October 1st.
I’m not just perpetually early; I’m also compulsively efficient and like to get things done quickly. There is a reason for that – I hate the feeling of letting a task or responsibility go unfinished for too long, because it will inevitably fall to the bottom of the priority list and either never get done or will be done in a half-arsed way. All that means is that I would disappoint the person who is waiting for me to deliver whatever it is that needs to be done. Do I have issues? Yes. Am I type A? Absolutely.
Despite my need for speed, control and punctuality, I’m still a pretty reasonable person and I get that things just don’t always happen as planned. So when I got pregnant, I spent a significant amount of time preparing myself mentally for the fact that many, many things would be out of control. Will I be a slave to a tiny infant? Yup. Will my house be a mess and my laundry basket ever-overflowing? Definitely. Can I handle it? With a few deep breaths and a supportive husband, yes, I assured myself that I could handle it.
I even knew that most babies go past their due date. In fact, I kind of hoped that I would have a nice, drama-free, scheduled induction, so I could arrive at the hospital, stress-free and ready to give birth at a pre-determined date and time. What I didn’t know is that my hospital insists on waiting 11 days past the due date to induce babies.
I stopped working two weeks before my due date for a number of reasons. I wanted a clean break from work, time to rest, to mentally check out from the office and get any last-minute stuff done before baby’s arrival. I also wanted to give myself a buffer, in case the baby should somehow decide to arrive early.
Week one was a breeze – I kept busy, wrote thank you notes for all the lovely baby presents I’d received, visited my parents, and just tried to enjoy my last little bit of freedom. The second week was a bit longer… my house had never been cleaner, every scrap of laundry done, the freezer full of home-cooked meals for post-baby arrival. So I napped and started baking. I reasoned that surely we would have many visitors the following week (when baby was here) and wouldn’t it be nice to serve home-made biscotti with coffee? I would dazzle friends and family with my domestic prowess and my well-rested, cool, calm and collected approach to new motherhood! Bonus!
When week two passed and my due date came and went, my doctor informed me that we would schedule an induction no earlier than February 16th. What!? Why so late? Why not anytime after the due date? She responded it was hospital policy, limiting what they call “social inductions,” wanting the baby to come on its own, blah, blah, blah…
“Believe me,” she said, obviously having heard it all before. “If I could schedule all my patients to deliver at a convenient time, my life would be a lot less crazy.”
Heavy with disappointment, I delivered the news to my husband and began doing everything possible to try to induce labour. Raspberry leaf tea, scrubbing floors, Chinese food, etc… nothing worked. Every morning for the past week, I’ve glared at my packed suitcase which has stared back mockingly from its spot by the door. I started regretting leaving work so early. When I complained to my parents, my father laughed at me.
You’ve just learned the first and most important lesson in parenting,” he told me. “You’re not in charge anymore – your child is.”
I realized that he was right and added my own two cents: patience is a virtue. Because, really, in the grand scheme of things, what will a few extra days change in my life? So what if I have to answer a zillion well-meaning e-mails, phone calls and Facebook wall postings saying “Nope, no baby yet!”
When my little guy finally makes his appearance, I will probably appreciate this time and laugh at myself for being so impatient. After all, there are so many more important things to worry about. And I should be thanking my lucky stars that he’s not premature and will be a big, beautiful, healthy baby. Who knows, maybe he’ll teach me not to be such a stickler for punctuality either.
As a final note, it turned out this extra time was a really good thing, because on my due date, I came down with the worst cold I’ve ever had! I’m talking the kind of cold that keeps you in bed, coughing, sneezing and generally wanting to die. Since pregnant women can’t self-medicate with those delightfully effective cold medications, I just had to suck it up and rest it off. It was a small comfort to me to know that baby was in no rush to leave my womb while I was feeling so miserable. The last thing I’d want is to sneeze all over my newborn!
But now the cold is gone, a week has passed and I simply have to tell myself that, at the most, I only have to wait four or five more days for my baby. And then I will embark on the adventure of a lifetime – motherhood. Hold on tight, it’s gonna be a wild ride!
However, in my last long and boring weeks of pregnancy, I did start writing, so I may as well share the one and only blog post I wrote during that time. Here it is... enjoy and feel free to laugh at me. I know I'm laughing at myself today! Shoulda known that would have been my last full night of sleep - be careful what you wish for!
February 11, 2011 - My First Lesson in Parenting
As I write this, I’m 41 weeks pregnant… a full week past my baby’s due date, and just one of a majority of women who learn the hard way that 75% of babies make their way into the world late.
As a general rule, I’m a very organized and always punctual person. I almost hate myself for always obnoxiously arriving everywhere early – even when I try to be fashionably late, I can only manage to get there five minutes late. I don’t do it on purpose; I was just wired that way. Possibly, it has something to do with my own birth, which was scheduled early on September 28th, very reasonably so that I would be accepted into school right before the deadline of October 1st.
I’m not just perpetually early; I’m also compulsively efficient and like to get things done quickly. There is a reason for that – I hate the feeling of letting a task or responsibility go unfinished for too long, because it will inevitably fall to the bottom of the priority list and either never get done or will be done in a half-arsed way. All that means is that I would disappoint the person who is waiting for me to deliver whatever it is that needs to be done. Do I have issues? Yes. Am I type A? Absolutely.
Despite my need for speed, control and punctuality, I’m still a pretty reasonable person and I get that things just don’t always happen as planned. So when I got pregnant, I spent a significant amount of time preparing myself mentally for the fact that many, many things would be out of control. Will I be a slave to a tiny infant? Yup. Will my house be a mess and my laundry basket ever-overflowing? Definitely. Can I handle it? With a few deep breaths and a supportive husband, yes, I assured myself that I could handle it.
I even knew that most babies go past their due date. In fact, I kind of hoped that I would have a nice, drama-free, scheduled induction, so I could arrive at the hospital, stress-free and ready to give birth at a pre-determined date and time. What I didn’t know is that my hospital insists on waiting 11 days past the due date to induce babies.
I stopped working two weeks before my due date for a number of reasons. I wanted a clean break from work, time to rest, to mentally check out from the office and get any last-minute stuff done before baby’s arrival. I also wanted to give myself a buffer, in case the baby should somehow decide to arrive early.
Week one was a breeze – I kept busy, wrote thank you notes for all the lovely baby presents I’d received, visited my parents, and just tried to enjoy my last little bit of freedom. The second week was a bit longer… my house had never been cleaner, every scrap of laundry done, the freezer full of home-cooked meals for post-baby arrival. So I napped and started baking. I reasoned that surely we would have many visitors the following week (when baby was here) and wouldn’t it be nice to serve home-made biscotti with coffee? I would dazzle friends and family with my domestic prowess and my well-rested, cool, calm and collected approach to new motherhood! Bonus!
When week two passed and my due date came and went, my doctor informed me that we would schedule an induction no earlier than February 16th. What!? Why so late? Why not anytime after the due date? She responded it was hospital policy, limiting what they call “social inductions,” wanting the baby to come on its own, blah, blah, blah…
“Believe me,” she said, obviously having heard it all before. “If I could schedule all my patients to deliver at a convenient time, my life would be a lot less crazy.”
Heavy with disappointment, I delivered the news to my husband and began doing everything possible to try to induce labour. Raspberry leaf tea, scrubbing floors, Chinese food, etc… nothing worked. Every morning for the past week, I’ve glared at my packed suitcase which has stared back mockingly from its spot by the door. I started regretting leaving work so early. When I complained to my parents, my father laughed at me.
You’ve just learned the first and most important lesson in parenting,” he told me. “You’re not in charge anymore – your child is.”
I realized that he was right and added my own two cents: patience is a virtue. Because, really, in the grand scheme of things, what will a few extra days change in my life? So what if I have to answer a zillion well-meaning e-mails, phone calls and Facebook wall postings saying “Nope, no baby yet!”
When my little guy finally makes his appearance, I will probably appreciate this time and laugh at myself for being so impatient. After all, there are so many more important things to worry about. And I should be thanking my lucky stars that he’s not premature and will be a big, beautiful, healthy baby. Who knows, maybe he’ll teach me not to be such a stickler for punctuality either.
As a final note, it turned out this extra time was a really good thing, because on my due date, I came down with the worst cold I’ve ever had! I’m talking the kind of cold that keeps you in bed, coughing, sneezing and generally wanting to die. Since pregnant women can’t self-medicate with those delightfully effective cold medications, I just had to suck it up and rest it off. It was a small comfort to me to know that baby was in no rush to leave my womb while I was feeling so miserable. The last thing I’d want is to sneeze all over my newborn!
But now the cold is gone, a week has passed and I simply have to tell myself that, at the most, I only have to wait four or five more days for my baby. And then I will embark on the adventure of a lifetime – motherhood. Hold on tight, it’s gonna be a wild ride!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)