11 Search Results for: tearlesscrying

#tearlesscrying

My second born son, Colton, is a magnificent study in extremes. He is adorable. He could charm the wallpaper off the walls. His seductive grin makes mincemeat of the hardest of child-hating hearts. And at the opposite extreme, what I call: #tearlesscrying. Not tantrums. It’s worse. He whines incessantly. Seriously, y’all. It’s soul-sucking. Believe me, Colton does not lack for coddling. Remember the whole ‘He’s so cute” bit? He’ll snuggle for hours. (Well, 15 minutes). It’s heaven

Ignoring My Little One

My blog started out as a fashion/parenting blog of unsolicited opinions. Then, I got distracted by just complaining about how difficult and needy was my youngest son. For the last year, or so, all I do is talk about my older kid. And not one of you has requested updates on my younger, needy little tyke. How dare you. But so I don’t seem like my entire world is consumed by my older kiddo, let me report to you: my youngest is the bee’s knees, the cutest, the cuddliest, the most sickeningly adorablest, smiling-est, most wonderful little kiddo in the world. I’ve never been the type to state, “I could just eat him up.” But truly: I wish I could devour this little guy. I love both my children equally.  (Yeah, right, you’re snidely thinking….and justifiably.) But my little one gets extra points for sheer cuteness. He sits in our laps to read books, climbs in bed and snuggles in the morning,  has an impish grin that melts hearts the world round. Years ago, my …

So…Now I Confess…

While my blog is often about my personal/public therapy, it’s now truly my own confession time. I started blogging to sell stuff. I know, I know. Once again, I’m a monster. Worse than when I went hoarse yelling at my youngest due to his #tearlesscrying. But lemme explain: A few years ago I founded a company making “baby gear for stylish dads”. See, when I was expecting my first son, I wanted a really nice diaper bag. Something super stylish, super masculine, and not necessarily inexpensive. I was thinking, “I’m cool with paying $250 for a bag that states, ‘I’m a proud dad and I’ve got style.’” Shockingly, I couldn’t find anything like it. So I had a kid, got a dumpy bag, became permanently sleep-deprived, got some gray hairs, had another kid, became ten times more overwhelmed and under-rested, and then decided, “I think I’ll start a company making stylish baby gear for dads. I’ve never been a business person, I studied international affairs and philosophy 87 years ago in college, and I’m just …

OMG. I’m on the Other Side

Last night, a good friend texted, “I hate everything and everyone.” We aren’t in regular contact, but we trade messages when we’ve reached the ends of our ropes. She has a 5-year-old and a 9-month-old. She continued, “Am I a bad parent if I want to give my children away? The oldest one does not stop whining. Ever. And the youngest doesn’t stop crying. I may have to commit myself.” I responded, “Yes. You’re a bad parent. And you’re on the bad parent bus with me as the driver. And let’s face it – do you really wanna be on a ‘good parenting’ bus with someone who can’t say a bad thing about their kids?” Her husband was home watching TV with their older son, the baby was in the crib (crying). I told her “Go scream into a pillow. Go outside and lie on the sidewalk and stare at the sky. Go. You have the right. Have a drink. You’ve earned it.” Then texting felt silly and I called her and said, “Vent. Vent …

Canine Crisis…the NEXT Final Chapter: FROM POOP TO PEE

A few months ago I wrote about life feeling like an endless shit storm…literally. And by “literally”, I mean literally…my two (still-diapered) kids and my feculence-challenged dog. Now that my older son is diaper-free and the dog is on a schedule where I regularly express her bowels (gag), life feels much less shitty. Pun intended. Now it’s pissy. Madison’s acupuncturist (yes…her acupuncturist…everyone says it’s the best treatment for FCE…and by “everyone”, I don’t mean the Google) suggested we stop expressing her bladder, thereby stimulating her nerves to regain some control. Meaning: with patience and timing she pees intentionally about half the time. It also means she pees unintentionally half the time. Particularly when she’s excited and I haven’t timed it well, she’s standing one second and squatting the next. Only, because of her neurological issues, she can’t effectively squat, so she walks as she squats. Meaning: she leaves a trail of pee. And if she loses control in the apartment, she knows she’s doing wrong, panics and ends up peeing in lines (or circles) on …

Rainbows and Unicorns

Recently a dear friend told me she reads my blog (13th reader!) and likes it, but…“I could use a few more rainbows and unicorns.” She is sweet. I am not. Well, I can be. But I won’t sanitize my parenting life…because it is HARD, people. Given the choice, I would have another acting gig and make peace with giving 85% of my salary to childcare. (It ain’t for lack of trying. Any casting directors out there reading this?) Admittedly, then I’d complain about being away from my boys so much. Complaining is so satisfying. Aren’t playground conversations all about commiseration? It lets us know we’re not alone. Plus, rainbow and unicorn parenting blogs just annoy me. 1. They make me feel like I’m not creative/energetic/crafty enough, 2. I don’t believe them. I think I’ve made it clear I would take a bullet for both my kids, but being a stay-at-home-dad is not in my DNA. The fact is: my days don’t feel full of rainbows and unicorns. It actually feels like a frantic struggle to …

Judd Apatow’s Pioneer Woman

I don’t know if I make the disclaimer often enough that my complaints about my kids are generated from the 10% of the time they are (Colton is a) monsters. The 85% of the rest of the day, they’re wonderful, fun, happy boys. Of course, 40% of that 90% they’re sleeping. Or, I mean 50% of the original, so that’s really…whatever. Never mind. Math is hard. But still. There are demonic toddlers in the world. Colton is not one of those. He is scarily charming. My French mother says, “He is a seducer. Like Bill Clinton.” That’s a compliment for the French. And he’s easy to calm. Just pick him up and he’s happy. Now that I’ve confessed (absolved?) my guilt for his future therapy…let me complain some more. Over the past year, two metaphors craft my self-image: a lonely pioneer woman and a loser Judd Apatow protagonist. Wonderful, whiny Colton wants to be held all day long. I can’t and I won’t. Colton gets upset when he doesn’t get his way. #tearlesscrying ensues if …

I was a (Sleep-Deprived) Mother

When Colton was 7 months old, his #tearlesscrying teamed up with three wake-ups at night, making me unrecognizable to myself. At the time, my partner was busy preparing symphonic concerts and was in desperate need of rest. Because I didn’t need to think beyond mere “survival” and hitting my sounds as a tap-dancing Santa Claus in Annie, I felt responsible to get up those three times/night. Mercifully, Colton never stayed awake, he just squawked. I re-plugged him with a pacifier and he went back to sleep. By that seven-month mark in December, I had not slept more than three hours at a time for 9 months. I. DO. NOT. KNOW. HOW. BREAST-FEEDING. MOTHERS. DO. IT. It was the time in my parenting life when I most related to sleep-deprived mothers. Disclaimer: No, I did not carry that child for 9 months. No, I did not push something the size of a melon through a hole the size of a carrot. No, I did not have hormones raging through my body. I did not suffer more …

Potty Control

“Ellison, please don’t put your penis on the dining table.” Since potty-training, Ellison’s “nakedy time” has increased. Can you blame him? We find ourselves saying hilarious things. “Ellison? Did you put your penis in your undies?” is a regular inquiry. Sometimes he answers, “Yes”, when the snake is clearly peeking out of the garden. So potty training went well. For 39 months, we sweated it. In alpha-parent Manhattan, potty training takes on the same competitive comparison as toddlers mastering speech and yoga classes: every other kid seems to be faster than your own. And that might actually be a problem. Non-New Yorkers assured me Ellison was on track. “Calm down. No one goes to college in diapers.” But college and kindergarten are different things. When Ellison was 18 months old, during a particularly pissed-off diaper change, he nodded his assent when I asked, “Do you want to say bye-be diapers?” For three days he peed all over the apartment, only twice on the baby potty. While standing (naked) in front of my partner at the …

Canine Crisis: Chapter 4 (of 5)

Happy 2015! On our drive to pick up Maddie, my partner and I discussed our worries. “What if she’s no better? It seems a real possibility.” “I don’t know. Let’s wait and see. But I can admit, I don’t want to have a paralyzed dog. We aren’t going to configure wheels under her hind end.” “Nope. That’s no life for her. Or for us.” “But do we?…” “Let’s just see.” We walked into Wizard of Paws. There was Maddie. Her head popped up and she tried to drag herself to us. Frankly, I couldn’t see any difference. Poor dog still soiling herself and dragging legs behind in her own filth. Deb (the Wizard) enthusiastically welcomed us. “Come on in and see what she can do.” She carried Maddie to the mat corner. There, Deb propped Maddie between her own legs. True: Maddie stood. Definite progress. Then Deb supported Maddie on a kidney-bean therapy ball. As we held the contraption still, Deb said, “See? It’s just like human therapy. With these balance balls, all her tiny …