Posts Tagged Parenting

Isaiah and the Gift of Today

Posted by Lisa in Isaiah, Parenthood on January 27, 2012

It’s Friday and there’s no better picture to accurately depict the Friday relief and excitement than this cartoony picture of Isaiah.

A few nights ago, we were playing with the different features of my Christmas gift – our new computer – and Isaiah got pretty excited over the different scenes and tones the pictures can be set in.  This overly exposed scene was his favorite.  He looks how I feel inside: YES!  I got through another week of work, parenting, surviving another week of winter, and listening to the Republican debates!  I DID IT!  GO ME!

Watching Isaiah grow into his own person is such a paradoxical experience.  He is most certainly his own self, that is clear.  And he says things like, “Isaiah do it.” Meaning, “HANDS OFF MOM.  I CAN BRUSH MY OWN TEETH.” Or “Forget your hand, Dad, I know what a railing is!”

But the majority of things he says are mimicking what’s around him, especially language.  Just yesterday, he asked to watch a Muppet video on YouTube and when the link was a little slow, I fussed around with the mouse and before the electricity from my brain sent the message to move my tongue to say the words, Isaiah sighs, “Come on, come on, COME ON!” I looked at him strangely.  Yeah, I guess I say that a lot when the internet takes forever.  (Forever: 39 seconds)

Toddlers are walking mirrors and sponges and it FREAKS ME OUT that they learn instantaneously when and how to repeat something in an appropriate situation.  They can read the emotional situation and deliver the comment they heard, just like it was originally spoken.  So, yeah, he’s his own person – he’s got his organs, preferences, room – but everything he DOES reflects me or Nick to some extent.  Now that’s some scary shit right there.  Seeing myself in a 2 year old?  S-C-A-R-Y.

But it’s a joy.  JOY.  And that’s an unexpected part of parenting that I wasn’t counting on: the joy!  The little things.  I was changing him after a nap and I asked how his day was going thus far at 5pm and he goes, “Oh, I just love it.”  A few hours later, he picked up an empty gatorade bottle and says, “Recycle.”  And then he wore my high heels for 15 minutes while I cooked dinner.

JOY.

*D my therapist says to look into our current moment with as much passion and intensity as we look to the past and future.  If we all did this, we would relinquish control over the things we do not have power over or cannot change.  Be present, she says, to only what you can presently know and see.

What I know and see is how fast 2 years of my life has gone with Isaiah.  In the blink of an eye and in the swift move of parenting amnesia (I can’t remember what it was like to breastfeed or put him in a carrier), he’s a little human asking for juice and crackers at night, wailing when I turn off the radio because it’s time to say goodnight.  Just like that (snap of the fingers) his onuses are too tight, his pants are too short, and he’s feeding himself with a fork and spoon.

Nick took the opportunity to clean out the basement this week (what a great guy, I’d never think to do that on my day off), and I was admiring his work, I saw all these baby toys, bottles, and paraphernalia were outgrew.  No more boppy pillow, no crib bumper, no walker.  Being a parent is so reactionary and immediate that it’s hard to retain any memory of what you did before.  All you really know is how to do NOW.  And given D*’s advice about staying in the present, that relationship seems perfectly complimentary.

Be present.  In the blink of an eye, it’ll be ten years from now with no memory of today.

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10 Responses to Say to Your Child-free Friends

Posted by Lisa in Parenthood on November 2, 2011

This article has been floating around quite a bit and since it’s on parenting and relationships, felt an overwhelming need to respond and clarify my position on the relationship and friendship changes when a person has a child.

1. Why did you decide to have a kid anyway if you’re so stressed out? You chose this.
Response: Why did you decide to get up out of bed this morning if you knew that struggle and pain and work lie ahead of you? For many of us, most of our lives are building blocks of choices and while having children (for most ) IS indeed a choice. It’s also a blinded choice where you do not know how you will navigate it until you are in the drivers’ seat going 50 miles per hours on a road laden with oil.

2. I hate kids.
Response: I myself personally am not a kid person. I’m nuts about my own kid, and I have come to appreciate things about having a child that make me more sensitive and aware to the world around me, but hating kids is like going around to a friend caring for a parent and saying, “God, I hate old people.” When is it acceptable to hate children? Because they can’t wipe their noses and drool on your work clothes before you even go out the door? They’re PEOPLE, not pets.

3. It’s going to be a late night at the bar, soooooo, I hope you can make it. *sarcastic tone*
Response: I actually go to bed really late because I have a spouse in graduate school who is up pretty late working on his papers. And I have a full time job in addition to researching and writing my own projects. I can see why you’d assume that, but I’m tired because I live my life quite fully. I stopped measuring life by my alcohol tolerance when I affirmed myself as a writer, not a mother.

4. What happened to you? You used to be fun.
Response: Change is not just Obama jargon. Change is a part of life. Interdependent families, with two partners dedicated to the livelihood of another human takes an enormous toll on your life. You pay with time, energy, and brain space. “Fun” as defined by late nights, spending money, traveling changes, spontaneity transforms over time. But I don’t know if that’s all parenting related. It’s like how making out in a twin bed was really hot when you’re 20 years old. At 32, that just sounds ridiculously uncomfortable. Long, deep kisses in a car before your partner goes off to work? Um, yeah. That’s hot. And still a lot of fun.

5. Why does everything revolve around your kid?
Response: See answer #2. Kids are people. They’re as diverse as they are curious, and they change daily. Children are not soon-to-be adults. They are fully formed, fully ready, fully alive. And they require attention from the moment they wake to the moment they fall asleep. And even then you’re making sure they’re still breathing at night when you watch them sleep. If it’s not children, others find vices and projects that require attention: caretaking, work, social lives, gardens, reading, fitness. People fill their lives with all kinds of time-consuming efforts. A child, a person, has feelings, thoughts, questions, and energy that is directed at their parents. They get priority.

6. You need a box of condoms. (Usually directed at families with multiple children.)
Response: It IS possible that having more than 2 children in the United States of America is actually NOT caused by mental illness.
Choice can be exercised in the refraining of reproduction, choosing how and when to reproduce, and how many offspring you’d like to have. Some people actually decide, and love, to have big families. It’s true. And they’re not all trying to get a reality TV show, either.

7. Do you want more?
Response: Families come in all sizes and shapes and colors. For me, I don’t know if I want to have more. I really love enjoying my son at every stage he is at and giving him as much attention and love as I can possible shower on him. I don’t buy that you have to give a child a sibling to be “normal.” I don’t buy that you should give birth relatively close in years so your children will “get along” and have one another to grow up with and play. Too often, I hear friends who are parents go with the flow and forget that having #2 #3 #4 is just as much and as big of a choice as deciding to become a parent. But my decision to become a parent of one doesn’t mean I want to be a parent of 5. Let me figure it out. I’ll know when I know. And, contrary to what a lot of people think, women don’t have as much control over their fertility as you’d like to think.

8. I understand.
Response: No you don’t. Just like how I don’t understand pre-school teachers. I will never get how people can do certain things day in and day out. Why pretend you know what it’s like to have and choose this responsibility of parenting? You didn’t choose it, so why say you do? The best is to say, “That sounds like a lot. I’m sure you’ll get through it just fine!”

9. I’m important, too.
Who says you’re not? Most of my childfree friends CHOOSE to be childfree, but also feel this sudden urge to petition all their childfree peeps and claim a day of importance. The nuclear family unit is dissolving. Today “families of origin/families related by blood” are different than “families of choice” and this distinction is important. No matter where we are, we need family. We need a group of people to support us and hold us when times are shitty. Family/community is one of the few places to be affirmed of our value and worth. If you find yourself saying this a lot, it has little to do with my choice to be a mom. It’s more to do with your need to find a group of people who love you.

10. Why don’t you have time for me anymore?
Response: Dude. I ask myself that very same question every. single. day. Get in line. It’s not all about you. Or me. Or the kid. It’s about transition, changing priorities, proximity, new demands, and juggling self, health, relationships, and friendships. Adjust your expectations of me. That’s what I had to do.

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Isaiah’s First Steps!

Posted by Lisa in Uncategorized on February 7, 2011

My little Prince had another milestone this weekend! Isaiah’s first steps were taken alone!

Evolution from Lisa Factora-Borchers on Vimeo.

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The Shhhh World of Doubtful Mamas

Posted by Lisa in Uncategorized on January 6, 2011

What is the ideal family?

I took a short walk with a neighbor – a mother of two girls – and we started talking about the “reality” of motherhood.  Not too far into the walk, I felt like we were using each other as priests: confessing our shortcomings as mothers, the moments that we feel like we are failing our children, disappointing our partners, half-assing our work, shaming ourselves in grocery stores by our appearances, and all the while carry the motherload (no pun intended) of all emotional baggage: GUILT.

As informal as the conversation was, I felt monumentally renewed.  We walked briefly but stood outside her house longer, not ever completely finished with our sentences before the other person started a new topic of complexity: letting your kids be exposed to germs and bacteria to build up their immune system, feeding them ready made toddler food instead of homecooked table food, not child proofing every last inch of your house, and, finally, talking to other mothers about your shadows and imperfections.  “It’s isolating,” she repeated more than once, “this whole mom-n-kid thing, it’s isolating.  And I don’t care what anyone says – I love my kids.  I’d walk through fire for them, they’re my life, but a lot of this just sucks.  There.  I said it.”

She said it alright: (a lot of times) IT SUCKS.

I’ve got all kinds of data to support any decision I make regarding work vs. staying at home.  I’ve got attachment parenting on one hand which allows me to heave one big sigh of relief when I feel all I want to do is comfort and be close to my child.  On the other hand, I’ve got the modern whistleblowers to the domestic dream when all I want to do is feel a sense of personal and professional fulfillment which diapers and lullaby songs cannot offer.

The problem with being an independent thinker and cowboy/girl of rebellion is that you often find yourself alone; on the other side of the tracks, walking the opposite direction of mainstream.  Some think it’s a lovely walk.  Some think confident women make confident mothers.  Let me just clarify those misconceptions: NO.  It’s not true.  It’s confusing and upsetting.  I think people assume that once you give birth, you have the knowledge of veteran mothers.  Not true.  My identity as a mother is still forming and, perhaps even moreso now, I’m uncertain which paths are best for me and even more uncertain about which paths are best for my family.

In my previous life, before I knew the glory of sleeping in a rocker with my arms protectively and instinctively flexed around a child, confidence was my best friend.  And now, there’s a perpetual haze of doubt surrounding both my cerebral cortex and ventricular arteries.  I cannot walk down a grocery aisle without stopping to rethink what I just picked out for Isaiah.  I can’t envision what my professional dreams are without wondering if my dream resides in a good school district.

In this early new year, in a year of unprecedented uncertainty, I have found that the best way to move forward is to abandon, as best as I can, expectation.  Comparisons.  Measurements.  Milestones and charts.  Supposed to-s and Shoulds.  All of these are poisonous to the healthy mind of motherhood.  It’s critical to spend more time narrowing down one’s true desires and formulating a plan to accomplish it than to read one more God awful opinion on what worked for Nancy Jane, Wonder Mom in Jeans, who taught Billy to swim at 18 months and Johnny 23 words in sign language by the time he was 8 months.

Nope.  I’m spent on opinion.  And while I can never entirely wipe my memory of all that I’ve ingested, a daily reminder that just a few houses down, there is another mother allowing her kid to eat an unearthed cheerio or forgetting for the umpteenth time to dry the wet laundry, gives me a small space of company.  Of much needed company.

And the isolation is that much less.

That’s my plan: Run.  Run as far away from other people’s experiences as I can.  Run.

Then find someone real and talk about what I think.  What I’m finding.  And then formulate my own rules.

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Before and After: How Motherhood Changes Concepts of Time and Communication

Posted by Lisa in Uncategorized on June 16, 2010

Much of motherhood is very much about intuition.  Intuition is about as subtle as a fading tan in September.  You look at your child and simply KNOW what their current expression is all about.  Same goes for their squirming and head turns and mini yelps when you leave the room.

Intuition is reading between the lines; understanding the unsaid and what most cannot see.

Prior to Isaiah’s birth, I lived my life very much in the intuitive world.  I “felt” more than planned.  If a free Saturday rolled around, I would mentally make a list of my “Hope To Do” list.  While others simply make a To Do list, my list was always open to variation.  For example, I would plan on 1. grocery store shopping  2.  laundry   3.  calling a family member

But, if life just happened to throw me a curve ball and, I unexpectedly find a gorgeous 60 degree day sunning into my room in February or a friend calls, squealing details of her latest beau into the receiver, I adjust my Hope To Do List to accommodate other activities.  I adapt.

Which is why it’s very difficult for me to stick to a plan.  What if something better comes along that needs attention?  What if my feelings change about what needs to get done?

None of this was a problem until I met Nick.

Nick L-O-V-E-S to know what I am planning on doing with my day,  “so I can make sure you accomplish the things you need done,” he figures.  Nick’s a planner.  He’s one of those people who was, like, BORN with a small clock radio in their heads.  Even without a watch, he knows whether he’s on time or running late.

Now that Isaiah is here, my intuition and “feeling my way” through a day is limited.  Nick and I need to be in sync.  Not just for Isaiah, but for our own personal sanity.  Who takes care of Isaiah and for how long determines who gets to go for a long run in the morning or who gets to lounge and read in the backyard.  Planning for Isaiah’s welfare isn’t just about Isaiah’s welfare.  How symbiotic our relationship is translates into a lifeline for our own individual equilibrium.

More and more, I am beginning to understand how absolutely critical it is to communicate clearly about what you want.  There are countless studies that report that new mothers postpartum are more susceptible to mental health struggles and illness because of stress and anxiety.  The culprit is multitasking under hard conditions.  New mothers feel all the domestic responsibilities fall on their shoulders.  New mothers put baby, spouse, community, and family before themselves.  Time, like a pie, is cut into pieces.  The largest pieces often go to caretaking and making sure OTHERS are ok.  New mothers rarely take time for themselves.

But, I noticed, much of those reports (sorry, I can’t find links directly to them) associate this overwhelming stress with women who are unable to delegate responsibilities, or, women who cannot simply ASK their partners to do more.  I can’t help but think that the traditional roles of women, motherhood, and caretaking impress upon us precisely when we are most vulnerable: sleep deprived, borderline neurotic with worry, and physically exhausted.

I don’t pretend that my life or marriage is perfect.  Far from it.  But Nick and I work tremendously hard at communicating with one another and keeping the other balanced and reasonably happy.  It can’t be a euphoric party every night, but I think we both realize that the happier we are as individuals, the better spouses we are and more loving parents we are to our son.  I encourage women I encounter to become, if nothing else, a better communicator with their families.  To effectively communicate what one needs isn’t about laziness or complaining – it’s about being a better parent and sharing the workload in a manner that demonstrates respect and self-dignity, love and compromise, and evenness.  This balance isn’t always struck, but the efforts to do so pays off in dividends.

Isaiah forces me to say what I need because if I fail to communicate effectively, I end up taking on more than what I can realistically do, and when I fail, slip into a dark corner of self-punishment.  Isaiah, and certainly Nick, can do without that.  I can do without that.

The intuitive parts of my day have quieted into a more determined planner.  This transformation was necessary, critical even, to my development as a parent.  I can’t “hope to do” anything, I must put Isaiah’s needs first and then assess how much time is left in the slithered pie crusts.  With those hours (minutes, really), I am able to breathe and hope that I get in a long hot shower or a ranting post like this.

Our children need to see us happy, attentive, and loving.  Working to make ourselves mentally and emotionally sound so we are 100% present to our children is the most radical act parents can do these days.

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