Baby-Raising Products You Absolutely Don't Need

Why are they making raising a baby so hard?! Mothers have been raising babies since Genesis with not much more than a breast and a cloth to wrap around the babies' butts. Zoom up to my baby-raising years and I did have the luxury of a stroller, a carseat, and a handful of bottles. It's really not as hard as people make it seem.
Wait - let me take that back - it is hard. It's a lot of work to raise a baby (right.) A lot of sleepless nights, frustrated tears, juggling everything. But somehow, day after day, you find your own crazy routine and systems and you make it into the toddler years. Ta-da! And then you start over in a new crazy routine and system. And they are "hard" because there's a lot of pressure (from everywhere) to get this baby-raising thing right because we're talking about a person here. Its not like making the perfect soufflé. Its a BABY!
So yes, those are 2-3 hectic, stressful years. But adding more products doesn't really reduce all the craziness because then there will be all these gadgets to monitor. And isn't it one of the most frustrating things when a machine that is supposed to make things easier doesn't do what its supposed to do and makes your life even harder (urgh!!!!)
What's got me thinking of baby stuff now, when my youngest is on the brink of middle school? I saw this article "12 Parenting Products That Seem to Good to Be True." I read it out of curiosity - what's out there now that could've made raising my four babies so much easier? Let me be jealous. As it turned out, there is NOthing on this parenting products list that I would get. Not one. Why not?

• Cost - $410 for a Keurig to make a bottle of formula? Please! Here's my baby tip - I never gave my baby's warm formula, always room temperature. Why? Because then I could make formula anytime, anywhere, quickly, without worrying about whether it was the perfect hot-ness.
• Ridiculousness - baby sleep monitor built into the one-sie? I can't sleep with an electric blanket, but they suggest you put your infant into an electronic bodysuit to monitor her sleep? Only $199 by the way. Baby tip - walk into the baby's room and check on them. If you are that nervous, get one of those regular old sit-on-the-dresser monitors. You don't have to have baby wired up.
• More-trouble-than-its-worth - full sleeve bib? Trust me, its easier to strip your child shirtless before a spaghetti dinner than try to get her out of a tomato sauce splashed full sleeve bib without getting sauce all over the place.

It's all too much. Yes, juggling baby and a bottle and a diaper and perhaps even another child - it can be hard. But, all these fancy, expensive gadgets aren't going to make it that much easier. You don't need a machine to give you baby's continuous temperature. Touch him. You don't need a remote controlled baby swing, that you turn off and on with your phone. Hold her. You don't need an alarm clock so that you can talk to your child from your room. Be with her. Baby's need love and attention. Give it.

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Superbowl vs. Baby

You're going to the Superbowl! Your baby is due! What do you do?

What do they say about making plans and life, or God, just laughing at you? Apparently Richard Sherman, cornerback (don't ask me what that means; he has long dreads, runs fast, is a pretty recognizable guy on the team) for the Seattle Seahawks, may have to choose between playing in the Superbowl or being bedside if his girlfriend goes into labor on the day of the big game. (More on ESPN.)

So if you read this blog regularly, you may be confused because 1- I rarely write about professional sports, 2 - well, go back to 1.  But this is only tangentially about sports, and I actually do watch a lot of football, thanks to my husband, but really watch all the pre-game and pre-pre-game shows about the players.  Now, back to the Superbowl and the baby.

Some will say, unquestioningly, he needs to suit up, get on the field, come baby or not. Others, will say he without a doubt needs to be at the hospital. Like a lot of things, including football - it all comes down to timing?  Friday or Saturday, baby comes - no problem, he may miss some practice or media time or something. But Sunday? At what time does he and baby mama-to-be say "get to the stadium?"  And what if she goes into labor during pre-game warmups or half-time? Ahh! The decisions.

So here's what I say (in case he's out there wanting some advice from a mom-of-4 blogger): go to the game!  It's the Superbowl!  He may never ever play in the Superbowl again, you just never know. But God willing, his baby and girlfriend will be there waiting for him when the game is over and for many years to come.  I mean - have you ever been to the Superbowl? I have and it is the greatest funnest party of the year. I would maybe miss my own baby's birth to go.  For generations and generations, the dad was not bedside, he paced outside somewhere or at home or in the other cave or wherever, and women did all right birthing babies.  And have you seen the Superbowl ring? If he wins, wouldn't that be a special thanks-for-having-my-baby present?

Either way - God bless him & his growing family!

What do you think? Superbowl or Baby?


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Dear Pregnant Friend... Keep it to Yourself

Scan the internet and blogs and you will find countless lists of what not to say to pregnant women.  I probably have heard almost all of those comments during the course of four pregnancies: are you sure you’re not carrying twins (I wasn’t); are you sure that’s your correct due date (from people who think my doctor can’t count trimesters); wow, your [random body part] sure has gotten big; how are you going to manage x+1 kids?  And the variety of pregnancy and labor horror stories that folks like to share (and this is not a passion reserved only by women, baby daddy’s like to get in on this one, too.)  So here’s a deal – I won’t say all those things to you, if you stop sharing all your pregnancy details.

Here are five things I want you to keep to yourself.

Still Figuring out Motherhood

The morning after my first daughter was born, the nurse came in my room and checked the chart indicating her diaper changes.
"You haven't needed to change her diaper yet?" The nurse asked.
"What do you mean? Doesn't a nurse change it?" I asked back.
"No. She's your baby, you change the diaper. Then mark it here on this chart."

At that moment, I realized that having a baby was a real thing. That I really was someone's mother, responsible for her little life.  I was now responsible for making sure she ate enough and slept enough, had pajamas and clean clothes for school.  I needed to read to her every night to make sure she became literate and count all her little piggies so she'd be - what? Number-literate?  I would have to increase my vocabulary so I could tell her all that she needed to know.  I had to make sure she learned to walk and brush her teeth. I would have to teach her to look before she crossed the street and stop-drop-and-roll if she was ever in a fire.  It was my duty to teach her how to scramble eggs, make a perfect pot of rice, and grill round pancakes.  We would have to figure out how to braid or blow-dry or flat-iron and how to choose the right color lipstick.  There would be driving lessons and college applications.  But first, I had to figure out which was the front of this diaper.

At that moment, I realized that I had no clue what I was doing and became nervous that I would never really figure it out and do this thing right.  I prayed to God, don't ever leave me, don't let me raise this girl without your constant watch.

And now, fifteen years and four children later. I still feel the same way. And I pray the same thing.  And still  hope that they all turn out alright.

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Just Breastfeed Your Baby!

Once upon a time, a long time ago it seems, I breastfed my children, all four of them.  At home, in restaurants, walking thru Target, at friends' homes, on the beach.  And not once - not at all, ever - did someone say, "hey, lady, you can't do that here."

I'm amazed and surprised whenever a news story pops up about a mom who has been prohibited from breastfeeding her baby somewhere.  And generally, there is no insinuation that the woman was sitting in the middle of the floor, topless, so I'm assuming these moms, if they were in the act of feeding their child, were doing so somewhat discreetly, as much as one can.  Then why someone would come over and say "hey, lady, stop doing something that we can hardly even tell you are doing," I don't really understand.

And I know - yes, there are those moms who sit there almost topless, fully, or at least half-exposed, while they are feeding their baby. So, yeah, I get that no-one wants to see engorged breasts in public, unless and except when it's on the big or little screen for entertainment purposes only.  So, go back to where I said "discreetly."

The other situation is those moms who ask if it's okay to breastfeed their kid.  Why are they asking if it's okay?  I've never once taken out my kid's bottle and asked if it's okay for them to drink their juice, or asked permission before handing them a graham cracker.  So here's the lesson for you moms:
stop asking for permission!

If your baby is crying and hungry, get yourself comfy and feed your kid.

Even the Pope this week said so. Don't let the baby scream until there's a convenient and appropriate time. Feed the kid!

This week, a mom was denied access to a fitting room in Victoria's Secret to breastfeed her kid. On the one hand, I understand VS's point that it's not a feeding room, it's a fitting room for customer's to try on bras and panties that they will buy.  Having a lady sitting in there feeding her kid (whether breastmilk or a bottle) is basically using up income-producing real estate. Understood.  (I don't think that's the way the store clerk put it, but let's pretend she was nice about her refusal.)  But mom - why did you ask?  Just go in, close the curtain, and feed your kid. Take a bra in there with you if you feel like you need an excuse.  These are great, calm, cozy places to breastfeed a kid in the middle of the hectic mall.  Not advocating for turning fitting rooms into feeding rooms, but I'm just sayin'.

And the protests and the feed-ins? Okay, if that's what you want to do.  Me, I never had the energy to wrap up my baby, go somewhere I wasn't wanted, and then wait for her or him to be hungry so I can sit there and feed them to make a point.  But hey, I do stuff that other folks would consider requiring too much energy, too, so to each her own protest.

I guess the stories of moms being accosted for breastfeeding make other moms feel nervous and anxious, and so they ask.  But consider the statistics.  This week, I saw 1 story.  Maybe you saw another.  Altogether, maybe there's a handful of stories this week about moms being told don't breastfeed.  Among the millions of moms who were walking around with happily fed babies.  See? Your chances are low, it's like winning the lotto, that someone is going to bother you.  So stop asking permission, don't be anxious, and feed your kid.

Happy feeding!

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5 Reasons You & I Are No Longer #Friends

Facebook is a funny cyber-world. We all go through some kind of thought process in “friend-ing” folks. Though every person’s criteria for clicking “accept” is different, there is some bar to be met.  On the other end, there’s the process of de-friending – the touchy, sensitive clicking someone off of your friend list, barring them from your timeline, never to know what you had for lunch again.  How many times have you seen someone post a message about being defriended?  Aren’t they so sad in their mystery and wondering why this happened to them?  I admit, I have defriended some folks. And perhaps, I have been defriended, too – but due to my tech-savviness, I don’t even know if I have been or not.

So for those who notice that you no longer see my smiling face or my status about my craziness, here are 5 reasons you may have been defriended.

You posted too many Scandal spoilers.  I wasn’t watching Scandal in season 1, so all the  posts were a mild annoyance filling up my timeline (and my Twitter feed). But by season 2, I was catching up and watching on demand. The posts weren’t so bad because I was so far behind, I didn’t know what folks were talking about yet, anyway. But now, that I am in the present season, but a few episodes behind – it’s killing me! Even if they aren’t intentional plot spoilers, I don’t want to know nothing.  All the posts of who is playing Olivia’s momma – come on, folks – I didn’t want to know her mom was going to even show up!  So, if you’re defriended, check your Scandal posts.

You posted the sex of your baby prior to its birth. Yeah, I’m one of those rare people who don’t want to know whether the baby is a boy or girl until it breathes oxygen in its lungs. I didn’t find out with any of my four and I don’t want to know any of my friends.  Yes, I did warn my god-daughter’s mother that she was free to post her sonogram if she wanted to, but if anyone commented on the gender, I was going to click the defriend button. Pregnant friends, you have been warned.

You complain too much. Oh, woe is me, nobody likes me, my life is awful, I’m so sad, but I’m not going to tell you why I’m singing the blues. Okay, then I can’t help you and you’re dragging me down. Click.  But you won’t notice anyway because you’ll be too busy waiting for comments that say “keep your head up,” “you gonna make it thru,” “I’m here for you.”  I can’t be there for you if I don’t know where you're at.

You posted too many long, sappy stories about God and faith that didn’t make any sense.  Now, I’m a Christian and I’m all for faithful encouragement, some of y’all’s Bible verses hit the mark for me on some days and I’m grateful for that unexpected little reminder and boost.  But some folks and their “true stories” of God’s will - you know the ones – they don’t build me up nor give me strength. They annoy me because they’re bad stories and I don’t believe them.  And they take up too much space on my little phone screen.

You have a perfect family.  Right now, there are towels on the bathroom floor, candy wrappers on the couch, a wet bathing suit in a swim bag, no milk in the fridge, and an unidentified pair of socks in my living room.  My kids didn’t eat their breakfast, didn’t like their lunch, and will demand pizza for dinner.  Within five minutes of being home from school, they will have argued with each other sibling, spilled a cup of apple juice, and asked me 100 questions.  Most of my week is spent as a pseudo-single mom because my husband’s job takes him to Texas or Paris or on long lunches in Virginia.  Your neat home, perfectly behaved children, happy date nights, and balanced meals affect my self-esteem.  My therapists said to defriend you.

You posted too many pictures of your pet cat. I don’t like cats. That’s all.  (I know, that makes 6, but I wanted you to know.)

If I have defriended you and you did not commit one of these atrocities, it could just be that I could not remember who you were and I needed to cull my friend list.  Nothing personal.  

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