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Browsing Tag: new motherhood

I Yam What I Yam, After All

I was at Saorise’s MyGym class today feeling a little frazzled. We’re all getting over a hurricane-force cold, and now that I can move my head about without weeping from the pressure, I’m realizing that Easter is in a few days, and spiritual readiness aside, I’ve got cleaning to do. And shopping. And cooking. And…you get the idea. Especially if you’ve ever hosted a major holiday get-together for your family when you have teeny tiny children running about (or scooting, or nursing, or napping when you need to be shopping…), you know that even if you’re the most laid-back of individuals (secret, please?), there’s some work to be done.  Unless you’re this very nice woman I know–I’ll call her Nancy. She’s the mom of one of the boys in SK’s class, and I know her from the gym (my gym, not MyGym). Nancy was telling me today that she’s all ready for Easter, though there “are some last-minute things” that will need to be done…

Hypothermia as Bonding Time

It’s with a small amount of motivation and a big ol’ dose of sheer guilt that I drag myself and the mighty Quinn to her swim class every week.  It’s painful (for me, not Quinn, of course.  What kind of mother do you think I am?).  All the swimsuit-ing and flip-flopping and toweling just to splash around for 30 minutes in water with a temperature I’d imagine is comparable to the insides of the ice cubes in our home freezer.  In each class, we do the Hokey Pokey.  We pretend to drop the babies off the ledges into the water (what does Quinn think the whole time I’m doing that, by the way?  Whee!  I get to play in the bubbles! or Holy crap, what’s my mother trying to do to me?!).  We walk up and down the length of the pool a few times while our babies chew away at mildew-filled rubber duckies.  And then we turn ourselves around. Now, I realize that there are better swim lessons out there.  But the lassie’s only 10 months old, you know.  And really, the only…

Cranky McWhinesalot Strikes Again (Yep, I’m Talking about Me)

What a day.  I don’t get kids–even if they have half my DNA.  I used to joke that there’s not much of a difference between toddlers and the teenagers I used to teach:  they’re moody.  One minute they need you, and the next they’re telling you to go to hell (well, SK hasn’t learned to say that exactly, thank goodness, but we definitely get the drift now and then…).  They cry on a dime, and occasionally scream for absolutely no reason.  They slam doors.  And just when you think that you’re about to lose your sanity–that tense moment where you honestly wonder who came in and swapped your child out for her evil twin–all of a sudden the tension melts.  Evil twin leaves, and your little doll is back.  She gives you a big kiss on the cheek and a hug around the knee, and the next thing you know you’re dancing around the living room together, giggling over a funny move.  So, what is it?  Growing pains?  A struggle to assert their individuality?  Or just lack of sleep…