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Browsing Tag: parenthood

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…

Something to Love

Someone new has taken up permanent–however temporary, really–residence in our home. He follows us from room to room. He sits silently in a chair at the dinner table while we eat. He is fawned over, caressed, talked about incessantly, tucked into bed at night. And quite honestly, I’m starting to get a little irritated with him. Reader, meet Blanket: Nope, it’s not Michael Jackson’s son. I know, I’m disappointed, too, because that would make for such a better story. Our Blanket (capitalized as a proper noun to give him his due) is the softest, sweetest rectangle of synthetic pastel fabric I’ve ever touched. Our kind retired neighbors (they travel in a group, and we call them the “ladies.” Not of the night, no. That’s gross. Just “ladies.”) gave it to Saoirse when she was born, and after it spent the better part of two years in a drawer, I resurrected it when Quinn was born because it’s just the best. blanket. ever (or have I mentioned that already?). Saoirse never paid any mind to it, though: I tucked…

10 Reasons Why Raising Small Kids is Good for Your Ego

Most of my mom friends are, like me, just starting their families.  Our oldest children are around 2 1/2 or 3 years old, so we’re still in the shock of how quickly we change–physically and otherwise–in these early years of baby-making.  For instance, even if you lose the baby weight and knock yourself back into shape, you won’t recognize the body pregnancy and delivery left behind.  You realize one day that your butt’s not where it used to be.  All of the clothes you were so anxious to get back into don’t fit quite the same anymore.  If you had a c-section, you might have that lovely little “shelf” that sometimes parks itself permanently above your scar.  And if you’re breastfeeding, you can pretty much forget about wearing any kind of cute little top or dress until your baby is weaned (and if you totally disagree with this last statement, please tell me where you shop…).  Nursing bras and spaghetti straps aren’t exactly an attractive combo.  Alas, even if I could wear something out of this month&#8217…