Single motherhood is here to stay — at least a little longer

Bad news this week. My husband's company, upon finishing its job in Minnesota, will next trek to Oklahoma to finish a job that is partially done.

It means he won't be home at least until the end of September, which usually means even a week or two more, which pushes us into October. I will be lucky if he makes it home for our Oct. 1 anniversary.

Funny, I don't feel lucky. I feel blessed that I have a wonderful baby whom I adore and that we both have jobs and a great home. But I don't feel lucky. By the time Zack gets home, he will have missed more than half of Baby Ben's life.

That makes me sad. Terribly sad.

Development explosion is exhilarating

“How did he get so big?” my husband asked regarding our 6-month-old.

“I don’t know,” I answered. “I wish he would slow down a little.”

This past weekend only was the second time my husband has seen the baby in two months. Well, that’s not exactly true, but Skype doesn’t quite pass for the real thing.

The Golden Age of babyhood has passed. My once angelic cherub, who quietly watched the activity in the room and only cried when hungry and tired, has changed. Gone are the days I could run into the kitchen to grab something or turn my back for a few moments at the changing table.

In fact, my baby isn’t much of a baby anymore. He’s becoming a little boy.

In the past month alone, he has learned to roll over both ways, sit up, get onto all fours and stand when grasping a steady base. He’s eating all kinds of veggies and fruits, is babbling up a storm and reaches for anything within a 2-foot radius.

I couldn’t be more proud — or exhausted.

As baby’s needs become more complicated, I won’t always know the answer, which is frightening. I’m a gal who likes to know how to fix things, and there certainly is an established control freak residing within me.

Babies have a way of fixing that.

“Oh, you have a schedule,” they think coyly. “That’s adorable. I have my OWN schedule in mind.”

But regardless of my incessant whining about how challenging my situation is with my husband out of town, I still feel a great sense of fulfillment that I can rise to the occasion. All the things get done. All the baby’s needs are met. All the appointments kept. All the planning organized.

Which is good, because this kid is on a roll, and he’s not slowing down for anything.

And teething is right around the corner. Ugh.

Daycare dilemma rears its ugly head again

Daycare.

We love it for convenience. We hate it because it means others are caring for our children. And until society creates a suitable alternative, we’re stuck with it.

To the outsider, the concept is simple: Call up a daycare, take a look around, drop your baby off Monday morning and go about your business.

The depths to which parents have to plan this process, however, rival those of a NASA lunar landing. There’s the research into licensing, the operating hours, the tours, the waiting lists, the geographical considerations, even the choice between secular and faith-based.

The details are dizzying, and making the right choice is crucial for your baby’s well being and your peace of mind.

I have been in the process of enrolling my son in a new daycare in Grand Haven, because the current facility has had serious staffing issues. I won’t rehash the whole rigmarole, but the end result was to keep him in the current daycare for one more week, then a private sitter will watch him while I work for one month, then he will begin attending his new daycare.

Of course, this WAS the plan until I received a call Sunday evening informing me that my current daycare facility was shutting its doors immediately.

Nothing inspires a panic attack like not knowing what to do with your baby when you’re scheduled to work all week.

I was able to call in every favor of every family member and friend to get through this next week, but it got me to thinking: How do other parents handle the juggernaut of daycare? And, once the children are in daycare, how do parents know the kids are receiving quality care?

I expected the sleepless nights, the erratic schedule of eating and sleeping, the spontaneity of joyful and awful moments, the daily plan changes, even the unexpected purchases.

But I never knew daycare would be such a source of anxiety, and that such drama surrounded such facilities. Behind those sweet smiles are real people who are just like you and me — they don’t like their boss or they wish things were run differently.

Blindly trusting in the institution was naïve on my part. But now I’m more the wiser.

How did food turn into such a fight?

“What’s new with the baby today?” my husband asked on Skype.

“Oh, you know,” I replied. “Everything.”

Between the sitting up, reaching and grasping, rolling over and constant babbling, I’ve had my hands full.

But then there’s the food.

The doctor and the books described this process of transitioning a baby to solids in an almost clinical way: Step 1. Mix a little rice cereal with milk or formula. Step 2. Give a few bites a day, then move on to pureed vegetables and fruits. Add a little dash of patience and voila — instant solid food eater.

Someone did not send the memo to my baby that he was to follow said plan, because the first bite of cereal-milk I put into his mouth invoked a look of pure horror. His brow furrowed, he tongue stuck out, his eyes pleaded with me, “Why did you do this to me?”

I started trying to trick him into laughing as I would sing silly songs and make silly faces, just to get him to open his mouth. Then I would feel like a jerk as his face puckered up at the indignity of having to swallow liquefied peas.

As I sampled the fare myself, I couldn’t really blame the kid. Peas just don’t taste the same when they’re not in their solid state, preferably salted, peppered and slathered in butter. Mmmm, butter. Anyway, the point is that texture certainly plays a role in our food preferences. And, for all my good intentions of buying the premium, organic, nothing-but-the-best-for-my-baby food, it tastes awful.

Then there’s the other part the doctor and book didn’t prepare me for — what happens later. I mean, how am I supposed to know that two bites of sweet potatoes are going to result in washing half my baby’s wardrobe a few hours later? I swear more was on his face than in his mouth, but the effects on the “back end” of the eating process were phenomenal.

The lesson gleaned from this adventure: Promise the kid he can get buttered peas when he gets teeth and invest in a good hazmat suit for laundry day.

Six months has brought a lot of lessons

As the nation celebrates its birthday today, I also am noting a milestone: My son’s half birthday.

That’s right. My baby is six months old and the time has just flown by — partially attributed to sleep-deprived delirium.

Here are some lessons I have learned along the way:

• It’s OK to take your baby to public places: My instincts still fight this concept. I am loath to disrupt a pleasant experience for others by being “the lady with the crying baby.” Most people understand you’re not going to be able to control an infant’s sudden outbursts.

• Avoid travel when possible: Give yourself hours of padding if you are going on long car trips. Just a trip to visit family in Detroit took about five hours. Think about it: The baby only can sleep for so long but needs to eat, be changed and be played with frequently. Think about it — the license plate game originated for a reason. Car trips are boring.

Air travel is no better. With security measures as tight as they are, you are not airport-friendly. Between suntan lotion, ointment, wipes, milk and freezer packs, you have enough liquid to fill an Olympic-size swimming pool. It’s not fun being in the “special inspections” line.

• You are allowed to be a tiger mother: At first, I was apologizing to in-laws, sitters, daycare providers — even my husband — when I wanted things a certain way. I didn’t want people thinking I was a control freak. After about two months of that, you realize you don’t have the time or emotional energy for that. It’s your child, and you have the right to set the standard of care you want. Period.

• Allow yourself to ask for help: I don’t know if it’s the fact that I don’t want to bother anyone or a point of personal pride, but I have a difficult time asking for help.  After all, generations of women have been doing this unassisted. But, if you think about it logically, the world is a different place than it was even 30 years ago. With a full-time job, part-time schooling and having a husband out of state, no one in their right mind should think I could do this all on my own.

• Steal moments: It’s inevitable. Your magnetic pole has shifted so that your baby now is the center of your universe. But try not to take life too seriously: laugh with him, allow yourself to be silly, take a lot of pictures. And don’t forget to take a little time to focus on yourself and your partner. You will thank yourself later.

Debbie wasn’t a downer for this family vacation

“It’s supposed to rain in Florida for the next couple of days,” my husband said.

He was home for the weekend and we were preparing to fly to Tampa to attend his best friend’s wedding.

Saying it was going to rain was like saying there’s a couple of tulips in Holland. The day after we arrived, Tropical Storm Debby bore down on the entire state, whipping rain, wind and debris everywhere.

Having never had a brush with a natural disaster, I was ill prepared for the situation. I mean, come on, how often do you wake up and The Weather Channel is doing a live broadcast from the beach in front of your hotel?

However, I was not nearly as concerned as I would have thought: After the fifth tornado warning is issued for your area, you begin to brush it off.

By day three, we were getting pretty squirrelly holed up in the hotel, so we decided to venture out with another couple. We opted for The Florida Aquarium in downtown Tampa — a water activity seemed fitting.

Through the deluge we drove in a vehicle that, I swear, was so big, could have doubled as a pontoon boat. We watched in awe as we saw the giant wave swells crashing against the concrete barriers along the coast. We marveled at the winds scattering debris across the road. We chuckled at the people who, seemingly enthralled, were dancing around in the rain.

The critters at the aquarium didn’t disappoint, and the entire day became a wonderful adventure that distracted all of us from the fact that we never once saw the sun during our vacation.

But in the end, that didn’t matter. The happy couple ended up having an intimate ceremony, complete with twinkling lights in the background. The bride looked beautiful, the groom looked handsome. The guests cried tears of joy. The children laughed and played.

And all the while, Debby did her worst, and it didn’t stop us for a minute.

Fear of father’s rejection gives me pause

This Father’s Day was the most difficult for me.

My husband still is working in Minnesota and missing his first Father’s Day — although I’m sure he is hurting far more than I am for him.

But it also is on my mind, because I am thinking about my own father more than I have in years past.

You see, my father does not know he has a grandson, and I am sick over deciding whether or not to tell him.

It’s a sordid and complicated tale that involves 34 years of bad blood, but the Cliff’s notes version is my father never wanted a child and didn’t have much interest when life graced him with one. We reconnected in my early 20s for a bit, but alcoholism, depression and something I can only describe as borderline mental health issues put too much strain on an already fragile relationship.

My father has never met my husband, having declined to attend my wedding. And I thought I had put this painful chapter of my life behind me, which is no small feat. But then my beautiful son was born and the issue has been on my mind ever since. Maybe becoming a parent has made me want to mend fences with the one I have left.

Not that I hold out any romantic notions that the knowledge that he has a grandson will create some sort of paternal epiphany and bring all parties together for a tearful reunion — those hopes were dashed years ago through several cycles of a loving relationship that suddenly and unexpectedly would sour for weeks at a time.

But there is this urge within me to make him know that there is this wonderful creature in the world that he is linked to — no matter how tenuously.

My plan is to send some pictures. My hope is he will know that I am doing well and that I am healthy and happy in creating a family of my own. My fear is he will respond with something hurtful, even spiteful, as has been the case in the past.

Why can I not put this issue to rest? Why am I making myself vulnerable to be hurt again? Why isn’t my happiness with my beautiful family enough?

I might never know the answer to these questions, but I believe that God is pushing me to do the right thing, no matter how hard it is.

My father might reject us again, but once the sting again subsides, I will know in my heart I did all I could and held myself to a higher moral code — and that’s the kind of role model I want to be for my son.

Happy Father’s Day to my wonderful husband: I know you will show our children love and acceptance throughout their lives.

Fleeting moments get us through the grind

The day was perfect. The sun was shining, the water was a brilliant shade of blue and the company was near and dear.

As the boat engine revved, the baby’s eyes grew wide with fear and, perhaps, a little excitement?

I visited my family this weekend in Detroit — my first solo trip since the baby was born. My aunts and uncle co-own a boat and it becomes their second home during the summer months. When Holland has a hot, muggy day, I yearn to be back home, floating on the water, sipping an ice cold Coca-Cola.

I gladly introduced baby Ben to the wonderful world of boating, and between his suspicious looks of “Am I OK?” he had a wonderful time. I couldn’t help but melt when I saw him in his little swim trunks falling asleep as the din of the motor and lull of the boat rocked him gently to sleep.

Things haven’t exactly been easy since my husband went out west for work, and I needed this reconnection with family. They all want to hold and cuddle the baby — and even want to change diapers, if you can believe it.

Then the text messages started rolling in: I needed to resend a file for work, the German Shepherd learned how to jump over the kennel fence … and I felt the tug of my responsibilities calling.

I’m glad I could experience that one perfect day and close my eyes and feel the wind in my face. It felt exhilarating to not worry about house chores, work tasks, pets or the baby.

And as I make my way westward, I need to hold onto this wonderful feeling, fleeting as it might be.

Most of us don’t stop to truly live in the moment and appreciate these small but wonderful times. But that truly is what is keeping me going in my new reality of single parenthood for the rest of the summer.

So as I figure out work stuff and go to the hardware store to buy fencing and as I’m taking the baby back to daycare, I will close my eyes and see that beautiful blue water and feel that warm wind in my face.

It was a perfect day.

The hazy, baby days of summer

It’s been one week since my husband left to work out west.

As he puts in 13-hour shifts somewhere in the backcountry of Minnesota, I am putting in 16-hour days of baby time, school time and work time.

It’s an exhausting thought to know this will be the next three months of my life. And it makes me appreciate all those single mothers out there and the additional stresses they deal with day in and day out.

Keeping up with all the chores is hard enough with two of us, but having a 5-month-old makes it downright impossible. He is starting to take fewer and shorter naps, and he is not yet mobile, so he likes lots of eye contact and doesn’t appreciate when you walk away to take care of something briefly.

But I don’t have the time to sit around feeling sorry for myself. I have a little person who is completely dependant on me. And my biggest priority is to maintain a sense of normalcy for him.

Babies don’t know why moms get sad. They just want to eat, poop and play.

The hardest part is not having that extra set of hands. I have to meticulously plan how to vacuum, do laundry, wash dishes and take out the trash. And forget about yard work. We have family helping us with that, thankfully.

That’s great, because I was trying to figure out if I could get little, baby sound-blocking headphones to take him on the John Deere with me.

Surprising through all of this is that my spirits remain intact. My husband, however, is a wreck. He’s just sick over the fact that he is not here with us, and Skype can assuage him so much.

Maybe it’s because I spent most of the spring processing my feelings of anger and self-pity, while he basked in the warmth of denial. Now he realizes how difficult it is to be away from his wife and baby, and I am getting through each day with a happy face for my son.

After all, what choice do I have?

How critical is it to be there for baby’s ‘firsts?’

It was a recent weekday and my son was with a family member versus our normal daycare service.

I was sitting at work and had a few minutes to check my Facebook page. And I was surprised by what I saw.

It was pictures of my 4-month-old son standing in the sand at the beach. There were wide shots and closeups of his little toes and smiles abounded.

But instead of being charmed with his infinite cuteness, I was sad … and a little angry.

I had wanted to share that moment with him — to see the look on his face when he felt the strange warmth and softness of beach sand squishing between his toes. The comments under the photo alluded to the fact that he didn’t care for the prickly sensation of grass under his feet, which just deepened my angst.

I shared my feelings with the family member, saying I wanted to be there for as many first moments as I can.

But where do you draw the line?

My understanding of first moments encompasses developmental things — rolling over, crawling, first tooth, walking, first word — and experiences — swimming, different textures under the feet, petting zoo.

But I am firmly aware that these feelings are driven solely by my selfish need to be there for my own benefit. I know it won’t make much difference to him if I’m there or not.

So how long does a first-time parent keep this up? After the first birthday? After all the firsts I can think of have been exhausted? After someone hosts an intervention and says they are sick of my obsessiveness?

I’m sure the novelty has a natural way of fading away as the realities of life settle in for the next decade. And, let’s face it, there are some firsts I’m dreading — the first potty training accident, the first time he repeats a cuss word someone errantly said.

But, for now, everything he does is precious and I want to see as much of it as I can. I dare someone to stop me!