Sunday, May 19, 2013

All boy and no cuddles make me a dull mama


I have a bone to pick with some of the people who gave me parental advice when I was expecting.
My husband and I wanted to be surprised as to our baby’s gender. I viewed it as one of the few remaining miracles of life, and wanted the nervous delight in speculating whether we would have a boy or a girl.
I had a sneaking suspicion that it was a boy — just a feeling I had.
“It’s fine,” they said. “Boys are easier anyway.”
False, I say.
My bouncing bundle of joy is every ounce of rough and tumble boy. He screams as he runs down the hallway; he tackles people, furniture and pets with gusto; he prefers the outdoors, dirt, sticks, snips, snails and puppy dog tails.
And, keeping with the macho male tradition, he does not have much use for cuddles with his mother.
I try to be a good sport and let him climb all over me. I try to play the shouting game with him and settle for tickle fight squeals over real hugs. But it’s just not the same as when you get a true bear hug from your toddler.
He is much more interested in helping his dad load tree branches into the wagon or dragging a shovel over to help plant my new rosebushes.
There is one true need my son has for me, however. It’s called the boo-boo.
Every rough tumble, scraped shin or pinched finger is my cue. My baby’s eyes fill with tears and the arms open wide and my place in his world is reaffirmed again. I give him a huge hug and whisper comforting things in his ear. I tell him everything will be all right and rock him back calm.
I dry his tears and wipe his nose and give him kisses on the cheek. And when I think he is ready, I gently lower him back down to stand on his own again. He looks at me, smiles broadly and gives a nice, big sigh.
And then he pivots and runs off to find his dad again.
— Sarah Leach is content editor at The Holland Sentinel. Contact her at (616) 546-4278 or sarah.leach@hollandsentinel.com.

Sunday, May 12, 2013

Motherhood an exhausting, awesome time

I look forward to Mother’s Day more than any other holiday. It ranks higher than Christmas, Thanksgiving and my birthday combined.

I think it’s because I have glorified my own mother for so long and that my lifelong dream of becoming a mother finally has been fulfilled. It was to the point where I found it hard to sleep on Mother’s Day Eve.

When I woke up, it was to my 16-month-old babbling in his room. I got up and got his morning milk ready. Then came diapers and feeding and crying and soothing — just like any other day. I emptied the dishwasher and did a few loads of laundry — just like any other weekend.

And you know what? I didn’t mind.

Maybe a day off would be fun, but I don’t think it ever would feel right. I keep this family unit humming along and, even though this day is about celebrating motherhood, it doesn’t mean I want to depart from it.

Sure I’m frazzled and tired — just as much as the next mother. I wish there was more time in the day. I wish I could spend more time with my kid. I wish clothes washed themselves and that the dog could feed himself and that the cats knew how to use a toilet — that would be miraculous.

But the truth is I have my role in this house and it is important, vital even, to our family. And I like it that way. I like being needed. I like knowing, at the end of an exhausting day, that I did something important to benefit my family — to further our prosperity.

It allows me further insight into my own mother’s life and my grandmother before her. There was a strength in these women that was palpable, but I saw them give of themselves more than they should. For a long time, I thought this wasn’t right — that others should help them, that society should be more accommodating, that recognition of their efforts should be more pronounced beyond a single day.

But now I know that they gave so much of themselves because they wanted to — no, because they needed to. The fulfillment I experience from giving completely of myself is indescribable.

Yes, it’s hard, and some days I am not so magnanimous about my life’s duties. But today, on this wonderful, glorious day, I celebrate my mother and grandmothers as well as the immeasurable joy of being a mother myself.

Yes, it’s so worth it.

— Sarah Leach is content editor at The Holland Sentinel. Contact her at (616) 546-4278 or sarah.leach@hollandsentinel.com.

Sunday, May 5, 2013

A mother tries to protect all her babies

I long have been known as an “animal person.” Well, maybe that’s how I see it. Perhaps others would label me as a “crazy cat lady” or a “zoo keeper.”

I hit a difficult point late last summer when I lost a dog and a cat in just six short weeks. Since then, however, things have stabilized and we have a much more manageable number of one dog and two cats.

I think pets are great for children. It gives them exposure to living creatures and helps them understand and respect all forms of life.

It was cute when my son was an infant just learning to crawl. He would slink over to our German shepherd and just lay on him. It was so cute, I thought I would melt into a puddle of mush.

But lately my harmless infant-turned tiny toddler terror is seriously testing my dog’s patience. Despite my best efforts to get him to use “soft hands” and “be nice,” there still are full run impacts, aggressive bear hugs and full-weight belly flops onto my saint-like puppy.

My living room has gone from a sanctuary for my pets into a WWE cage ring.

I never realized — being a first time parent — that the tenacity of a toddler should never be underestimated. The child can be playing for 45 minutes quietly in the living room as the dog sleep peacefully nearby. I will get up for three minutes to get him a sippy cup of milk and will return to discover him using my unsuspecting puppy as a stepstool to get onto the couch.

Of course, the dog isn’t a total martyr. There’s incentive for him to tolerate the terrible toddlerhood years: food. My son, with his not-yet-fine-tuned motor skills is pretty clumsy when it comes to shoveling things into his mouth — and the dog knows it. He quietly sits near my son’s highchair, eagerly awaiting everything from chicken nuggets to goldfish crackers to spaghetti to fall from the sky.

It’s a literal smorgasbord for the dog, as long as he is patient. And patient he is. Every time I have to gently discipline the baby for being too rough, I have a sharp pang of guilt for the veritable torture I’m putting my dog through.

Maybe it’s because I know he will have to go through this all over again in the next couple of years.

— Sarah Leach is content editor of The Sentinel. Contact her at (616) 546-4278 or sarah.leach@hollandsentinel.com.