How to Like and Other Things I've Learned From My Toddler

I reworked my post on liking for Connected Mom. Here's the amended/reworked essay:

How to Like and Other Things I've Learned From My Toddler

The other morning, my husband and I woke up to our son listing off the things he likes: "I like guacamole [he says huacadole]. I like fire truck. I like Finn [our dog]. I like playgroup. I like Oma." And so on.

Later that same day, a friend of ours commented, "You know, when someone sits next to me on the subway or in a meeting, I can instantly think of something I don't like about that person before they even open their mouth. But it's rare for me to instantly think of something I like about someone I don't know. And it's rare for me to even tell my friends the things I like about them."

I agreed with what he said. I too am guilty of finding myself next to someone on the subway and finding something I don't like about them. While I often give compliments I don't know that I make a point to tell the people in life what I like about them. And I rarely ask the people in my life what they like.

I started to wonder, when it does switch from waking up as a two year old already thinking of the things you like to adulthood when you wake up thinking of the things you don't?

So chalk this up as another lesson I learned from my toddler. As a result, I too started listing the things I like about my life: my marriage, the gift of ease and communication I have with my husband, that my sister lives around the corner from me, that rhubarb is in season and that I know how to make strawberry-rhubarb pie, that every day my toddler son surprises me with the things he says, the things he’s learned to do for himself, or the experiences he remembers, that I’m pregnant with our second child, and oh, once I got started, I had a hard time stopping. Continuing to follow my son’s example, my husband and I started asking the people in our life what they like about their life.

And I started thinking of some of the other things I have learned from my toddler:

- He is growing and changing literally every day, and every day he becomes even more independent and self-sufficient – as long as I grant him the space to do so. It’s when I insist on doing something for him that he wants to do for himself that he gets frustrated and I see the seeds of a potential power struggle, so I back off. When I let him try to do more and more things for himself, and he does, the sense of accomplishment that I see lighten up his face makes me realize that doing too much for one’s child only disempowers them in the end. I realized – not for the first time – that most children are far more capable than we give them credit for.

I also realized though, that while I relate to my fast-growing son as someone who can do something new or who changes each day, I don’t grant the same gift to other people in my life. I assume everyone else stays the same; I forget or I don’t think about that they too are growing, learning, evolving, human beings. My parents, for instance, are getting older and they have different concerns than they did ten or fifteen years ago. Or I assume that some people in my life will always say and complain about the same things, but what if I approached them the way I do my son, like they may have something new to say?

- My son is an adventurous sort. He tries new foods (sushi! calamari!) and he tries to do things at the playground, even things that as a parent I might think still may be above him for a bit. He tries them anyway. And he keeps trying, over and over and over again. Sometimes he gets frustrated; sometimes he didn’t. But watching him, I realized I don’t keep trying over and over again. My son keeps trying just to try and because he thinks it’s fun, while I give up out of frustration because I’m attached to the outcome I see in my head. But what if I too just kept trying new things just because – and not to achieve a particular outcome?

-I can give my son space, compassion, and patience for a lot of his behavior –or what some other people would call misbehavior – because I know that as a toddler he is driven not by thought and reason, but by emotions and he is just doing what toddlers do at his particular age. For me to expect him to do or be something different or not age appropriate (ie to sit quietly in a fine dining restaurant while my husband and I enjoy a multi course meal) would just be, well, dumb. So I don’t and consequently, I don’t get as frustrated with him.

It occurred to me that other people in my life are very similar, in that they are just doing the thing that they do, that it’s just who they are, and like my son, their behavior actually has very little to do with me. My grandmother giving me unsolicited advice because she gives everyone unsolicited advice? It’s just the thing she does. My neighbor who sits on his stoop and daily tells me the weather and that my son will either be too hot/cold/wet in what I have him dressed in? He does the same thing to everyone and it’s just his thing. I don’t take my son’s behavior personally; why should I take anyone else’s quirks and habits personally? (Do I still struggle with this one? Absofrickinglutely. But when I start to get irritated with my grandmother or other loved ones, I am better able to talk myself off the ledge.)

I’ve learned several other things from my son in my short life as a parent, but what do I learn every day? Be open - to who he is, to what’s next, to what’s possible, to what he needs (vs what I think or when I think his nap should be), to the unexpected, to play, to laugh, to life.

Street Fashion Vanderbilt Ave

If I was a street fashion photographer a la The Sartorialist or Garance Dore, today's post would feature Fyo on his way to the park this morning.

Granted, if I was a street fashion photographer, when I took the dog to the park for morning off leash time and Fyo for morning playground time, I'd take the Nikon SLR instead of relying on the iPhone to take my pictures. (I'd probably actually also know how to use the Nikon SLR in all it's capabilities instead of relying on sheer dumb luck to get good pictures.)

Connected Mom Post

For this Saturday's Connected Mom post, I amended/revised my Liking blog post from this blog. Check it out here.

Finn's Latest Early Morning Antic

This dog. She looks sweet and innocent here. Really, she is rather sweet and mostly innocent. Or sweet with occasional mischievous tendencies.

Thanks to Finn, how did Husband wake up this morning? With a chicken carcass shoved in his face.

How did that happen? Like this.

Yesterday afternoon, we did our massive grocery shopping trip where we get a zip car and go to Costco and Fairway and stock up on a couple months worth of staples. The trip means a skipped nap for Fyo, though he generally hangs in there pretty well as long as we keep feeding him with the groceries that we put into the cart.Yesterday, he did especially well considering he was also fighting a sniffly nose and some congestion.

We came home, unloaded the car, and Husband went to return the car while I cleaned out the fridge to make enough space for all the food. I condensed the latest strawberry-rhubarb pie from pie plate to container. Last week's chicken carcass that sat on a plate waiting for Husband to turn it into stock, I tossed in the trash reasoning if he hadn't done anything with it yet, nothing with it was going to happen. An old lemon went into the compost. I stacked all the remaining containers, we had enough space for Fyo's green juice stash, my lemonade stash, the orange juice and all the rest. We had dinner, started Fyo's bath, put him to bed. He ended up going to bed later than usual despite not having a nap.

This morning Fyo woke up his always chipper self, no longer sniffly (though he was throughout the night), got out of bed and wandered around the bed. It took Husband and I a bit longer to wake up thanks to a solid out-of-the-ordinary two hour period that Fyo was awake in the middle of the night.  He started saying, "There's a chicken on the floor. Mommy, there's a chicken on the floor."  And again, "there's a chicken on the floor."

Sometimes, Fyo says things out of context like, "I like your party hat." when I am not wearing any kind of hat. It will take a moment for me to realize he is quoting one of his favorite books, Go Dog Go. So as Fyo declared that there was a chicken on the floor, I tried to think of what book we have that possibly involved chickens. I couldn't think of any. Or if he had a chicken toy I didn't know about? Do we suddenly own the Fisher-Price Little People Farm? No. Had he seen the film Chicken Run? No. He eats chicken; we had chicken less than a week ago. He knows about chickens - thanks to Bali where one of our favorite activities was chasing chickens on our motorbike (It's true - chickens running due to being chased is one of the most hysterical things on the planet. Does it fall under unethical treatment of animals? Maybe. But I'm not a PETA member.)  (Yes, I do believe in treating animals very well). I just kept brainstorming, maybe now he's decided upon an imaginary friend and it's a chicken? Has he seen that episode of the Muppet Show with the Swedish Chef?

Fyo caught on that I was doubting him as I continued to shift from sleep to consciousness. Which may be why he picked up the chicken carcass off the floor and shoved it into his father's face.

Finn, that beast, had gotten into the trash in the night and brought the chicken carcass up during the night and left it, as Fyo had said several times, on the floor.

Waking up this morning became something out of a Monty Python skit, thanks to the amazing Finn and Fyo duo.

Liking - Another Lesson I Learned From My Toddler

The other morning, my husband and I woke up to our son listing off the things he likes: "I like guacamole [he says huacadole]. I like fire truck. I like Finn [our dog]. I like playgroup. I like Oma." And so on.

Later that same day, a friend of ours commented, "You know, when someone sits next to me on the subway or in a meeting, I can instantly think of something I don't like about that person before they even open their mouth. But it's rare for me to instantly think of something I like about someone I don't know. And it's rare for me to even tell my friends the things I like about them."

I agreed with what he said. I too am guilty of finding myself next to someone on the subway and finding something I don't like about them. While I often give compliments I don't know that I make a point to tell the people in life what I like about them. And I rarely ask the people in my life what they like.

I started to wonder, when it does switch from waking up as a two year old already thinking of the things you like to adulthood when you wake up thinking of the things you don't?

So chalk this up as another lesson I learned from my toddler.

Here's what I like/love about my life:

1.These boys

2. Living around the corner from my sister. Do you know we don't even have to cross the street to get to each other's house?

3. My morning cup of coffee. Especially when I can enjoy it in bed or alone while the rest of the house is still sleeping and quiet.

4. Stacks of library books. Even though I never get around to reading all of them, I just like to have them around.

5. My current bedside table that Husband found on the street for free (with my stack of books on top).

Other cool items we've recently found for free that I also love: a cool vintage lamp from the 30s, Husband found a brand new pair of Puma sneakers in my size (crazy, huh?),  trucks for Fyo to play with in the yard and boats for him to play with in the bath. I can't help but love the hand-me-down. I find it satisfying for some reason.

6. These last few weeks of pregnancy I like/am grateful for yoga, cooler weather so we can actually enjoy outside and walking,  our new organic mattress (it's so comfortable!), my latest haircut, hot bathes, my hot water bottle, popsicles, sparkling lemonade, and long afternoon naps.

7. I like that my child still takes naps, and when I nap with him, we can sleep up to three hours. What a lovely way to spend an afternoon!

8. Long meals with friends and good conversations.

9. Our garden

10. Finishing satisfying projects (finishing unsatisfying projects is a relief, the satisfying ones, I enjoy the sense of accomplishment.)

35 Weeks

Baby is 6 pounds-ish and 18 ish inches long.

On one hand, pregnancy is the most mundane thing on the planet. On the other, it is utterly surreal to have another person almost 20 inches long inside of you.

I have noticed that as long as I walk/ have regular yoga, I feel great. Though I admit a time or two of nausea that suggest we're in the final stretch. Oh, and that major hormonal mood swing (e.g. hysterical tears; "We have no names! What if it's Baby X Lindis Corbell FOREVER?!?!?!).

(Husband loves these hormonal highlights)

Pregnancy- why does it make us sick?

In general, as a pregnant woman, I'm that woman who doesn't talk about her experiences being pregnant because it generally causes other women to hate me. I can't help it. I have stellar pregnancies. Part of this may be genetic, but I also think the fact that I heard positive things about pregnancy from my mom and aunts has something to do with it. My mom didn't talk so much about enjoying her pregnancy, but I never heard her talk about the endless list of suffering that people associate with pregnancy (varicose veins, swelling, back pain, being so sick and so tired that you can't decide if you should throw up or go to bed, and all the rest). One of my aunts absolutely loved being pregnant despite having a few issues; another aunt still tells me how much she misses the feeling of a baby inside her.

So it never occurred to me that when I got pregnant that I might actually be hopping on the roller coaster of hell. And when I told my aunts I was pregnant, they were thrilled, not just for the arrival of a baby, but for me and that I got to have this experience that they so loved and cherished. One of my aunts instantly pulled out a post-it and made me a list of her favorite pregnancy foods (she's the one who gave me the tip about popsicles - except her favorite flavor was banana. Mine ended up being those lemonade ones from Trader Joe's). 

And then we told the world at large I was pregnant. 

And I had my first encounter with how the rest of the world views pregnancy; mainly that it is actually a roller coaster of hell. 

My husband and I went to a friend's wedding, and when I went to the bathroom in between the wedding and the reception along with every other woman who was attending, I found myself surrounded by what felt like a gaggle of chickens. I felt like the unfortunate soul who finds herself in the girls' bathroom in high school and surrounded by the mean girls who proceed to beat the crap out of her. It was there that I was stormed like the Bastille by pregnancy horror stories of the women present. 

First, they asked how terrible I was feeling, because I must be so sick I could hardly see straight and so tired I could hardly stand. 

I said I felt fantastic. I mean it took me seven months to get pregnant. By achieving pregnancy, I felt like I had won the Tour de France. 

But no, I was informed that actually, pregnancy meant the end of my life. My feeling great would be short lived. Because essentially, I would be miserable and uncomfortable the last four months, I wouldn't be able to sleep or find enough pillows (I still don't know what pillows have to do with anything), I would swell up like a balloon, my shoes would never fit again, my legs would be covered in varicose veins that would end up looking like the Mississippi River after all the swelling, I would hate my husband, and my entire body would ache, then my beautiful baby would arrive after a hellish labor, I would never sleep again and I would certainly never lose the weight I had gained, and my beautiful baby would grow into a child that would proceed to wreak havoc on my entire life. 

According to these women, a seasonal bout with cancer would be preferable to pregnancy and the children it results in. 

Maybe I have good genes. Maybe because I ate well. Maybe because I took hour long walks with my dogs through Griffith Park and did yoga four to five times a week. Maybe I’m in denial about being Pollyanna. Maybe I won the pregnancy lottery, but none of the predicted horrors happened to me. I felt great, until the day my son dropped and wedged his head into my pelvis. Three days later, I went into labor. 

My labor was like my mother’s, which was predicted accurately by doctors and midwives alike, in that it was six hours long. 

I have been told that my pregnancies (and labor) are abnormal, atypical, and not real. Yet my abnormal, atypical and not real pregnancy produced a baby who’s turning into a pretty cool kid (as we say in our house). My abnormal, atypical, and not real pregnancy didn’t actually result in medical intervention or treatment. It didn’t have some tragic or horrific ending. 

It turns out my pregnancies are normal, typical and real for me.

What I find baffling about this (because I do have a point – I’m not just bragging about finding pregnancy lovely) is that the women who get so angry at those in medical community for viewing pregnancy as an illness often end up being the very same women who tell me that my experience is abnormal, atypical, and not real. 

If pregnancy is not an illness, why am I supposed to feel so flippin’ awful? Why is there the social assumption, that when you become pregnant, you become the victim of your monstrous body and the only thing you can do about it is suffer? 

For the most part, in my second pregnancy, I have avoided the horror-and-death predictions. Occasionally, when I’m by myself out in public, a woman will lean over to me and say, “You know, first borns are always late.” To which I then say, “My son was actually three weeks early.” 

Except recently, as I’ve been in my third trimester, those closest to me, i.e. my husband and sister, have recounted to me that when people ask them about me and my pregnancy, they don’t ask, “Is she getting excited?” they instead ask, “She’s not too uncomfortable and miserable, is she?” or “Is she so ready to be done being pregnant?” Or people say to me, “How do you wear heeled sandals in your condition?” (I know – if we’re talking social assumptions, I’m not actually supposed to wear shoes) or “How are you doing in this heat in your condition?” (pregnant or not, I don’t do well in the heat). I often want to point out that I’m pregnant; I haven’t had a leg recently amputated. 

And I admit, I am really excited to meet my new baby, so in a way I am looking forward to the end of my pregnancy. 

And I also admit, that this baby started off lower and dropped into my pelvis sooner, resulting in some uncomfortable pelvic pressure and lower back ache. But I also realized that what worked so well in my last pregnancy – walking and doing yoga fairly often – I wasn’t doing. As soon as I went back to a regular yoga and walking habit, the aches no longer ached. 

And yes, I have had some rather extensive and painful contractions that fall outside the norm of run-of-the-mill Braxton-Hicks, but my midwife said to take these as a sign my body is telling me to maybe relax, have a sip of wine, take a bath, and maybe instead of walking to yoga, I could take the subway. 

And I still like being pregnant.  

There’s a funny phenomenon, that’s rather effective in the treatment of many ailments. It’s called the placebo effect, in which a person perceives whatever they are suffering from to improve when they haven’t actually been given anything to improve their condition. It has one think about how the mind can determine or alter one’s experience. I don’t want to suggest that a simple placebo can lessen the pain of a baby pushing its way through a woman’s pelvis, but I do have to wonder if the few of us who have positive experiences in pregnancies (aka abnormal, atypical, not real pregnancies), how much of it is related to our expectations of the experience that we will have or our attitudes about pregnancy? I know quite a few women who did in fact have complicated pregnancies with loads of things to deal with, but still had positive experiences and never let on that they felt miserable if they did. It’s a wonder, isn’t it?

Thanks to the social assumption that pregnancy is a miserable and uncomfortable experience, we can’t really be surprised that many in the medical community still do view pregnancy as an illness. I just find it funny that we blame them for it, when women are also the ones who perpetuate it.