“Guys, Mom is going to the movies.”

“With scary parts, like monsters?”

“No, a chick movie.”

“What’s a chick movie?”

“It’s where ladies talk a lot about their feelings and everybody else does, and nobody hits anybody, and they kiss boys a lot and sometimes cry.”

“Ew. . . why would anybody watch that?”

“I like movies where there are scary parts and chases, but then sometimes, like tonight, I like to see ladies having lots of big feelings and kissing cute boys and probably crying, too.”

Heavy, serious sigh. “OK. But I want to see the movies where there are scary parts and I won’t even be scared because I’m brave.”

“You know, being brave sometimes is having big feelings and kissing boys. Getting married and having babies is really brave.”

“But now you have no scary parts because I’m here and I will kiss you and you don’t need to be scared.”

God bless the child.

By Avvy Mar

Labels: Avvy Mar, babies, brave, chick movies, cry, cute boys, getting married, kiss boys, monsters, movies, scared, scary movies, scary parts

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I just dropped my sixteen-month-old off at daycare for the first time ever, and it was tricky. Before today, he’s only had one-on-one care, and I’ve only worked part-time from home. I did this so I could sneak peeks at our son, watch him develop, and take pleasure in the joys of his being.

The week before, weird emotions surfaced. Was this my own separation anxiety? Guilt over planning to spend less time with my child instead of more? Am I thrusting him into an environment he’s not prepared to deal with?

But I knew he was ready, and I needed to take this step. I would still keep him home on Thursdays, I rationalized. I would still see him grow and change. He needs to socialize now, and
I need to work a little more -- we both need to grow.

I admitted my emotions to another mom. She said, “After you drop him off at daycare that first day and get back in your car, just go ahead and let yourself cry. It’s okay.”

That day came this morning. I dropped my son off, explaining all his little quirks to the new caregiver. I watched him play with the new toys and get scooped up by the new caregiver, who showed him around and played with him. I heard him laugh. I knew he would be fine. After a half-hour, I kissed him good-bye and left. I heard him cry, but kept walking. On the way home, I stopped off for a coffee and a scone. Quiet time was mine again.

I entered my house, went into my office and turned on my computer. The house was quiet, empty. I would get a lot done now, without the distraction of my son’s squeals of joy or cries of discomfort. I stepped into the kitchen for a snack and found our au pair there, this being her last week.

She asked how our son is. He’s okay, I told her. She asked how I am. Fine, I said. Really fine. In that moment, I started to ball, tears flooding out from I don’t know where.

Obviously, our hearts know something that our minds do not. The bond with our children runs that deep.

By Cindy Bailey

Labels: babies, children, Cindy Bailey, daycare, mothers

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Another mother in my mom’s group just announced her pregnancy. She’s the third one out of the 10 of us so far. Ours is a group of first-time moms whose babies, now toddlers, are all the same age (16 months), and now three of us are on the road to our second.

I know what will happen next: one by one each of the moms’ bellies will balloon and then pop, and then there will be me, standing there in my non-maternity jeans while the others talk about food cravings and fatigue and sleep deprivation. I will be coming to our weekly playgroups armed with my one beautiful child to find the topics have shifted from napping and pre-schools to the exponentially increased workload of caring for two. Well-meaning, the moms will reassure me that having only one is a blessing, and then they’ll go back to cooing at their newborns.

It won’t matter what they say, though. As deeply in love as I am with my child, and as much as I appreciate his blessed existence, in my head “family” includes more than one child, and anything less is just not complete.

I assumed that because I was able to bear my first child, that there would be no problem bearing a second, even though I was told I had only a 2% chance of getting pregnant the first time around. I subscribed to my own natural healing efforts, and four months later I was pregnant -- naturally, the old-fashioned way.

Now, once again, I’m panicking over the negative statistics about aging and fertility, I’m feeling jabs of envy each time I hear of another friend getting pregnant, and I’m getting impatient, stressed. All over again, I have to remind myself that I am not a statistic, that I can make a difference in my own fertility, that I need to be patient and mostly, that I have to surrender to whatever life brings me. Just like when I conceived my son, I have to be in that place where I can see that my family -- my life -- is complete, just like it is.

And once I can see that again, anything is possible.

By Cindy Bailey

Labels: babies, Infertility, mothers groups, pregnancy, toddlers

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