Cheeseburgers are Delicious

About a week or two after Margot was born we took her to meet her great-grandmother, Warren’s maternal grandmother. I went in front, carrying Margot in her car seat, Warren bringing up the rear with the over-packed baby bag.  Walking through the door I held up the car seat, expecting the usual oohs and ahhs, but was instead met with a pat on my abdomen and, “You’re going to have to lose that belly.”  My husband didn’t hear what his grandmother said; I relayed it after, but he wasn’t surprised. At about two weeks post-partum, I didn’t expect to look like I did pre-baby.  Hell, I never lost any of the Lily weight (about 20 pounds).  My organs hadn’t even returned to their usual places and I’ve never been a skinny lady, so I really wasn’t expecting another woman to body shame me in such an outward manner. I countered with a smile and a nod because, really, she’s in her 90s, she gets a pass.

The pass ended this week when, at 3 months post-baby, having lost all of the weight (that’s right, I’ ve lost 45 pounds, yay me), I was met with, “You’ve still got that stomach.”  This time I pushed back a little, gently reminding her that I’ve lost a lot of weight, that it’s only been 3 months, and she agreed, reminding me that I had a section and that can be hard to recover from. She’s still in her 90s-her pass is restored.*

I really have lost 45 pounds in 3 months.  That’s such a strange thing to admit to.  Maybe I need a Girl Scout’s patch or badge or whatever my mother used to sew onto that horribly brown Brownie sash to remind me and show to everyone who looks at my bloated belly and thinks I do nothing but sit on the couch eating chocolate all day long, guess what world, I lost 45 pounds in 3 months, and it is a fucking effort-full accomplishment.  I work for it.  I eat 1200-1300 calories a day, I go to the gym 5 days a week, I push Margot on long walks (so far 5 miles is our one-day record). I miss cheeseburgers on a near daily basis and pass Bobby’s Burger Palace with lust rays bursting out of my eyes.  I watch all the hard bodies at my gym with the same questioning intensity that they watch me.  We silently judge each other the way all women appraise one another. Maybe one of them is hungry and would like to accompany me for a cheat cheeseburger? No judgements-just deliciousness.

I’m lucky; my self worth has nothing to do with how I look. It’s nice to lose weight and fit into clothes I was wearing a full year after I gave birth to Lily, but, ultimately, I don’t really care. I am I, and I am still overweight, and I’m okay with that. I’m proud of the person I am, I’m thankful for my healthy, brilliant, beautiful children (and family), I’m grateful for the kind of life I lead, and I’m crazy in love with my wondrous husband who couldn’t give two shits about the way I look, because, as he oft reminds me, he likes me for me, blessed union intact, pun intended.

Of course I’m just like everyone else and I have my days where I hate everything and the scale was clearly sent here on a mission to destroy me, but then I look at my stretch marks (like rings on a tree, I swear) and I remember that my body did this incredibly amazing thing.  It created and cared for and birthed two fully-formed human beings! I’m never going to be how I once was and I don’t want to be, because skinnier Allison did not create life.

*Nana and I are cool-I’m not upset about what she said.  It just provided a good entry point into this part of my life. Really, I think she’s pretty awesome.

Our family :)

Parenting Rule Number 1

Parenting Rule Number   1 is that you never, ever, ever insult or criticize another parent’s parenting.  Addendum to the above rule: you never insult or criticize another parent’s parenting to said parent.  Whatever you say to your spouse in the darkness and joy of a child-sleeping household before you drift off into a coma is completely okay.  It’s an unspoken parenting law, because once it’s broken, you can never come back; there is no restitution.

While on the phone with my husband last fall, the person on the other end of the line criticized my parenting.  It was in the general context of a much larger argument, and the person used my parenting as ammunition to strengthen their (I know, plural pronoun, but we have no gender neutral singular in English) argument.  It had the adverse effect, essentially forever ruining whatever was left of our jalopy of a relationship (it was terse long before this incident, but insulting the way I raise my children was a surefire way to lose any goodwill I had left).  My husband and I were both very insulted, not because we believed what the person had said was true (I’m a fucking awesome mom, thank you very much), but because the person had crossed a very important invisible line and neglected to see why it was so damaging.  The person still believes that we are in the wrong (and they still believe that it’s okay to say whatever they want).

One of the hallmarks of adulthood is learning to shut your mouth.  This is a lesson that my husband has really learned the hard way.  From insulting friends, to yelling at me and having to pay for it in very expensive gifts, his foot in mouth disease is legendary (all of his college friends call him “that asshole,” many of whom were shocked when they met me-I was nice and socially appropriate, and he was “Warren, that asshole.” Oddly enough, the moniker was relayed to me at a shiva call, where the person actually sitting shiva, one of Warren’s fraternity brothers, was part of the asshole discussion, laughing and stressing the depths of Warren’s jerkitude. Warren had previously, and while in my presence, seriously insulted the fraternity brother’s wife. I like to think my husband’s former asshole-y-ness helped to comfort the bereaved.  Oh, and we’re all actually very good friends, too).  I have a touch of foot in mouth, not in the asshole capacity, but just a general disregard for meaningless small talk and a penchant for jokes that other people don’t usually get.  It can come off as awkward, when really it’s just me not enjoying being around large groups of people.  I’m much better one-on-one.  The point is, however, that my husband, my wonderful, loving husband who has about as much social grace as a pack of elephants transporting crystal stemware through the streets of New York City, even he knew that it was wrong to criticize another parent’s parenting.

Maybe it’s also part of adulthood to call people out on their crap and defend yourself from wild accusations.  My adulthood includes turning off and simply excusing myself from events and occasions where I’m forced to socialize with people who don’t approve of my parenting, whether family, friend or foe.  Because, and I’ll say it again, I’m a fucking awesome mom.  And you know what?  You are too.

Margot at 12 weeks, loving on her awesome mom!

What Does She Eat?*

Putting it mildly, Lily is an extremely picky eater. We’ve stopped ordering her meals in restaurants and just pick bits from our plates and put them in front of her, usually leaving our own empty plates and her plate still full.  We recently ordered Lily a bowl of pasta, from which she ate two ziti noodles. Combine that with the one french fry from Warren’s meal, and I present you with Lily’s lunch.  (Oh, and a pickle.) Even if it’s a food that she will eat, she often consumes so little of it that it’s almost as if she hasn’t eaten at all. People are always asking us, so what does she eat?

Fruit: cantaloupe (“orange fruit”) and honeydew (“green fruit”).  Sometimes grapes, but never when I buy them at her screaming insistence when we’re in the supermarket.  She used to eat strawberries, but that ended pretty quickly.

Vegetables: cooked only! I’ve tried to get her to eat some raw veggies, even turned into Teacher Harriet, reciting lines from the “Be a VegetableTaster” episode of Daniel Tiger, but all to no avail.  She will eat a lot of cooked veggies, but the way they are prepared really matters.  Take broccoli.  She loves broccoli when it’s roasted or when it comes from a Chinese food container (and then chopsticks, or “sticks,” as she calls them, is the only way she will eat it).  But don’t try to steam it or mix it in with anything.  Same with cauliflower and brussel sprouts and asparagus; must be roasted. She’ll eat carrots and peas and canned string beans by the fist-full, but fresh strings beans are a no-no.  Corn must be grilled.

Starches: more, more, more!  All pasta is fair game, but only if covered in “sprinkle cheese,” and the same goes for pizza. What is a bread sandwich?  It’s a food that Lily invented, called a roll, that I’ve cut in half and put nothing on.  Let’s say I put something on the bread sandwich, like cheese or peanut butter (which she will eat, out of a jar, with a spoon)? Silly mommy, Lily won’t eat that.  Rice and cous cous are daily staples, but no potatoes except for French fries.  And cereal and waffles and pancakes, oh my.

Meat: fat chance! Lily will only eat Tyson Annytizer chickenfries, Purdue Dino-nuggets, chicken teriyaki from Sarku, or a special chicken in hoisin sauce that I make at home.  Notice the lack of red meat, pork or fish.  Nope mommy.

Dairy: milk works. I sometimes stuff her with milk just to get protein in there.  Because, guess what? No cheese and no yogurt. Ice cream? Yes to ice cream, but only mint chocolate chip. My crazy daughter previously turned down ice cream cake because, shocker, it was chocolate and vanilla and she wanted mint. Then she had a fit.  She didn’t even eat her own birthday cake because it was an ice cream cake.

Snacks: basically what Lily is living off of. She will eat cookies and cupcakes and crackers until the end of time.  If you take her Annie’s purple bunnies, she will cut you. Don’t you dare sneak one of her Entenmann’s mini muffins because she will see what you did you horrible violator of everything holy, and she will demand a fresh pack.  Only one applesauce will work-the Mott’s all natural squeeze pouches.  She shares her Goldfish one by one, placing them in waiting open mouths.  Granolabars are gobbled with the ferocity of candy (which she also likes, but only DumDum pops or chocolate, straight chocolate). Popcorn, both the microwave and Smartfood varieties work, as do Cheez-its and pretzels, potato chips, and her favorite no calorie snack, Kim’s Magic Pop (but only the blueberry, which she calls “purple chips”).

She will also eat anything my friend “S” makes, even if it contains meat, or it’s something she’s refused to eat at home, she will eat it if “S” makes it.  I hate you “S” (please move in with us).

3-year-old Lily chowing down on a cupcake and Cheez-its

*The list of things she doesn’t eat is simply too long and would have to be its own post.  Assume we have given her every food option on the planet, and she’s turned them all down (adult food, kiddie food, ethnic food, etc…if it exists, we’ve tried it).

Making Adjustments

We were given many, many warnings about moving from one child to two children, most of which centered around how difficult it is to have two, how much of an adjustment it is on your (adult) life. And while it’s not the easiest thing we’ve ever done, it’s taken very little adjustment on our part to fit Margot into our family.  Lily, however, was a whole other matter.

I wouldn’t call Lily an “easy” child. Don’t get me wrong, as far as 3-year-olds go, I think she’s pretty evolved: she can eat in a restaurant, she can survive a long car ride, she can even sleep at Grandma’s house (more to follow, later).  But she’s the Energizer Bunny, a constant motion machine who defies the laws of physics, demanding snacks and drinks and her iPad throughout the whirling dervish, Tasmanian devil-like cloud of destruction that she leaves in her wake.  We’re used to it. We know Lily’s triggers, when she’s about to melt down or act out, and we combat her craziness by injecting a lot of scheduling and structure. We keep to a very tight sleep and food schedule, time outs are administered immediately upon infraction, regardless of location (she once had a time out at the pediatrician’s office-Dr. M. was crazy impressed) and we encourage as much independence as possible-most of Lily’s frustration and irritation comes from her desire to do everything for herself.  If we give her the illusion of independence (even though her life is crazy controlled), she’s very happy-it’s like she’s already a teenager. This is how we’ve kept our “not easy” child from becoming “difficult” (since, according to my mother, I hold the “Most Difficult Child on the Planet” award).

So throwing a baby into the mix, we knew that Lily was going to have the hardest time adjusting.  It started the day I gave birth to Margot.  Lily didn’t want to go to sleep because mommy wasn’t home.  She kept asking Warren where Margot and I were.  And yes, there have been multiple occasions when I wasn’t there to put Lily to sleep (girls’ nights, work events, etc…), but I’ve never been gone overnight, so when I wasn’t there in the morning, or the subsequent two mornings after, Lily was not pleased. 

Then, once we came home, there were the usual issues: Margot got more attention, Margot was always lying on me, I couldn’t pick up Lily (damn you c-section).  Lily started having sleep regression, waking up in the middle of the night and demanding extra cuddles before returning to bed.  Her promising potty training stalled then disappeared altogether.  She started spitting, hitting, kicking, screaming, and all directed as us.  Margot was hers, a little doll for her to play with, to help feed and diaper and soothe.  We were the evil ones for what we’d done to her, but Margot was “my little sister,” and Lily took immediate ownership, saying “Baby Margot, don’t cry. Mommy takes care of you,” which quickly turned into “Baby Margot, don’t cry. I will take care of you.”

Hugging is an Olympic sport in Lily’s world.  Her hugs are big and tight, and she saves them all for Margot, smothering her in big sister love. We didn’t get hugs for at least a week after Margot came home, but Margot needed morning kisses and night-night kisses and special pats and hugs and love love love.  One bedtime I was holding Margot to high and Lily screamed, “Mommy I can’t reach. I have to kiss her cheek.” I lowered Margot down to her sister and Lily gave her a big smooch. “Goodnight baby Margot.”  Neither Warren nor I got any love that night.

And the thing is…well…we’re okay with it. We never had to worry that Lily was going to hurt her sister (at least never intentionally), and we’d rather Lily take out her anger on us. We’re grown-ups; we can take it. It took about 6 or 7 weeks for Lily to forgive us, and we’re pretty sure that Lily normalized so quickly because of two reasons. First, we kept Lily’s schedule as tight and as ritualized as humanly possible. A sibling is an enormous change, so Lily needed to hold fast to structure. Second, when it came to Lily’s interactions with Margot, we hardly ever said no.  You want to hold the baby? Okay, we’ll show you how. You want to feed her? Okay, climb up on my lap and help me hold the bottle. You want to kiss her goodnight? Okay, you got it! You want to have a family bath-time? Okay, Margot, get ready for baths on Lily’s bathroom floor. We let Lily take ownership of her sister. After all, Margot and Lily belong to each other just as much as they belong to us, and we’re going to try our best to keep it that way.

Lily, 3 years, and Margot, 8 weeks