DC Metro Moms

Lowering my Tutu expectations

From the first day I brought home my three-year old's teeny ballet shoes and tap shoes from the store, I've been filled with squees, awwwws, and ohhhhhs. She couldn't wait to try on the full regalia that very night, prancing around the room, wounding my heart with lethal cuteness.

I'd take her to the classes, and because they didn't allow parents to watch, have to satisfy myself my periodically going over to the door and peeking with one eye through a crack in the door. I could never peek long, though; there was a continual demand for one-eye-peeking from the crowd of mothers in the waiting room. We were all hungry vultures.

The last class was "Observation Day," where we would all be allowed into the actual room. As in, finally, getting a much needed dose of The Tutu Fix. I brought my mother, the nice camera, the Flip video, everything to best capture this special moment...EXCEPT HER DANCE SHOES.

Mothering Splinters

There are a couple of mistakes that my husband and I have made regarding our daughter that make me cringe. Things that appeared to be good ideas at the time, but only in retrospect blossomed into full blown parenting blunders. Probably the worst was last Halloween when we took our then 2 1/2 year old on the Halloween train ride at Wheaton Regional Park, having no idea that it would involve men wearing masks running around with fake chainsaws. And, now, we have another to add to that notorious list: our first attempt at removing splinters.

Both being doctors, when we discovered that our 3-year old had a few splinters in the palm of her right hand, our initial instinct was for focused rapid removal. We remembered learning about foreign body reactions involving inflammation, swelling, and infections when foreign bodies were trapped where they didn't belong. No sweat, I thought. This is just like performing minor surgery. I'll just grab my pointy-ended powder blue Tweezerman's and pluck them out!

Tollroad rest areas: Is there anything more terrifying?

Our family just got back from a short trip to the NJ shore. Before anyone starts pitying me for vacationing in New Jersey (I can say this since that's where I'm originally from), I will add that my husband's family has gone to this particular beach every year since before he was a baby, and NO ONE THERE WEARS T-SHIRTS WITH FRINGE. (So, a less cheesy NJ beach.)

Anyway, the trip filled me with dread since we would be traveling by car with our 5-month old and 3-year old, and this would be our first long road trip with the little one--who knows how he'd handle it. When our 3-year old was his age, we also did the same trip and nearly had respective nervous breakdowns.

It was with this mindset that we ventured off along the I-95 corridor towards The Garden State. Our trip itself was quite the National Lampoon's Jersey Road Trip Adventure, but it was the rest stops that truly terrified me.

Costco and the ocean: More alike than you think

My feelings for Costco are complicated. I'm, at once, full of respect for its greatness and its enormity, yet humbled by its potential for disaster. In many ways, it is like the ocean, deep and mysterious. (The ocean freaks me out, by the way, for all of these reasons).

Here, I reflect on how Costco is like the ocean.

The ocean and Costco are both vast vessels. Walking into that familiar warehouse, I am continually filled with awe. So many products. So many people. Shelves that go up farther than the eye can see. Somewhere, far above, is the ceiling, where small fans circulate air miles above my head. It is vast. I am but a wee guppy.

Running into a complete lack of civility

We were on our way to my daughter’s swim class, a little delayed due to her bathroom-stall tactics, but would probably just make her start time. My parents were visiting, and my mother accompanied my daughter and I in the always fashion-forward minivan. As we pulled into the ever-frenetic parking lot, a car was just pulling out of a prime spot. Score!

I approached the spot and looked at the clock on the dashboard, a couple minutes until start time and hesitated since the SUV in the neighboring space had the passenger door wide open, with a baby in view in a car seat. The mother was at the trunk and didn’t notice our vehicle approaching. I waited for a minute to see whether she was going to get her child/close the door to make parking a little easier, but she was not moving.

Thinking I had probably just enough space to clear, despite the open door, I made the approach…and heard the lovely sound of car impact as I nicked the door, causing it to close. CRAP.

The Self-Conscious Public Nurser

I'm not one of those women who walk around naked in the gym locker room. (That statement makes it seem like I go to the gym, but I assure you, it's for illustrative purposes only. I have not stepped into a gym in years.) Generally, I would turn to face the locker/wall/other non-mirrored surface while temporarily topless and/or bottomless. As long as I had some kind of material on, whether it be a bra or underwear, I felt considerably more comfortable. But, that pure nakedness, even among fellow women, was to be avoided if at all possible.

When my daughter was born three years ago, nursing her in public was something I intended to do. I knew mothers did it all the time and, by golly, it was my right! It was natural, nothing to be ashamed of, and I was not about to be confined to the home just because I decided to breastfeed my daughter.

I bought nursing tops (those hideous paneled creations that scream UGLY NURSING WEAR!) and practiced deploying blankets and shawls as visual shields. No sweat, I thought to myself. I can do this.

Divorced Godparents: Now what?

When my husband and I were trying to decide who to ask to be my daughter's godparents, we considered who among our friends had the most rock-stable of unions. We wanted the chosen couple to be an example of faith and love, people we would trust raising our daughter if need be. It came down to two couples, couple A and couple B. It was a tough decision, but we went with couple B.

Less than a year later, couple A went through a bitter divorce. Divorce! This was a pair that we always thought were so well-matched, peas in a pod. It was sad seeing their marriage dissolve, yet it confirmed our decision in choosing the other couple. Now, they were truly a perfect match. Or... maybe not.

Yes, our dear friends, who we were so confident would always be together, also went through a painful divorce within the next two years, leaving us in an awkward situation. Honey, your godparents who have committed to teach you about faith and love are no longer speaking. One day, I'll teach you about irony...

Why Mama is a graduate student

Today, my fellow bloggers on DC Metro Moms and its sister sites are likely writing about education as it pertains to our children. I wanted to write about how it can change us, the mothers.

When I decided a couple of years ago to start part-time graduate classes in education, on top of my full-time job as an internist, many people (me included) thought I might have gone insane. When will you have the time? How will you juggle having a toddler at home? What are you smoking?

It started out innocently. Part of my job (the part that I absolutely love) involves teaching medical students and residents. I learned about a year-long Master’s level program designed to help develop faculty in teaching and leadership, a program which I heard amazing things about from colleagues. It was an incredible opportunity, covered by my faculty benefit, yet I hemmed and hawed. It would be a hard year – hours and hours of extra work each week—would it be worth it (and could I possibly squeeze it around work and time with my family)?

I decided to try. One year. If it turned out to be too much, I could always drop out.

Pumping Mania (Pumping at work sucks)

Silly me.

I had almost forgotten exactly how much pumping at work sucks. I wrote almost nostalgically about pumping a little while ago when DC Metro Moms held a Breastfeeding Topic Day. Yet, that was in December while enormously pregnant with our second child. Now, one week back from maternity leave, I suddenly remember how STRESSFUL the whole experience can be. As in, how long can I keep this up without A) ruining my milk supply; B) running myself into the ground with exhaustion; or C) going postal?

For the past week, I've found myself in a largely forgotten (possibly from PTSD) state of mind, Pumping Mania. I don't think Pumping Mania has made it into DSM-IV yet as a bonafide psychiatric disorder, but I'm pretty sure it could be. Pumping Mania requires meeting 5 out of 6 of the following criteria: Time Obsession, Ounces Pumped Paranoia, Meeting/Conference Avoidance, Sleep Deprivation, Guilt Schizophrenia, and Pumping Compulsive Disorder. Sadly, I am a textbook case.

Evolutionary Guilt?

I've been a student of parental guilt for a long time. I learned early on that making my parents feel guilty was an incredibly effective method of getting my way. The guilt trip! It works! Now, as a parent myself, I can see how ruthless a child I was, as guilt seems to be an integral part of my existence. There's nothing like guilt to weigh me down. It's like Parent Kryptonite.

Neurobiologists have been studying the biological basis of emotions for some time: depression, anger, even love...how about guilt? I haven't seen any studies, and I'm pretty sure an animal model would be challenging. Do rats feel guilty for going to work while baby rat is in daycare? Do squirrels feel guilty when squirrel-pup watches Dora while their mommies blog?

I have to believe that parental guilt, as heavy and leaden it can be, does serve an evolutionary function.