NYC Moms

Drawing the Line: Helpful or Critical?

The other week I was sitting with my son and another mom friend at my new outpost, Le Pain Quotidien. It was teeming with mothers and children, all happy to have a spot where the strollers fit through the isles and the bathrooms don’t smell. A small toddler, who looked to be about 16 months old, came over to me and my son. After exchanging a few “words” with this pleasant chap, I looked around to see where his mom or dad might be. A man smiled and waved from across the room where he, a woman and another boy, maybe 4, were sitting.

The toddler ran from table to table, as social toddlers do, and I casually tracked him. I think I did mostly out of guilt because my own toddler was relegated to the stroller because I am too lazy to run after him and really wanted to sit and drink my skim latte.

As I glanced up from my sweet froth, I caught the sweet head of curls that belonged to this toddler whizzing by…towards the door. The door was open. The busy city street was steps away.

What Did You Do Today?

An innocent question. Yes. But, for whatever reason those five words can stir up the most amazing flurry of emotions when asked by my husband.

I work part-time from my home. So, on days when I’m working, I happily rattle off the 30 things that I did to move my business forward, to financially contribute to the family, to boost my sense of independence, etc. But on those days where it’s just me and little T, I falter.

“Um, well…I took T to the park. And um, fed him. And Oh! I went to the post office!” My husband's eyes glaze over and I see him look at me quizzically, and then ask, “did you shower today?” I look down, and reply, barely above a whisper, “no, I didn’t have time.”

Please, no more unsolicited advice

I’ve just ventured out on a windy and cold day to a friend’s apartment a few blocks away to pick up my purse I left there last night. It turns into a nice little playdate with her two kids and my son, chock full of coffee and good conversation about the workshop I facilitated last night. It’s finally time for me to leave. By design, I have not put his plastic cover over his stroller or his hat on before I walk outside. This is because he will have a meltdown if I do. Usually, once he feels the cold air, he is more than happy to have me bundle him, but if I start these procedures even a minute too early, it becomes an impossible task.

We walk outside; I maneuver the stroller down the front stairs, walk a few paces to the corner, and pause in order to apply the hat/cover that is needed today. And then it happens. Not quite out of earshot I hear “That baby should have a hat.”

Huh?

The hat is actually in my hand as I’m registering the comment. The “well-intentioned” individual is

Been There, Done That: Guilt Tears

Last night my nanny watched my son through the dinner-bath-bed cycle so I could attend an event for Ladies Who Launch. I breathed an audible sigh of relief as I stepped out of my apartment into the evening, free of my child for a night of intelligent conversation with like-minded individuals. About 5 steps into this reverie the other voice appeared. “He loves his bath… you’re missing it.” Deep breath. Keep walking. “I wonder if she’ll know which PJ’s to put on him.” Two more breaths. Pick up the pace. “Maybe I should have told her to give him the pacifier if he cries?” I literally shake my head, hoping the thoughts will fly out my ears and go away. “You should be spending this time with your son.” I now resort to talking to myself -- most likely out loud (I no longer think that people are crazy who talk to themselves – I assume they are mothers). I tell myself that he’s fine, his nanny is amazing, and that it’s good for him to be with other people. I DESERVE this time away.

I enjoy the event immensely. Not only for the information, but for the pure energy boost it gives me to be in a room full of women entrepreneurs. However, I duck out as soon as the panel is over, instead of doing the small talk and networking I intended. The moment I’m home I pummel my nanny with questions. What did he eat? How was the bath? Did he cry for the pacifier? How long? If I know all the details, maybe I won’t feel like I missed anything. She told me it was all fine, and that he sang for about 5 minutes before he went to sleep. He sang.

Wrinkle Remover: Gratitude

I went to a fabulous event last night at In Good Company, held by the Broad Collective, a group of women whose mission is to create community and opportunities for women “artist-entrepreneurs” – a term they have coined. The topic was on “perseverance” as it relates to managing and enjoying the journey to our goals. The theory being that since goals are forever a moving target, those who succeed in this world are the ones who know how to make the path to getting there worthwhile.

I love going to these things because it adds to my creative “well” – a term used in Julia Cameron’s book, The Artist’s Way. I get filled with ideas and energy and love and always walk away inspired. However, last night a little wrinkle appeared in my joy that sounded something like this: “yeah, this is all well and good if you don’t have to take care of a toddler.”

Better Safe than Sorry?

I just got this email that I'm sure a lot of you have received in some form. The basic gist of it is a list of nine tips on how to stay safe out there in the big bad world. It talks about what a serial killer normally look for in a victim, how to check your car to make sure there's no one hiding in there, how to kick out the lights of the trunk if you find yourself shoved in one so you can start waving like mad and let's not forget the age old advice of running in a zig-zag pattern if someone is shooting at you. Wow.

Every time I receive it, I get a little sick to my stomach. I go through the stages of grief: Denial: This doesn't happen to people. Anger: Even if it does, it won't happen to me! Bargaining: "Well, I can still live my life normally, just be careful in parking lots." Depression: "Oh my god the world is horrible!" Acceptance: "OK, I guess I just have to watch my back all the time." This last thought actually spins me into another depressive cycle. I am an open and accepting person by nature, and this thought tells me to trust no one -- especially in the big bad city. And unfortunately, that thought is ultimately what could keep me and my son safe.

Reluctant Single-Issue Voter

My husband and I had a date last night. Work, a 15 month old, and a tight budget have made our date nights few and far between. I look forward to them not only for time away from being a mom and feeling like a woman again (can you say eyeshadow?), but for the adult conversation that I get to have with him. We hit all the usual topics – work, money, future, etc. However, last night we hit a topic that rears its nasty head about once about every four years: politics.

Without getting into personal politics and reasons behind them, let me just state that I am pro-choice. My husband is pro-choice as well. “So what is the problem?” you ask. Well, it comes down to how important that one issue is compared to all the others (health care, taxes, the war, etc.). To my dismay, I have discovered that I may be a single-issue voter.

After the perfect storm--Starbucks, of course

It was the perfect storm. My son, Thomas, is 15 months old. He has a tendency to launch into “T-storms”, as we like to call them, when the conditions are right. This morning, the conditions were perfect:

• The cleaning lady, who scares my son, came at 9.
• His changing nap schedule left him sleep deprived with no AM nap.
• Music class at noon left him hungry and MORE tired ("Music" to T means running around the circumference of the room for 45 minutes.)

I drag him out of class, kicking and screaming, so we can make it to his 15 month "well visit", aka shots.