So Maybe It’s Not Exactly How You Planned

By Julie Davidson

When you’re expecting a baby, you have a million decisions to make. And you probably have a good idea of how you’re gonna raise your child. Ideas are good, but they may change.

Before we had our first child, my husband and I had some ideas on what we would do. We thought we’d like to try cloth diapers. But then I realized someone would have to wash all those diapers. There were services we could hire, but for some reason I decided that wouldn’t work either. I think it might have been recalling my mother freely admitting that she stuck us with pins when attempting to get those cloth diapers on. And I wasn’t sure we could replace the pins with duct tape. Honestly, I’m the world’s worst gift wrapper. I couldn’t help but think how the cloth diapers would look like a wad of material on the baby’s bottom. Just couldn’t do it.

My husband thought it would be a good idea to puree the food for the baby. I looked up the definition of puree online. Here’s what I found: “noun. a thick, moist, smooth-textured form of cooked vegetables, fruits, etc., usually made by pressing the pulp through a sieve or by whipping it in a blender.” That sounded like work. I mean for years I’ve seen these jars of baby food with a cute cheeky baby on the label. Just twist, turn, and serve.

One thing we did decide to do was breastfeed. Finally I could use the girls for what they were created for. I figured it would be simple. The baby would be hungry, and I would feed him from my milk stash. Two steps. Easy.

So add breastfeeding to the list of things that I thought I could easily handle. My son was latching on the wrong way. And latching hard. Within 30 minutes of my first attempt, I had a pain running down my neck from my ear to my collarbone. It wasn’t working, and I felt like a failure.

Relief came seven days after our son was born. My sister-in-law came to help. She’s an ob-gyn nurse practitioner. And a lactation consultant. Score!

When she got to the house, she didn’t even unpack her bags. She was on a mission, and within five minutes she had my son latching on one side. Five minutes later, he was on the other side. I was stunned. These were my boobs, but she was getting them to do their thing. Like clockwork. Every four to five hours, she had that kid nursing. Just like that. To this day I call her the “Nipple Whisperer.”

Stick to what you feel is best for your baby. Ask for help. Beg for help. Call your sister-in-law. If you don’t have one, borrow some one else’s.

What Are the Rates at the Bank of Mom and Dad?

Lord knows, you can’t pick your parents. Fortunately, my husband and I were both very lucky, and we both have excellent parents. They taught us so much directly, and they also taught us so much by example.

When I was growing up, I remember so well my parents’ financial discipline. They never used credit cards. If they didn’t have the money for something, they simply didn’t buy it. They worked hard, and they saved up. To teach my sister and me about money, we got an allowance early on, we were encouraged to save money, and we were supported in getting jobs at early ages. My husband’s parents had a different approach: He didn’t get an allowance, but they paid him for doing extra jobs around the house.

Now that Tyler and Austin are six and four, my husband and I do a bit of each. Each week, our boys can earn an allowance. If they haven’t broken too many house rules that week, they earn $1. Each time they do something extra good, without being asked, such as if they pick up something someone dropped on the floor or do a kindness for each other, they earn a “bonus point.” For each five bonus points they earn in a week, they earn another $1.

Tyler and Austin also can pick up extra “jobs” around the house to earn a dollar, such as folding socks, running the little vacuum cleaner, and helping to empty the dishwasher. It’s true the “jobs” are mainly about trying hard and keeping me company, but they enjoy doing them to earn extra money.

Tyler and Austin are pretty much always saving up for something, such as a new Star Wars figure or toy.  Generally, they save up for it, and then they buy it. Otherwise, they can “put it on their wish list.” Occasionally, they see something they want and have a good reason to fear that if they don’t buy it now, it’ll be gone, such as if the store only has one left. If they don’t have the money, they can borrow from the “Bank of Mom and Dad.” We loan them the money to buy the item, and the item goes up on the fridge with a note of how much money they’ve borrowed. The key is, if they borrow from the Bank, they can’t spend any other money on anything until they’ve paid that money back!

All of this gives us tons of opportunities to practice math, “Let’s see, your Star Wars figure cost $12, and you have $10, how much more money do you need to earn?” It also is teaching them how hard you have to work, and sometimes how long you have to wait, to afford what you want. And it’s giving me lots of company folding the laundry and emptying the dishwasher.

How It All Began

By Julie Davidson

With my oldest just turning a year older, I can’t help but think of the day he was born.

It was a Friday the 13th. You see where this is going. I had gotten my hair done, so I was ready for the baby to come. Because why shouldn’t a woman wriggling in pain, and tossing around like a fish out of water have a perfectly coiffed do? Never mind the fact that within 15 minutes sweat will pour out of every orifice of your body, and you’ll look like you gave your self a home perm while running through a rainstorm.

During my visit that day with my doctor, she asked when my water broke. All I could think was, I’ve been pissing my pants for the last three months, how would I even know if my water broke?

She went on to say that the baby was breach and was positioned to come out butt first. Now there’s a way to greet your mom. It was too risky to reach in and “turn” him. Yeah… that sounded like a job for a plumber, and I was pretty sure insurance wouldn’t cover that. Then she explained we would have to do a C-section. After that, I kinda checked out. The C-section information was the last part of birthing class, and I blew it off, I guess because I just knew I wouldn’t have a C-section.

Most of what happened in the operating room is a blur. The drugs set in, and I couldn’t feel anything from the waist down. As much as I thought I was ready for the pushing and screaming of a vaginal birth the fast-food route thing wasn’t too bad. Just sit back and let them cut you open.

My doctor has the best bedside manner I have ever been witness to. She’s calm and soft-spoken. This is quite different from me, who is nervous and loud. She asked if I wanted music. No…I just want my baby, I thought. It was a control freak’s worst nightmare. I was bound to the table, physically numb through half my body, and emotionally not sure I was ready to handle what was about to take place.

Then I heard a collective hush come over the room. And my doctor said, “He’s so handsome. He reminds me of my guys when they were little. If you don’t want him I’ll take him home!” Interesting proposition, but I thought I should see him first before I could consider it.

My husband was crying and had this sound to his voice I have never heard before or since. It was like a cross between a crack and a whisper. “He’s perfect.”

Well that was all good and well, but I just wanted to see the baby! Someone please show me the baby!  

I was flat on my back when, almost magically, the baby was in front of me. Kind of like those magic flying stunts they do on stage at award shows and concerts. You know where someone looks as if they’re floating on air across the stage, but you know there’s a string attached, but you just can’t see it. I didn’t see a string attached. Matter of fact I don’t even recall seeing a hand holding him over me. All I saw was a baby. With perfect color and smooth soft hair. He was round and squishy. He was perfect. And then, he cried. Oh. My. God.

There’s Room for All of Us

By Julie Davidson

Race can be a sensitive issue. There, I said it. But it can’t and shouldn’t be ignored. Ideally, our differences should be embraced and celebrated.

I remember two friends I had as a child that emigrated from other countries. One was from Vietnam, and the other was from Egypt. I can still recall how amazed I was by the smell of the food they cooked to the sounds of the native languages they spoke. I felt honored to be able to learn and experience different cultures. So I have been really good about explaining other cultures to the boys. Or so I thought.

After Barack Obama was elected President, the boys said they understood how that election was different than any other. Our oldest said, “Yeah. They had too many White Presidents before.” I was stunned. This wasn’t looking good.

Maxon has a very close friend who is of Hispanic descent.  He thinks it’s cool that people know two languages.

St. Patty’s Day is huge where live. It’s all things green and beads and parades. A few months after the festivities, Max noticed a girl with really curly hair. “Mom! There’s an Irish dancer!” he said. 

But what really made us realize we had to step it up is when our oldest walked past a woman dressed in traditional Indian attire. He was really excited to tell me about it. He told me about her clothing and explained that she had a circle on her forehead, and it gave her special power to see into the next dimension. This could not be happening. That night we had a family meeting.

There is a certain amount of leeway we give kids. Because they haven’t had the chance to get out and see the world. How they see the world starts with us as parents. I’m not saying our kids will join hands and sing “Kumbaya.” Although, if we could get Justin Beiber, Usher, or Taylor Swift to do a remake…hmmm. 

Do I Look Like a Mom in This Dress?

by Julie Davidson

I remember before I had kids, I would see women 10 years after high school or college. I used to wonder what happened to them. They looked…different. It was as if their hair wasn’t kept up and they put on weight. They looked tired. 

How naive. I get it now. Part of it is age. But after you have kids a lot of things change. We look like (gasp!) moms.

And that’s why when I go shopping or go to the salon, I feel more polished. The problem is now it all has to be mapped out. What’s the budget? What style and color do I want?  What stores do I want to go to and when do they open? Add kids to that map, and it’s a three-ring circus. I am certain of this as I have tried.

We have a wedding to go to next weekend, so I stopped at the area’s largest shoe warehouse to find shoes. Seriously, they gotta have 3,000 pair of shoes. My thought has been if you go there and can’t find shoes you either A really didn’t look, or B your feet are a size 15. In my case, it was because I had my kids with me. Their behavior was fine, but they were running up to me with every shoe they thought I would like. Again, the store has about 3,000 pairs.

My kids meant well, and they tried to be helpful. “Mom, try this.”  Stiletto? So not gonna happen.

“Can you try this one?” they would ask excitedly.

“No. That’s a size 6. Mommy is a 10.” Mysteriously since childbirth, my left foot is an 11. For me shoe shopping is like finding a two-piece bathing suit. The same size rarely fits both parts.

“No. Not that one either. It is the wrong color.”

I knew finding a dress was prove to be even worse, so I decided to spare the boys and go it alone. My style has become predictable, and I was trying to try something different. I kept second-guessing myself and thinking, Do I look like a mom in this? 

The dressing room was filled with girls half my age. It was such a change from hanging with the boys. Some of the girls were chatting and complimenting each other. They were discussing their weekend plans. Then one of them said, “No way! This looked much different on the hanger. It doesn’t look good on me. It’s more for like an older Cougar type.” Oooh. Cougarwear?  I was tempted to ask her to bring down my way.

After I got home with a couple dresses I bought, I decided to put on a mini fashion show for the family. I wasn’t thinking my husband and boys were going to jump for joy, but I was hoping to get a positive response. Hoping was a mistake.

My youngest pointed to my stomach area and noted, “It looks like there is a baby in there.”

“Yeah I can see some of your tummy, Mom.”

Really? Maybe that would have been a good time to explain to them that having two kids back-to- back didn’t give Mommy a flat stomach. And breastfeeding for what seemed like two years straight didn’t provide Mommy with perkier boobs. And the varicose veins certainly didn’t get better with motherhood. 

I didn’t say those things because that would make me sound bitter. I’m not bitter. Just frustrated. It was tempting to throw on some flip-flops and a cover up and call it an outfit.

Do I look like a mom? What does a mom look like? Do I look a bit different than before I had kids? A bit. But I am going to wear a dress even if I have to wear Spanx. And a special bra. And possibly some industrial style hosiery. I am wearing a dress!