Hey, kids. Over here! Yeah, this gal? Right here? Smart. Two degrees. Good brains. Knows stuff. Dad's not the only smart parent, okay?Don’t worry about it, Mom. Dad will figure it out. He took the Star Wars origami project that I’d been unsuccessfully fiddling with for 20 minutes out of my hands. And he walked away.

It was a knife-slice to the heart. When did Daddy become the smart parent? How did I lose that status? Did I ever have it? Is it because I am a stay-at-home mom? Is it because I am a woman?

There are many roles and titles that I’ve learned to accept throughout my motherhood years. I am the default parent. Want to know the rules? Ask Mom. Want to stay up late and eat sugar? Ask Dad. Mom insists on vegetables with dinner; Dad’s more likely to swing in to Taco Bell. I make them pick up their toys far more than Daddy does. And I get on the floor and play far less than he.

I accept that he’s the fun one. And that their time with him is more special, as he works and travels a lot. Their time with me is… well, all the time. So it is easy to take me for granted.

I am okay with all of that.

I am not okay with Dad being the only smart one. Who builds massive Lego projects with you? Mommy. Who helps you with your homework? Mommy. Who takes you to the library? Mommy. Yet, if something is mentally challenging, the go-to response is, I’ll ask Dad. Continue Reading

This is a story of a first-time struggling to nurse, but also struggling in general as a first time mother. The last thing she needed was to be shut away for hours a day so she could feed her child.Ack! Not another breastfeeding post! Don’t do it! (I imagine that’s what you are saying.) I get it—it’s everywhere. There seems to be quite the war out there about breast vs. bottle and public feeding vs. hiding in a closet.

This is not a post about formula. I could not care less what the method is that you use to feed your baby, so long as baby gets food. Seriously. DON’T CARE. What I will weigh on, however, is the whole “women breastfeeding in public” debate. And I would like to do so by telling you a story.

This is a story of a first-time mom. She had a relatively uneventful pregnancy (unless you consider nuclear blast gaseous emissions and falling asleep with a half-eaten box of Cheez-its in her hand eventful… her husband sure did). And she assumed she’d breastfeed without too much issue. Nobody really warned her otherwise. Most people she knew just did it and it all seemed relatively drama-free.

This mom worked until the day before baby arrived. Her labor was, like many first labors, long and difficult. But in the end, her healthy baby boy was born. Breastfeeding was a challenge from the get-go. At first she blamed it on her milk not coming in yet, so she supplemented with formula bottles while in the hospital. However, she quickly became alarmed upon realizing that her baby didn’t naturally know what to do. He was fussy and thrashing his face back and forth and she couldn’t calm him down. She truly did want this to work though, and was determined to persevere. On her second night at the hospital (the last night she’d have round the clock nurses), she asked for help. One of her incredibly patient and kind nurses climbed into her bed at 3:00 in the morning to help this new mom feed her baby. Or at least try to. Continue Reading

My poor 3-year-old gets blamed for everything, which isn't his fault. But he does dictate the outcome of every single event throughout the day... so...

The rough life of the 3-year-old. He gets blamed for everything, which isn’t really fair. He is 3 and not truly responsible for, well, anything. Yet somehow, 90% of the time, he is the determining factor of whether something is a success or total failure.

Therefore, I believe I can respond to almost every question with “I have a 3-year-old.” I am not blaming him, but merely explaining that, well, he’s the reason for almost everything. Which is somehow different than blame. I don’t know quite how yet.

For example…

1. Why are you late?

I have a 3-year-old.

2. Why is this wet?

I have a 3-year-old.

3. Why are you crying?

I have a 3-year-old.

4. Why is he crying?

He’s a 3-year-old.

5. Why is this broken?

I have a 3-year-old.

6. Why does it look like it was put back together with tape, glitter glue, and Q-tips?

Oh, yeah. I have a 3-year-old. Continue Reading