Leading Mama

The Drama Drags On

I’ve got that too-much-to-drink-slurred-speech-schouldn’t-operate-heavy-machinery kind of feeling this morning. And no, I didn’t tie one on last night (too bad for Leading Man, huh?).

 

The daycare transition separation anxiety drama drags on. I am having trouble typing because my motor skills are sluggish and my brain is cluttered, but thought I’d fill you in on recent happenings

 

Last week wasn’t great. Here’s the recap:

 

Monday:         

Federal holiday for Martin Luther King Day, no daycare

Tuesday:         

Inauguration Day, another federal holiday here in the DC Metro area. Carson went to daycare for 3 hours, just to ease back into things. Since no other children came that day, he hung out with Christine’s family; her two older girls who are so, so good to him, but he had a rough morning.

Wednesday:    

He woke up on the wrong side of the crib (you know what I mean). Had his milk and got dressed for the day. While I was feeding the dog, he vomited sour, congealed milk all over the floor. Not sure if he was sick, I kept him home for the day. No other symptoms of illness that day, but he was quieter than usual.

Thursday:        

Went to daycare. He cried when I left. (Me, too, but not in front of him!) Woke up from his nap at daycare feeling sad. Sat at the table for snack but didn’t eat much and didn’t get up from the table for the rest of the afternoon despite lots of cajoling from Christine. When I arrived to get him, he perked up but I couldn’t hold back the tears. He was so sad.

Friday:

Woke up way too early but went back to bed with Mama for an hour and got up in a good mood. Had a fun day at daycare. Enjoyed playing with everyone; ate well; napped well. Didn’t want to go home!

Oooh, look. It’s Monday again. (Where DOES the weekend go?)

 

This morning Carson woke up at 4:45 AM and we couldn’t get him back to sleep (drink of water, crying it out, laying with Mama, singing lullabies, warm milk, singing lullabies, laying with Mama, leaving him to cry it out – not necessarily in that order!). I know, inconsistency is the key to failure (and subsequent exhaustion), but I wasn’t firing on all cylinders, okay? At 6:15 I gave up and we “started” our day.

In my sleep-deprived delirium, I am confident I’ve chosen a wonderful caregiver for Carson but I’m unsure how to handle his anxieties. He (and I) need to sleep well, eat well, and enjoy our work/play time.

So, Reading Mamas, I ask you – What other ways do kids show their separation anxiety (I need to know what more to expect!)? And what’s a Mama to do about it?

You’re Now Leaving the Comfort Zone

One of my goals for 2009 is to meet with other writers to learn about writing, read and comment on each other’s work, and share successes and frustrations. To that end, I joined a group called Scribes and Scribbles. They (or should I say we) hold a biweekly meeting in a coffee shop in Old Town Alexandria.

 

 

Tonight is my first chance to attend, and I’m feeling a little anxious about the whole thing.

  

 

Wallflower I’m not. But on the continuum from shy to socialite, I fall somewhere in the middle: I stay pretty close to the comfort zone most of the time. Social butterflies flit around in my stomach when I think about tonight’s meeting. And the psychologist in my head has to overanalyze it all. (Indulge me, please. Admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery, right?)

 

  

I can think of (at least) three reasons for the social jitters. First and foremost, trying new identities is scary. Though I routinely tell people I write articles for magazines, I rarely utter the phrase “I am a freelance writer” aloud. Appearing at the Scribes and Scribbles meeting feels like going out in public wearing nothing but a giant sandwich-board that reads “I am a freelance writer.” The rest of what makes me “me” isn’t so relevant at this meeting. I’ll be claiming a new identity out loud and in person. Wow, scary!

  

 

Did I mention I won’t be wearing any clothes under the sandwich board? Venturing beyond the comfort zone feels a lot like running through the mall naked. You know everyone is looking and judging, even if they’re too kind (or too mortified) to say anything. Social anxiety is most troubling in evaluative situations. I know I’m not supposed to care what others think, but I do. Most days that’s a good thing – it keeps me from going to the store in my pajamas and hair curlers. When it keeps me from exploring new opportunities, it’s not so helpful. A writer’s group is evaluative by definition (but in a constructive sort of way, I hope). Evaluation is jitter-provoking reason #2.

  

 

What do I expect from the meeting? I don’t know. Stressors we can predict and control are a lot less stressful than those we can’t. Rats who received electric shocks to the tail suffered from ulcers and suppressed immune functioning when they couldn’t predict or control the shocks. Their rat colleagues who received the same amount of shock but whose actions controlled its’ duration fared better.  Lesson to be gleaned: Unpredictable situations are stressful, but they feel better when we remind ourselves we’ve got some control. As I head out the door tonight, feeling like a naked neophyte writer, I’ll remind myself I can come back to the comfort zone any time I please. I feel better just thinking about it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Empty Car Seat Syndrome

    If I had become a mother right out of high school, I’d be sitting bleary-eyed in an empty nest wondering what I’d do with my time now that the kids are off at college. But I didn’t.

    I had my first child at 37, and now – nearing 40 – I find myself sitting bleary-eyed behind the wheel of our Volvo S80 looking at an empty car seat in the rear-view mirror. I can’t hold back the tears. As I drive past the cranes doing highway construction on the Capital Beltway, I have to stop myself from pointing them out and narrating, “The cranes are helping workers build a new bridge. Look at what they are lifting on their hooks.” There’s no one in the backseat to notice the cranes and marvel at their size. No one pointing and questioning “Whazzat?"

    Carson is at daycare. He’s eating breakfast, playing with toys, hearing stories and doing crafts. Later he’ll take his first nap in a bed that isn’t his. And I miss him. 

    The daycare provider assures me he is going to get through it. She says he’s cried more each day – on Monday he didn’t know what was happening, by Tuesday he knew I was leaving. Wednesday he stood pointing at the window where our car was parked and pulled at my zipper to say “Take off your coat, Mom. Stay awhile.” This morning he clinged to me like a monkey. He may be a man of few words but my son communicates very clearly.

    My current strategy for dealing with this transition includes drinking coffee from a porcelain mug, sampling chocolate in its many glorious forms, throwing myself into my work with abandon and going to an occasional MOMS Club event so I can see my friends’ kids.

    It’s sick, I know. But toddlers smile with their eyes, and those crinkly-eyed smiles are like a tonic when a mama suffers from Empty Car Seat Syndrome. Really.

    So to my pint-sized buddies Cooper and Jack, Abby and Julia, I say THANKS. Your smiling faces and toddling play helped dry my tears yesterday. I’m sure Carson will adapt to his new surroundings soon. And so will I. 

Mixed Emotions

    My son, Carson, is 22-months old today – and it will be his first day in daycare. To say I have mixed feelings is an understatement. My emotions fluctuate between anxiety, guilt, excitement, and relief.

    The anxiety is easy to understand. Anytime we feel we’re losing control of something extremely important and special, we get anxious. And trusting someone else with caring for your child is certainly one of those times. I worked hard to find a daycare provider whose views I agree with, whose daycare center is small, attentive to children’s needs, and well-run. But she isn’t me and I won’t be there. There’s a knot in my stomach that twists just a little tighter and grows just a bit bigger each time I acknowledge that.

    The guilt is more complex. Moms feel guilt over every little thing, it seems. When I get a good workout but learn my son has been crying in the gym daycare the whole time I’ve been gone, I feel guilty. When I’ve scheduled a phone interview mid-day that requires me to plunk him in front of Finding Nemo and sequester myself in the bathroom instead of taking him out for a play date, I feel guilty. When the pediatrician harps on the number of words my son says, and directs a speech pathology consult, I feel guilty. It’s hard to have a life, be a mother, and NOT feel guilty.

    As I contemplate dropping Carson at Ms. Christine’s house this morning, I get a little bit excited, too. I’ve really missed being able to focus on my work. That isn’t to say I haven’t worked (I have) or that I haven’t focused (absolutely, I have). Working from home makes mama focus in a way no traditional job can. If you want to produce a professional, well-written product in no time, ask someone with no time. She’ll get it done in the time her kids nap – she has to. 

    But I’m excited to have the chance to pour myself into a project without constantly thinking about when Carson will wake. I’m relieved that he’ll be busy playing with other kids and enjoying Christine’s fantastic fenced backyard. Keeping Carson busy hasn’t been easy for me, and some days the boredom and isolation of being a stay-at-home mom makes me crazy. 

    As I head back to work outside these walls, I recognize that being a work-from-home mom for 22 months has been a wonderful luxury. Few women have the opportunity to stay home with their children without financial worries or career concerns. I treasure the time I share with Carson, always have and always will. But now our time together will be even more precious – because I won’t always be there.   

Ahhh! A Blank Page

    It’s been several weeks since I’ve had time to sit and think and write. With holiday festivities, numerous visitors, and my husband’s promotion to Colonel this week, life has been a blur. A bustling, noisy, happy blur – until now.

    I’ve dropped off the last guest at the airport. Started the laundry. Cleared the clutter. My son is napping (finally). And so I sit down in front of a blank page to write.

    Usually the blank page seems daunting. It taunts “Can’t you organize your thoughts?” “Don’t you have anything interesting to say?” “Have the toddler tantrums and food fights turned your brain to mush?”

    Today the blank page feels good – surprisingly good. Its blankness feels like an opportunity, not an indictment. The blank page reminds me that a New Year is not just a chance to do more, see more, and share more. It is a chance to do less, relax, and refocus on those closest to me.

    So this weekend, I’m flexing my “do nothing” muscles for a change. I’ll let you know how it turns out.