The Fabulous Life of the Minimum Wage Parent

Recently I have been reading some wonderful parenting books about how to embrace motherhood and enjoy a full-time parenting career. These authors have created easy to read and digest memoirs of the joys and spiritual journeys of being a parent.

But there's just one problem. They're all doctors, famous journalists, TV news anchors, etc. I find while I can relate to them as mothers, I don't really relate to them as women. They all affirm what an easy decision it was to become a full-time mother while feeling sorry for their career hungry girl friends who crave their fast paced lives on Wall Street or Capitol Hill. Do I even know any mothers who have any idea what's going on on Wall Street on a day to day basis? Where is Capitol Hill anyway?

Of course the decision to be a full-time mother was easy for them. All of them have husbands who have careers that pay more than perhaps even their own brushing-with-the-rich-and-famous faboo jobs. They didn't have to consider whether or not they'd have food on the table if they were to quit there jobs.

I left a part-time minimum wage job to become a full-time parent and move to a new state. At the time I made the decision, my husband was a new college graduate without a job. He eventually did get a job at a theater in the Philadelphia area making peanuts. But we could live on peanuts. Even when after two months of working at the theater, he was let go because in this horrid economy the theater couldn't afford to have a full-time props master, I didn't decide that I'd become the wage earner in the family. We would just live on even less than peanuts.

The point is, both myself and these authoresses made the decision to become full-time mommies, but from very different backgrounds. And yet, the decision was still easy to make. Even though we had *just* enough food and money to get by, I never second guessed my decision. Do those TV anchors have any friends who have lived on spaghetti for two weeks to stretch out their grocery store trips? Where are the journalists that know people who know what it's like to be on Medicaid? Where are the books by these women?

So here I am to give you that perspective. It *is* an easy decision to make to become a full-time parent. I'll tell you, spaghetti is good stuff, even after a week or so! Getting enrolled with Medicaid was one of the most frustrating things I've had to do-mainly because no one I spoke to spoke English! Sometimes you won't have rent on time, but you'll be surprised how lenient people can be. Babies can be expensive, but for a long time, all they do is nurse and poop, so you really only need to buy diapers.

While I do work a few hours a week (I get to bring Ginny with me), I don't *need* it for any self-fulfillment. Being a parent is fulfilling enough. And it doesn't really add to our finances much, I just do it for fun. If you are trying to decide whether or not you can "afford" to be a full-time parent, do it. These paid-the-big-bucks-to-write-mommy-memoirs ladies can't tell you that. It is tough to live on next to nothing and sometimes nothing, but you will NEVER regret it.

The Orange Badge of Parenthood

Parenting Lesson of the Day: Always check your ears for dried sweet potato *before* leaving for work.

I was settling down to feed my daughter after work, and an itch happened upon my ear. So, not to delay the agony, I scratched it. And while the itch was removed, so was a blob of dried sweet potato, the shrapnel from Ginny's breakfast experimentation. Paranoia set in. Did anyone at work notice? Of course it was the day that a member of the board was coming to observe us at work. I wonder, if they did notice, what they thought it was? Ear wax?? Or would they assume correctly that it was some badge of new-parenthood that decorated my ear.

The badge was clearly donned this morning when Ginny decided to blow a raspberry on her spoon full of sweet potato. No big deal, feeding a baby new food is going to be messy. But for parents that must raise a child and work outside of the home, how do we prepare ourselves for appearances in civilization? If food shows up on ears, where else must one check? I can't do a body scan every time I step outside.

So parents, the only option is: Wear the badge with courage and defiance! I *will* saunter around in society with blobs of food all over my body! Take that board members, grocery store cashiers, and post office clerks!

Baby...What's the Word?

Above Picture--Ginny: "Hmm..."

"I have a really bad case of baby...."
"What?"
"Hmm? Sorry, was I saying something?"

The above is not huge exaggeration of how my brain works on a day to day basis. Somewhere during my second trimester of pregnancy, I developed a bad case of "Pregnancy Brain". If your not familiar with this condition, it's when your brain turns to absolute mush. I'll give you an example: All during my pregnancy I worked at a library. One of my duties was to go outside and empty the book-drop and help check all the books in. I did this every day, several times. One morning I was heading out and I was telling my co-worker where I was going, "I'm taking the...things you unlock with..." she replied, "Keys?" "Right keys, to get all the..." "Books?" "Right books!" She chuckled: "Ah pregnancy brain! Don't worry it will go away in...20 years". I laughed. She smiled. Wait--was she being serious??

Now my daughter is six months old and my brain is still a blob of ooze for all I can tell. Some time, in the darkness of night I am sure, my pregnancy brain was switched with baby brain! I can rarely finish a sentence (that is, when I can even remember that I am speaking), or call to mind things I know (like that really big country in South America--you know the one that starts with "Br" something...). I've never felt so stupid! Anyone would find it hard to believe I ever knew anything at all! Luckily I have a couple of... those paper things that you get when you graduate that say you graduated with... something.

While baby brain can be hilarious, I'll be honest, it's *really* frustrating-for me and my husband who never knows what I'm talking about. (How can he? I don't!) I've discovered it's one of those things about parenting that you need to keep a sense of humor about or else you'll be cursing that "big South American country" everyday. Here's what I've learned: You're a parent. You don't need your brain right now. Yes that seems ridiculous. But think about it. Your baby needs to be loved and cared for. Your instincts will tell you how to accomplish that, not your factual knowledge. My daughter could really care less about how many countries of the world I can name--though, I'm getting better! Thanks Sporcle.com!--What she cares about is being loved by her parents. I don't have to speak in complete sentences to do that.

So maybe in 20 years or so, I'll be able to have a normal conversation again without someone having to remind me that I am in fact speaking. Until then, well, it's just not my priority.

A Spoonful of Cereal...

A spoonful of cereal makes the...spirit go down?

Today Ginny had her first taste of big people food. And she gobbled it up! My little baby has entered a new and exciting phase of life. "Real" food.

So why do I feel a little disappointed?

My previous posts have been about the hilarity and fun times of having a baby around. But today I think I encountered the first bittersweet moment of parenthood. When my daughter starts to gain a little independence from me. Up until now, I provided her with all the nutrition she needed! Thinking about it makes me a little teary even as I am typing this post. And by "a little teary" I mean my face is snotty and there's a pile of tissues by my laptop.

I am very proud of Ginny for loving to learn about new things and her new enjoyment of food. But now I realize that the days of her snuggling up to me to eat are numbered. I was thinking today that there must be special angels that are around mothers and babies during nursing, and that as a baby is weaned, those angels draw away. Part of the sadness of a baby being weaned may be the loss of those heavenly angels. Then it made me wonder, I bet the Lord can relate. There are times in our lives when we happily follow the Lord like little children, but we need to feel independent--we need to make our own decisions. It's part of our growth as people. I wonder how He feels? Is it like this? He's happy we're becoming our own people, capable of truly loving Him--but maybe a little sad to be losing our total innocence? Babies too need independence from their mothers as part of their growth as individuals. (Another tissue on the pile.)

So who knew one measly bowl of rice cereal could do this to a person? I should write Gerber and complain.

My apologies for providing you with a bittersweet parenting post. But I *did* promise I would give you a realistic view of parenthood... I promise-- more gassy baby stories next time!

Eine Kleine Nachtmusik

"Eine Kleine Nachtmusik": a wonderful composition by our dear Mozart. If you are expecting a thoughtful commentary on the classical genius--turn back now. This is a parenting blog afterall. The following story will challenge your refined taste.

The other night, with baby sleeping cosily in her carseat bed, my husband and I tiptoed into bed making sure not to disturb the restful babe. If we succeeded, she would sleep through the night, if not, she would wake up wanting to be fed and to have some good quality play time.

So what does this have to do with "A Little Nightmusic"? Did we put on a classical CD to ensure she remained asleep? Did we sing her soothing melodies to send her further into dreamland?

We silently got ourselves tucked into bed, said our goodnights, and prepared to join Ginny in dreamland. Then Ginny began to serenade us--she let one rip. And we're not talking a dignified little pipsqueak "toot", rather a long-winded, minute or so concerto that featured Ginny as the sole wind instrument. We looked at each other and burst into laughter. She hadn't woken up though so we buried our faces in the blankets and wiped tears from our eyes in the dark. Now the room was silent. We stopped laughing and peered over the edge of our bed down into hers. Yep. Still asleep. We settled ourselves again and waited for sleep to arrive. But alas! This was only the intermission of Ginny's solo orchestral composition! The sounds echoed on the hard plastic of the carseat. It was as if a booming tympani had been called to join the wind section. This went on for another minute or two, and once again we retreated into the blankets to stifle our laughter. Silence. The score had ended. The last tears were wiped away, and at long last, our family could sleep.

Mozart may have made his musical debut at the age of five, but if you ask me, Ginny is quite the prodigy where her talents are concerned.

"Smoke" Detectors

Being the safety-conscious new parent that I am, I happened to wonder yesterday whether or not our smoke detectors were fully functional. Being the new parent that I am, I didn't have time to check.

Today was not unlike any other weekday. My husband was at work so I got things done as the baby slept and played with her while she was awake. Finally, she fell blissfully asleep and I decided to take a shower. Know where this story is going yet?

First off, as soon as I turned on the shower, she woke up. Not a problem. Ginny has gotten to the point where staring at the shower curtain while I shower is pretty entertaining. And if that fails, there's always a couple of feet around to grab. The showering continued. No peeps from Ginny. Ah, a hot shower on a cold day, is there anything better? Any guesses yet? So Ginny stayed happy right through to the end of my prolonged shower. What a gift! I threw back the shower curtain feeling pretty cocky that I managed to get through a shower. Then my puzzling from yesterday was answered... BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP!!!!!! The smoke detector decided that steam is a harmful substance. I was so afraid that this would upset Ginny, I snatched up my towel and hopped out of the shower, heading towards the smoke detector. Frantically I looked for something to disperse the steam from the detector. The nearest thing was a pair of flannel pajama pants. So I was flailing the pants in the air while dripping and holding my towel on with the other hand. BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP!! I dashed over to the window and tore back the curtain in order to open the window, not bothering about innocent passers-by on the street. The cool air rushed in and the beeping was silenced. Now I had to face the music and assess the damage done to my peaceful baby. I nervously looked in her direction and...she laughed.

I laughed.

As I stood in my now cold room, dripping wet, I couldn't help but think how spectacular being a parent is.

Plus now I know my smoke detectors work.

Driving

Parenting Lesson of the Day:

When you become a parent, you become a better driver.


False.

Okay I have to give myself some credit. I'm very cautious when making tricky turns, obeying the speed limit, etc. However, this Sunday I was driving home after church with a screaming baby. Desperation set in. My daughter loves to rock and bounce for as long as your legs can possibly stand it, and more. But in the car there's not much you can do. I've taken to jostling her car-seat with my right hand reaching back while driving with my left. Today this would not do the trick. I found myself purposefully driving into potholes and swerving into storm drains on the side of the road. Bump Bump. The crying would lessen. That wouldn't quite do the trick entirely. So I wouldn't slow down over speed bumps. The crying got quieter. I stopped at a red light. Uh oh, it got louder. I start to nervously pump the brake pedal in order to shake the whole car. Only a few chirps from the back seat. By the time I arrived home, she was asleep.

So my semi-reckless driving works occasionally. Only sometimes, I don't need to, and find myself hunting down potholes. One afternoon I was driving and my husband sat in the back with the baby. I swerved a bit out of instinct and he asked me calmly from the back, "Are you trying to put her to sleep?" I was unaware that this had become a subconscious thing. "Oh. Yeah... I am...".

So if you see a car swerving around the road, don't assume they're a drunk driver. They might just be a desperate parent.