Co-parenting: Stepping in So Nobody Loses Their Shit

I was sitting at the computer in the living room searching for finger foods for our eight-month-old. My husband was sitting in a chair across the room, the baby sitting at his feet. Our four-year-old was bouncing around the room, jumping on his father and nudging the baby.

"Be careful with the baby. Paddy ... be careful with the baby."

Then the bang and the scream. The scene changed. Paddy sat frozen on the floor. My husband rushed to pick up the screaming baby. He thrust the baby into my arms, picked Paddy up and carried him sideways, kicking and screaming to his room.

A few moments later Paddy was crying hysterically in his room. I was checking the baby's mouth for broken teeth and putting a wet cloth on his bleeding lip. My husband was seething.

I walked to our toddler's room, handed the baby to my husband and said I would talk to Paddy.

Then it hit me. This is what co-parenting is. It is stepping in so that the other parent doesn't lose their shit.

At times I feel like I have an invisible scoreboard. There is so much focus on shared responsibility with shared parenting. Is each parent changing his or her share of diapers? Is each parent spending the same amount of time with the children?

Yet, that's not what it is about.

It is about knowing when your partner has reached their limit and when it is just too hard.

It is about my husband taking the baby in the middle of the night when I am so exhausted that I can't possibly take another step.

It is about tagging in and talking to our toddler when he has pushed every button that his father has.

It is about the long conversations we have after the children sleep, talking about what happened, reassuring the other that they did the best they could.

Am I Just a Control Freak?

Yesterday I went to the grocery store alone. While I desperately needed the time by myself, at times I felt lost. I felt like people weren't seeing the real me. I was wearing my wedding ring but not my children.

I wandered around the grocery store. I heard children, talking and crying. I noticed what other people were buying. In my cart were a jar of baby food, baby oatmeal and mum mum's. The only visible signs that I was driving home to my children and their father.

Lately I've been thinking a lot about co-parenting: what it means to me and how my husband I exist together as parents. My solo trip to the grocery store helped me to put words to what I've been thinking. I realized that I'm not actually thinking about co-parenting as much as my identity as a parent.

I often wonder why I take on certain tasks. I am responsible for the simple (such as packing for trips) and the more important (such as scheduling and attending pediatrician appointments). If I weren't responsible for these I do not doubt that my husband would be.

So why do I feel the need to do them? Is it because I am a control freak? Partly. Is it because I am the mom and feel like it is my job? Partly. Is it more than that? Definitely.

Walking around Big Y alone I felt my children missing. I felt a little lost and a little lonely. I wanted other people to see my children and to know that they exist.

I spend most of my time with my boys. I make sure they never run out of diapers. I make sure their favorite snacks are well stocked. I make sure they get their vaccinations. I make sure that they are read to every day. I make sure they brush their teeth. I do all of this because they are an extension of me.

Someday they will no longer be an extension of me, although they will always remain a part of me. When that happens my role as mommy will change. Until then I will continue to make sure we never run out of diapers. I will watch my children get vaccinated and make sure we have sippy cups for road trips. I will continue to take care of all of me.

Self Less: The Relationship I Didn't Know Would Change

Last night I had a dream.

I was in a hospital waiting room trying to call my husband who was home with the kids. I had been told that I would eventually lose my eyesight. I had a choice to make; have surgery or wait until I painfully lost my sight. In my dream I realized that if I went through with the surgery I would never see my children's faces again.

My decision was made.

…

On a beautiful August day in 2010, I was riding my bicycle on the bike trail near my parents' home. I heard a bell behind me warning that a cyclist would pass. I turned around and my tires slipped off the trail. With my foot stuck in my pedal cage I fell hard onto my left side, and slid along the pavement. As I fell, my arm instinctively tried to protect my stomach.

I was five months pregnant.

At the emergency room the nurse focused on cleaning and bandaging my arm and leg. The medical staff didn't feel the urgency that I felt.

Was my baby OK?

Two days later I had a scheduled ultrasound and was able to see my beautiful, healthy, unharmed, unborn baby.

I then allowed myself to feel the pain in my body.

…

This past Saturday was my son's fourth birthday party. His friends arrived and began playing together. I soon began to feel a stabbing pain in my right breast. I nursed the baby and handed him to my mother; this made it easier to ignore the discomfort.

Three hours later the pain had intensified. My legs became sore. Chills began and I began to shake as a fever set in. At 11 p.m. I called the doctor. He told me to go the emergency room.

My husband and I talked and looked at our sleeping baby whom we would have to bundle up and take into the cold. My in-laws could care for our toddler (they were sleeping over for the birthday party) but I couldn't leave my nursing baby home.

I decided not to go to the hospital unless my fever returned. The next morning I began treatment for Mastitis.

…

These three moments tell a similar story: My relationship to my body has changed in complicated and unexpected ways.

My body nurtured the growth of two lives. It fed two babies. Yet, it’s more than that.

Five years ago my body’s care was selfish. If I was sick I would go to the doctor, call out sick from work and stay in bed all day.

Now it cares for two small children and every decision I make for myself is driven by how it will help or hurt my children.

By no means does this mean I am reckless in ignoring my needs—because I know if I am not healthy, I can't care for them.

Becoming a mother, however, changed my understanding of selflessness.

It’s a change that I did not expect and that I struggle to explain. It does not just mean fewer dates with my partner or fewer moments to myself. Being a mom has redefined my relationship with my body and how I care for it.

And, this new way of viewing myself is worth all the discomfort and pain.

When I watch my toddler dance in the kitchen while my seven-month-old gives me open mouth kisses on my cheek, I’m aware that the muscle in my chest feels like it may burst.

And I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

Babies Don't Have It So Good

When I am in public, my 6-month-old snuggled in a wrap on my chest, I find that people are jealous. Not of me, but of Gabo. They are under the false assumption that he "has the life." Yes, at the moment he is warm and cozy snuggled up on his mother's chest. But that could all change at the drop of a hat.

Would I rather be an adult or a baby? An adult, hands down. Because when you are a baby ...

• You are sitting in, and often covered in poop, at least once a day. When your diaper doesn't hold it goes up your back. On really bad days it finds it way into your socks. No matter how quickly your parent detects the mess you have still spent a period of time sitting in your own feces.

• You deal with ongoing pain for 2 years. Teeth attempt to push through your sore gums, not all at once in a humane manner, but one at a time. Once you feel relief it starts again. Despite having frozen objects thrust into your mouth or swallowing some sticky faux grape flavored liquid, you still hurt.

• When your nose is stuffy you can't eat. Adults have the choice of keeping their mouths open. While possibly not appreciated by their dinner partners, the choice is there. You either can't eat or you dribble sticky breast milk or formula down your chin.

• You don't have fine motor skills. This is a true detriment when you have an older sibling or two, shoving toys, their bodies or any other object they can find into your face. You have no recourse but to sit there and take it, sometimes squirming and flailing your arms, but rarely to any useful end.

•  Dignity? What is that? You have no privacy. Your diaper may be changed in the back of a car, on the hood of a car or on a public lawn. Worse still, you may be changed in a public bathroom. If luck is on your side the changing table may be in a stall but how often does that happen? Usually you are being changed in the line of bathroom traffic, your parent often being in the way and attracting the attention of others. You are subjected to the "oohs and ahhs" that come from viewing a cute baby behind when you just want to be clean. 

• Despite your best effort to perfect different cries your parents rarely get it right. They overreact and their exhaustion and anxiety get in the way. You are held when you don't want to be, put down when you want to be held. You are fed when you aren't hungry and changed when your diaper isn't wet. You feel like your parents should get it which leads to more frustration and crying. Why can't they get it right?

• For your safety you are often strapped into car seats, high chairs, swings, bumbos, jumpers and vibrating seats. You just want to be let loose on the world. You want to put that stale cheerio in your mouth that you spied on the floor. You don't care that you don't have teeth. You just want to be free.

As I sit here typing and Gabo sleeps soundly on my chest I admit that there are moments when he has it good. But soon he will wake.

Laughing through the Chaos

I stood in a parking lot behind a Royal Farms gas station. My hands were on my toddler's shoulders and my eyes were scanning the parking lot. I was three minutes away from my sister-in-law Jen's home in Maryland. As I looked at Jen, who was sitting in the passenger seat, I noticed tears streaming down her face. I looked down. Paddy was urinating in a perfect arc into a storm drain three feet away.

After eight and a half hours in the car and three hours of broken sleep, I agreed that an outing with a four-month-old, a six-month-old and a three-year-old sounded good. It was a beautiful fall day and so Jen and I packed them in the car and set out for a shopping plaza "15 minutes away."

About two minutes into the ride, Captain America fell to the floor. I weathered the tantrum that followed. It was easier than pulling over on a four-lane highway and climbing into the rear of our RAV4 to find it. The tantrum ended and then Gabo, our six-month-old, took over. His fussing quickly escalated to heart-wrenching sobs that lasted the duration of our much-longer-than-15-minutes trip.

"Maybe it is a little farther than I said," Jen said. "You do drive slower than me."

I assured my sister-in-law that it was fine, despite being crammed into the car, driving unfamiliar roads on little sleep and little caffeine. We'd have to get there eventually and then everything would be o.k., right?

We finally pulled off of the highway and stopped behind a long line of traffic. Missing the first green light, Jen felt confident that we would get through the next. The car in front of me was small enough for my SUV to push if necessary. I have four-wheel drive and could make it over the hill of a median in the middle of the road. We would get through that light one way or another.

I parked and jumped out of the car as soon as we arrived. Gabo quickly settled into his wrap and sniffled the last of his sobs. He was red-eyed, but no worse for the wear. Paddy, on the other hand, was asleep.

"I'm not getting out of the car," he yelled after I gave a him a soft nudge. "Take me home!"

My usual tactic of gently rousing him  had flopped. There was no way I was putting Gabo back into the car. I pulled out the big guns and offered him both a treat and a toy if he would get out of the car.

Saddled with wraps, diaper bags, purses, a stroller and three small children, we headed to Barnes and Noble. Soon Paddy had his treat and I was able to nurse the baby. For 10 precious minutes all three children were settled and relatively happy.

Then Jen's baby started to fuss. But we soldiered on.

Carter's was having a 50 percent off everything sale and our stomachs were grumbling. After shopping and lunch my niece was tired. Jen carried her to the car and warned me that the ride home would be bad. We prepared for the worst and were pleasantly surprised when both babies rode peacefully, entertained by my toddler. It seemed we would make it home.

And then: "Mama, I have to pee."

Paddy agreed to wait a few minutes to get back to Jen's house.

And then, he began to wail. There was no time to think. I quickly cut across the right lane of traffic fully aware that I was being called a masshole by the driver I cut off. I pulled over and got Paddy out of the car and he soon found a storm drain to pee in.

When our husbands arrived home later that day we recounted our days. They expressed pity for us. It sounded like our day had been terrible and my husband was sad that I hadn't enjoyed the time with his sister.

This could not be farther from the truth. We hadn't had a terrible day and we had enjoyed ourselves.

Jen had been there to calm me down and reassure me when I didn't think I could take one more second of Gabo's cries. She watched Paddy for me while I nursed the baby.

I waited at the counter for Jen's food so she could feed her daughter. I pushed the stroller so she could carry her to the car. I picked up the baby's sock when it fell and retrieved the other from a stranger who was chasing after us with it.

Jen told my son he could pee in a parking lot instead of having an accident in the car.

If either of us had been alone that day it would have been terrible. We would have cried instead of laughing. Instead we were able to understand and support each other at the moments we needed it most.

Despite the chaos, we were able to laugh and truly enjoy our time together. And, in the end, we made it out with a story to tell.

Scrutinized More Than Supermodels

Mothers are scrutinized more than supermodels. Every decision we make may come under fire. I have received unsolicited comments and advice from people I love dearly, complete strangers and everyone in between. I have been judged for how I feed, sleep, nurture and play with my children. These are the top comments that left me speechless.Well, not really speechless, that's pretty hard to do.

6. "You are still breastfeeding?" Yes, I am still providing healthy, nutritious, germ-fighting food to my child despite him being alive for more than 365 days. While giving milk that came from a cow's udder may be enticing, I am going to stick with what my human body provides. Silly, I know.

5. "We just fed our babies sweetened condensed milk." I guess this was a recommended source of nutrition in the 1950s. I scoured the internet but could not find any research to support opening a can a sweet-milk for my infant son.

4. "Breast-fed babies are too skinny." Tell that to my 18-pound five-month-old. Apparently, he did not get the memo.

3. "You people do that a lot around here, I can't say anything, but it's not recommended." "You people" are us Birkenstock wearing liberals in the Pioneer Valley of western Massachusetts. What we "do" is bed-share with our babies. Believe it or not, we are educated and know that there is research that supports safe bed-sharing. I tend to shy away from getting drunk, lighting up a cigarette and plopping onto a waterbed with my infant.

2. "Don't wiggle your fingers so close to his face, he will go cross-eyed." I'll let this one speak for itself.

1. "Good grief, can that baby breathe in there?" This is by far my favorite and a response to a picture of my infant son snuggled in a wrap that my husband had posted on Facebook. No, I did not spend 9 months--big, swollen, sore, and cranky, shunning caffeine and alcohol--to turn around and suffocate my infant in a wrap.  But, thank you for bringing that horrific image to mind.

Playground Etiquette for a 38-Year-Old

I was painfully shy growing up. I had a small group of friends that I stuck close to. I would not seek out new friends to play with and would prefer to play alone than approach someone I didn't know. Much later, as an adult, navigating the professional world was not easy. Yet, I learned to be more outspoken and confident, eventually taking on a supervisory position that tossed me miles beyond my comfort zone.

Then, I brought my almost two-year-old son to story-time at a local library. I had been a stay-at-home mom for an entire week and, suddenly, I had to navigate this whole new social world. I was thrust into a situation where other moms knew each other and I had to decide whether to stand in a corner or become one of them.

Admittedly, there were some tears when I recounted my day to my husband and wondered how I would ever fit in. Over the last few years, however, it has become so much easier. Today, I even approach other mothers to engage them in small talk. I've come leaps and bounds from that first uncomfortable play-group.

Yet, as I am feeling more at ease with other moms, my son is trying to find his way with other kids. Watching him navigate his little social world is both amazing and painful. About a year ago Paddy kicked a little boy in the face. We were at the library and at the time, he wanted to do anything but play with others. We had to cut a few library trips short.

Today, though, Paddy has become a gregarious, friendly soon-to-be four-year-old who seeks out playmates wherever we go. I watch him approach kids at the library, playground and children's museum. I watch him develop fast friends. And, I watch him get rejected.  As I watch, I wonder: How should I handle situations when Paddy is being rejected and I know other children are being mean?

Recently, I sat pretending my butt was glued to a park bench as Paddy tried to play with two other children who clearly did not want to become a threesome. Soon my nephew intervened, distracting Paddy long enough for him to find a little girl who wanted to play with him. My stomach churned and I won't repeat the words I shared with my adult nephew when he confirmed my fears that the children were being less than friendly.

After these situations I am left reeling, wondering whether my son's feelings have been hurt. Yet, I don't want to project my own introverted insecurities on my child so I struggle with how to react. I say to myself as long as he is not being physically intimidated or name called, I will do my best not to intervene. I know that he needs to learn how to behave in social situations and being an over-bearing mother will not help him.

With that said, it is so hard.

My heart breaks a little every time he is rejected. I know it will happen over and over again and that I will eventually be picking up the pieces of his broken heart. I just didn't expect it to happen so quickly, and that it would be the pieces of my own heart I would be picking up. I did not realize that as the mother of a toddler, I would have to figure out how to behave myself. I did not realize that after I learned how to open up in my professional life, and after l learned how to socialize in my stay-at-home-mom life, I would now have to learn playground etiquette, too.