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“Wow, you look like you just survived a plane crash,” said my relentlessly honest friend as I staggered out of bed at 9:30 a.m., red eyed and disheveled, after yet another sleep deprived night. No, blessedly no plane crash, just a 2-week-old baby who has yet to embrace the joys of sleep.
Based on my postpartum experiences, a plane crash is a pretty solid metaphor. Read the rest of this entry →
When I found out I was having a boy, I assumed he would look like his dad. My husband is the spitting image of his own father. On top of their physical resemblance, both are economics professors and both ran cross-country in college. I never have to wonder what my husband will look like in 30 years–during any holiday celebration I only need to look over at my father-in-law.
But when my son arrived, he looked like me. Instead of being bald like the baby pictures of his dad, he was born with a head full of dark brown hair; instead of his father’s blue eyes he had dark brown irises, just like mine. Even my ever-eager-to-stake their genetic claim in-laws agreed: he was my child. Read the rest of this entry →
I wrote a comment on a Kveller link saying, partially in jest, that infants are “love-killlers”–and proceeded to get killed, myself.
Out came the sanctimony. “Jordana, what an awful thing to say,” one person wrote in response. “Love dies after kids because you let it…. or because the love wasn’t there in the first place.” ”XXX, I’m with you!,” another commenter chimed in. “If infants are ‘love-killers’, then the parents were never in love; they had fallen ‘in lust’!”
“Umm Jordana….I don’t know about you but I love my husband more than I ever did since we had our children,” another chimed in. Read the rest of this entry →
Earlier this week our editor Debbie Kolben asked for some advice dealing with her daughter’s adjustment to being a big sister. Yesterday Carla gave her ten tips, and here are ten more.
Oh Debbie, I am so sorry you’ve fallen prey to the toddler-who-received-a-sibling-torture. It’s horrible. I wrote about it last month when I was still buried in a toddler shit-storm on a daily basis.
I’ll be honest, the first few weeks I was like, “Hey he likes his baby brother, this is good, we’re doing GREAT” and then? My worst parenting lows. I could see no resemblance of my sweet firstborn. He was a monster and I had nothing but negative feelings towards him. I felt like I was always yelling or kvetching at him. He refused to listen to me and would do NOTHING that I asked. The tantrums were horrible. Meals? WORSE. My angelic boy who was my entire world was gone and I cried wondering if our relationship was changed forever. Read the rest of this entry →
“If it’s a boy, I think we’ll come for the bris,” my brother-in-law in Miami told me a few weeks ago over Skype, just before the arrival of our second baby.
As an East Coast transplant living in St. Louis, I spent the last few weeks of my pregnancy this summer acting as a part-time travel agent, navigating tricky waters to coordinate which family members would come to visit–and when. Read the rest of this entry →
We sat in the waiting room.
My wife and I came up with a list of what we had to do later that day: respond to emails, clean our apartment, maybe watch an episode of Mad Men.
We had been sensitive to the kabbalistic notion of the ayin ha-ra, the evil eye, and refrained from excessive preparation of unconfirmed events. Yet, we figured, with a month away and a one-bedroom apartment in Manhattan to reorganize, it was time to build a crib. Earlier that day before the unexpected rush to the hospital, my grandparents surprised us with a rocking chair they had reupholstered for their first great-grandchild. A few hours later, my wife went into labor six weeks before our baby’s expected due date. Read the rest of this entry →
You know who’s screwed Jordana, you are!
Via Tamara Reese
I had a lot of fears about my firstborn’s reaction to a new baby. We did everything we could to prepare him and I believe much of it was a success, particularly the “big brother” books that we read at ad nauseum. We’ve been especially diligent at pointing out what Big Brother can do that baby cannot.
That being said, it’s been a rough month over here.
My firstborn, now 2 and a half, refused to eat our first week home from the hospital. He’d pick at the occasional carbohydrate here and there but showed his displeasure through exerting control over what went into his mouth. That passed and now mealtime is accompanied by tantrums and food throwing. Yay.
And then there’s sleep. A first he went to bed at a reasonable hour and then had a nice 4 a.m. wake up where I was trying to juggle two crying boys. The past few weeks, we put him down for bed and he stays up in his crib until well past midnight talking, screaming, playing, calling for me and claiming to have poop in his diaper (which turned out to be true only once).
The only upside is that he’s still in a crib and hasn’t attempted to climb out (knock on wood).
Just to give you a bit of context: I’m at home, parenting two kids–one who’s 3, the other who was just born. And I’m typing this post on my phone. While breastfeeding. While my older child watches TV. So please forgive the sentence fragments.
I just wanted to say a few things about being a mom of two:
1) 1+1≠2. Though that’s what you were taught your whole life in math class, it’s not true when it comes to parenting. Because even when you’ve got two parents home caring for the kids (and maybe even a grandparent or two), your kids might both need mommy at the same time. My baby has cried more in his first four weeks of life than his sister did in her first four months–because I could almost always pick her up right away. It’s a little bit heartbreaking. Read the rest of this entry →
A car showed up, and suddenly we had a newborn. I forgot that one day we’d have to give her back.
The call came at noon on Thursday, January 5th. “We have a 5-day-old baby girl, she is leaving the hospital today. We don’t know how long she’ll need to stay or the circumstances around her removal. Can you take her?”
This was the third child they were sending to us. We had two hours before the white agency car would pull up outside the house and we quickly scrambled to prepare. If anyone was listening through the walls this is pretty much what they heard:
“OH. MY. GOD!” Read the rest of this entry →
Vulnerability is the new black and the Internet is a handy blank slate on which to pen our deepest fears and frustrations. So here goes: I hate my post-baby body.
Okay, let’s back up so I can give due appreciation to this fleshy place I’ve been living in for 38 years. The body is healthy, thank God. The body works fine – better than fine, actually, again thankfully, when it comes to producing funny, smart and healthy kids (pu pu pu).That stands to reason, as I do have what can be charitably called “birthing hips.” Yes, I’m a short curvy Jewess built for life in the shtetl. Slap a kerchief on my head and I’ll start singing “Matchmaker, Matchmaker.” I love to cook, host meals for many people, and eat – but that’s not really the problem. Read the rest of this entry →
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Kvell, verb `k'vell
To burst with pride, as over one's child
Kveller, noun `k'vell-er
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