If Third Time’s the Charm…

I’m moving again. Tomorrow in fact. Explains why I’m blogging about it.

It’s under my skin, this one.  You’d think my ninth move in six years would be a cinch. I’d have it all figured out. Unfortunately, no. It’s not the case. Let me tell you about it.

Move #1 – From Japan, back in with my parents while I finished my post-grad. It was a new life, means to an end.

Move #2 – In with Now-Ex, then potential love of my life. We’d been together a year. Happy. In love. First great job after finishing school. One of my best moves ever.

Move #3 – Ex and I decided to move in with friends to save some money so he could go back to school. Bit rough. We had to store a bunch of stuff, fit into a much smaller space. Also where we were living when he proposed, and we got married. That house is so special to me still, since great friends still live there, and I have so many happy memories in this house.

Move #4 – Ex and I decided we needed our own place since we were married an’ all. We unpacked our wedding presents and it was like getting everything all over again. BUT, a month after we moved in we were told the landlords were selling and if the new buyers wanted to occupy, we’d have to move. Then, we found out we were pregnant. Then the new buyers wanted to occupy. So we moved.

Move #5 – We were incredibly lucky and found a great place in a great neighbourhood and it was a fairly smooth transition and our daughter was born while we lived there and it was good. But then we decided to maybe buy a house. And we did.

Move #6 – Into the new place. Great neighbourhood. Down the street from a great elementary school that Bean could go to. I painted. I built shelves. I planned. I dreamed, I noticed through this process that maybe ‘we’ weren’t into this as much ad ‘I’ was. And then I….

Move #7 – …moved. Out. Threw things into boxes. Didn’t pay much attention. Saw everything through tears and anger and confusion and a strange clarity that this was it.

Move #8 – You know about this, right?

Move #9 – I’m tired. With each move, I need new stuff. I need shelves or less shelves. I have to force my stuff into boxes and no matter how little I think I have, it fills a heckload of boxes. I have to budget. And this one is on me. It’s my first step in the new life. It’s my choice. It’s in reaction to environmental considerations, but it’s my choice. For me. For my future. Ours, Bean’s and mine.

She’s already in the new Day Care, and loves it. She’s thriving.  I managed to find a great place in a great neighbourhood. While a good friend sent me the listing, and another confirmed it was a great place, I negotiated the terms myself. I got the stuff for it myself. I have planned and packed and figured this out in the space of the new reality.

But I’m tired. I need it over. Moved in. No next step.  THE END. Not, like, the end The End. Just the end of big stress. I want regular stress. I would be so glad to stress about garden-variety finances.  Family. I want to spoil my nieces and nephews.  I want to pay attention to my career again. I want to pay attention to my friends.

And I want to do this all without asking people to help me move, or give me added consideration for my ‘circumstances’.

If three is a lucky number, than 3×3 is, like, super-extra-lucky. Move number nine. Fingers crossed.

Not a Part Time Mommy

When the separation first happened, I was with Bean most of the time. Ex would come to our house to see her, and on his weekends, he would either take her for day trips or sometimes up to his parents’ overnight for a Saturday. I had the pleasure of my daughter’s company most of the time. Most bedtimes, most mornings. While it was a lot, it was also delightful. I feel grateful those times together.

Now that the custodial arrangements have evolved, she spends more time with her father. Full weekends every second weekend, soon to be joined by a few weeknight overnights.

This, as it happens, seems to have coincided with a general settling in of routine. A normalization and acceptance of the pace of our weekday mornings and evenings.  Somehow, it’s starting to fit.  Feel comfortable, if not necessarily easy. It took almost 15 months for me to be able to say this, and it feels great that we’re finally adjusted enough that every day doesn’t feel like one fast-forward unwanted chore after another.

Here is the thing though, now when she isn’t with me, I have no idea what to do with myself. In the early days, when she wasn’t gone for very long stretches, I had to clean, cook, do laundry, and run errands. Days ‘off’ were comfortably used up in the business of getting from one day or week to the next.

Now, especially when she’s gone for two full nights, by the Sunday I’m starving for her company. I’ve spent so long trying to just cope, I am at a total loss as to what to do with my time when I’m not in survival mode.

Right now, it seems as though the times she isn’t with me are marked by loss. Loss of precious free time when we can just hang out and have fun together to balance the frantic week days.  I can’t quite seem to fill up all the time so that I don’t feel this loss acutely.

I even worry that my sadness at her being gone and ravenous attention to her when she returns home will become a burden to her. That she will somehow feel like she is responsible for my happiness.

So again, I’m trying a perspective change. I’m not a part-time Mommy. I’m a full-time Mommy with a really wonderful opportunity to pursue some interests and extra time to build a wonderful life. I think that turning the time of loss into a time of growth is totally possible. In fact, it’s my pre-New Year’s resolution.

Full Disclosure

I’ve considered many times if I should include the story of how the Ex and I broke up. On the one hand, I did not want the past to affect the future, or how I parent. Essentially, I do not want the road forward or the choices I make to be coloured by what happened. On the other hand, in a way, it’s still happening. There are still immediate consequences that affect my daily life and parenting. It makes it really difficult to tell my story and write about my challenges and joys when I have to leave out a piece of the puzzle that remains immediately relevant. So, here it is.

Shortly after I’d returned to work from maternity leave, I discovered my husband had been having an affair. The initial confrontation detonated an emotional atom bomb. After several months of heart-wrenching negotiations, things between us were actually over-over by the end of the summer, and we have now been officially separated for just over a year

Flash forward to the present – The Ex is still with this woman, living in the home that he and I shared, and they are expecting a child next month. ‘The Other Woman’ (who is no longer Other) is part of my daughter’s reality, and Bean speaks of her and the coming brother or sister often.

So it affects me. It forces me to into a situation where I am supporting my daughter’s relationship, not only with her father, but also with his new family. I listen to her stories, and encourage a positive relationship. In my heart, I know this is the right thing to do. And having to do it breaks my heart a little, every time.

I am still going through the process of grieving. I have had to adapt quickly to many changes in the internal and external environment. I’ve had to move twice, and have another move coming up. I’ve been mothering Bean through transitions to new daycares and changes in the parenting schedule. Balancing a career that is very important to me. Trying to make sense of a marriage that failed so horribly, while witnessing my Ex – a man I had loved and believed I would grow old with – move on so quickly and bindingly, and letting go of the illusion of what I thought was real. And in the very small, rare, spaces between, trying to build a new and vibrant life for Bean and I. I don’t want to just ‘get past this’.  My dearest wish is to thrive.

The Gentle and Challenging Art of Non-Rushing

Every day, what seems like all day, and certainly every minute spent with Bean, I am rushing. There are a lot of things to do in a day.

So many things have to happen on time. Getting to work, for example. Bedtime (within reason). Often in the mornings or evenings I’m hurrying my little angel to move a little faster. Finish what she’s doing. More than often I’m telling her: Hurry, sweetie. We’re late. Not because I’ve gotten up late or because I’m inherently disorganized, but because things just take time.

Weekends are similar. Since we only have every second one together, I try to fit the fun and goodness, all of the experiences I want to have with my daughter, into something akin to a screenplay trying not to be an insult to the book, which may have been longer.

To some extent, this works. The urging for swiftness. Keeping a staccato pace with good humour and lots of silly jokes with my kid to make it a game, to distract her from her dawdling, to keep pace with our animated life.

I’ve often felt, however, that even though I’ve tricked, coaxed, bribed, led her into whatever-it-is we’re doing, I’m kind of never letting her finish a train of thought. I’m interrupting her flow, even if her flow is just to dawdle, I’m jumping in to bring her into my world of stuff that has to happen about five minutes ago.

So on Monday – Thanksgiving day (in Canada) – I tried a whole day of non-rushing. I let her jump in a puddle until the puddle was splashed right out. I let her stay in the bath long after the water had cooled. I didn’t make her eat any more bites of her dinner than she wanted, and I didn’t rush her on our evening walk, even when she was inspecting every slab of the sidewalk looking for ‘signs’.

I will not lie. There were a couple of things I would have liked to do yesterday in lieu of lengthy navel gazing. I felt myself get frustrated more than once as I stood at puddle’s edge for going on 30-minutes or stopped for a particularly fascinating divot in a paving stone. Even with the breathtaking cuteness of my imaginative daughter, I became just a bit bored here and there.

For Bean, the day was magic. She told me she loved me about half a dozen times before bed, and went to sleep without a peep. For her this was The Bliss. She had a whole day with me. With my full attention. Doing stuff she wanted. Without being rushed or interrupted. Playing through her games and imaginings.

It made me vow to myself that once a month, at least, we’ll do this. Bean day. Where I follow her for a change, and let her play out her thoughts.

It also occurs to me that maybe this is one of the gifts of being a solo parent with one kid, for both her and I. While there are pockets of time that are circumstantially more frantic – like most things – there is some balance in which there is also, just maybe, a little more room. And in that space we can practice non-rushing. It’s an art; at least for one of us.

Things for Which I Am Thankful

I’ve been a bit blue lately. ‘Kay. Maybe more than a bit. My commute time has recently more than doubled, I’m spending less time with my Bean, lost in the stress and frustration of finalizing the separation agreement, not getting enough sleep, enough exercize, not spending enough cathartic time with friends, eating poorly and generally feeling that my day to day existence has become a total slog rather than a thriving joy.

Even knowing this, I understand that the day to day stuff is not the whole story. In the big picture, I have a lot for which to be thankful.

I’m thankful for Bean. For her smiles and spontaneous affection. For her child’s ability to force a soul to be patient when inclined to haste. For providing context for everything I do. For her shimmering fairy goodness. For teaching me so much about life, myself and the kind of person I want to be.

I’m thankful for my parents, my brother and his family, and the unconditional support they always offer. I take it for granted way too much. But if I try to picture my life without them, it’s terrifying to think how desperate and lonely things would be.

And an extension of my family, my friends.

I’m thankful that I have a job I love. For all my winging whingeing in the first paragraph, I love what I do and feel that I grow every day through my work. I know I’m not saving or changing the world the way I once thought I might, but I do know that what I do is important to me and lets me think and write and talk to people about things I think are cool.

I’ve been trying to think of something I’m thankful for which is a result of the fallout from the divorce and these faltering steps forward in the New Life.  I spend so much time worrying about how this will affect Bean (though I try not to), and juggling the new financial reality (the world is not set up for Solo Parents. Ask one), and dealing generally with the negative stuff, I have a hard time keeping an eye on the good stuff. And there is fertile ground.

Okay, here it is. I’m thankful for the opportunity this has given me to explore who I really am. I don’t think I know yet, but I have looked at myself and my life in ways that I never would have. I’m thankful for the chance I have to know my child on our own terms. I was only a two-parent family for one year of her life, but I remember it being very different. I am thankful for the bond we have and the intensity of our relationship. It’s not always great to have no backup, but it does force me to deal with parenting challenges and find creative solutions by myself, and sometimes that’s kind of awesome.

Two Years Of Poo

All kids have defecation issues, or so I’ve heard.

Mine started the second Bean started eating finger foods, and was not totally breastfed. The second that first bit of avocado hit her system at around six months, she was unable to poop without strain. As more foods where introduced, the worse it got.

I talked to her Ped about it, and was told she didn’t drink enough, so I proceeded to flood her with fluids. My apartment constantly has several cups of half-drunk water all over. Though I asked the doctor about this a few times, I had never gotten a satisfactory answer, and nothing that addressed what I felt was a pretty serious problem.

I upped her fibre, fruits and vegetables, almost eliminated any kind of over-processed carbs, and kept track of poos like sports scores. I asked the Ex to tell me how many times she may have gone over a weekend, which was often not at all.

By the time she was ready to go, they were so hard and difficult to pass she had episodes of terror when she felt the urge coming on. I have cried more than once as I watch her strain and struggle trying to make a poo, sympathizing with the pain she must be in.

It got to the point, just before she started using the toilet full time, that the only time she would poop was in the middle of the night when her body took over and she was somewhat unconscious of the act.  She would still wake up crying, but usually when it was already over.

As much as I tried to tell my little two-year-old, there was nothing I could say to convince her that pooing on the potty was going to be easier. Without the limited space of a diaper, and aided by gravity, she would be able to push the poo out without so much pain and effort. But she would not buy it.

Finally, when she started peeing on the potty, I became a doula for poo. When I read on her face that the urge to push was coming on, I’d plead with her, encourage her, to PUSH! C’mon sweetheart, push!! I’d make the faces and pretend to push with her. But nothing doing. She would not be told that pooping in the potty was anything she wanted to be part of, and poop once again in the still of night.

Around this time, I did two other things. The first was dietary. I eliminated cows’ milk from her home-diet. She still has milk at school, and cheese from time to time, but not at home. We have either soy or almond milk, we (or rather, she) doesn’t eat cheese, and I opt for dairy-free options of frozen desserts. Also, I cut out wheat to a large extent. Again, not entirely, but drastically.

This helped with the consistency of the poo, and the frequency, but not with the desire to poo where she ought, and didn’t change the fact that pooping grown up poos in a diaper is simply an uncomfortable thing to do, again adding to the phobia.

The other thing, was that I made her poo on the toilet. I’m sure that in every parenting book in the world, this is not recommended. For me, I felt so out of options, and so sorry for Bean that I felt that it was the only way. It started out slowly, just using my newfound doula skills to get her to push a couple of times, and ended with us being locked into the bathroom until a poo came out. It was tricky since I had to be perfectly sure she HAD to poo, and challenging because I really wasn’t sure this was the right thing to do.

And finally, it happened. One day, she looked at me with total terror and said gravely, “Mummy, poo’s coming out.” Before the pushing even started, she was crying. She put her little arms around my neck and I put my arms around her, and then I heard that golden ‘plop’, and it was done.

She looked up at me and said, happy as anything, “I made a big brown poo in the potty.”  And we’ve never looked back.

Now, making ‘big brown poos’ is her favourite thing in the world. Every single time she goes to the toilet, she gives a good push or two and tries to make one. Whenever she does, she gives a little clap and dance.

It took two years from the time we started having problems to the final solution, and I’m so glad it’s resolved. It seems funny now, just a few weeks after it’s no longer a worry, even though I know it wasn’t.

Separation Without Anxiety

Great article from The Toronto Star on the Australian system.

I’ve noted in past posts that there seem to be very few resources for young, professional, separating parents. If you can pay, sure, you can find all sorts. But the cost of even a simple divorce can be crippling for people of middle-class incomes, and cause an emotional sink hole.

I can’t even imagine what having a system like this in Canada would do for families, and what residual benefit it would have. Normalize divorce for kids, for one. Offer support for parents so that they can be productive and continue to contribute to their jobs and communities. I bet that would be huge.

Not me, of course. Me? I’m super productive and shiny happy.

Divorce – A Few Pointers

Since the split last year, it seems I’ve become a bit of a divining rod for separation advice. I take this as a huge compliment; both because it means people trust me and also because the thin veneer of normalcy I hung between me and the world during the worst of it must have worked, if only because I’m not widely known as The Crazy Lady. At least, not to my knowledge.

This is not professional advice, but just my own personal advice. If this gets you in a pile of doo, I’m not responsible.

1. Be sure. If you are considering separation and you have one or more kids, make dead effing sure this is what you want. Because while you may be solving some problems by getting away from your partner, there are a whole frackload more waiting on the other side. That is to say (and actually, I’m pretty sure I’ve said it before), it’s not easier. It may be better. But it also may be more difficult in some ways. And if you are not a serial relationship type, like myself, it can be a bit lonesome. Also keep in mind; weekly therapy for a year is still cheaper than a divorce. I strongly suggest trying it first. It still may end, and that’s okay. I’m just saying that you need to know.

Not that this is my experience, but if you’re being clobbered or otherwise abused, just get out. I don’t know you, but I know you’re better than that.

2. Plan for a LOT of cost. Make sure you have the money in a line of credit or (better yet) savings. If you are like me and my Ex, and a fairly young professional couple from limited backgrounds, all you’re really doing is deciding which gigantic hole of debt each will assume. Surprisingly, this is a very expensive thing to do.

3. If you can, skip the parenting mediator. I don’t know if this advice will work for everyone. The Ex and I were not into sitting around talking about each other’s feelings for hours on end, and just wanted to get a schedule done. We accomplished more for about $100 over dinner one night than we did with $600 worth of mediation. I guess the mediation was helpful a bit, but it seemed a bit touchy feely for a divorce. Just my take.

4. No matter what you read, and it will all say the same thing, if you had a few fights in front of your kids before the actual separation, you have probably not doomed your kid to a life on the streets. I know you’re not meant to, and avoid it if you can, but if your Ex is anything like mine than sometimes they’re so GD annoying you can’t help but have a shout on the spot. Yes, I did in front of a Bean. I am NOT proud of this. I do, however, think that lots of parents who do end up staying together have a go at one another with the kidlets around, and the truth is that most people turn out ok.

My point here is that it does happen and it will happen and if you’re actually thinking of divorce than it’s likely happened and you need to be conscious of not doing it if it can be helped, but also allow yourself to consider the possibility that you’re not a crap parent because of it.

5. Get help. And I mean outside of your circle of support. Someone who can help you navigate the complicated emotions. I’m not necessarily saying therapy (though, I’m not not saying it), but a rabbi or minister, a counselor through your company’s Employee Assistance Program. Someone neutral who can help you sort through.  So, okay, a professional of some sort. Life coach. Anything.

6. This one was a total surprise for me. People will understand. If you’re off a bit, people will actually get that this is a painful complicated time. Mind, it can’t drag on forever and it’s up to you to get the help you need in whatever form you need it. And you may get a little annoying but that is probably more reason to re-read and take the advice of #5. But your friends, your family and whatever friends at work who are close enough to be let into what’s going on – they’ll totally happily readily without-reservation be there for you. So don’t be an island. Choose wisely – especially at work – but make sure you have outlets here and there you can plug into to recharge.

Why Are We Teaching Our Daughters to be Stupid Spoiled Whores*?

Last Halloween a good friend and her son came to my house, and since Bean wouldn’t put on her costume we stayed in and ate a frightening amount of candy and answered the door to trick or treaters. One little girl stood out by a mile. She was about six and dressed as a sexy witch. That’s right. A SEXY witch. Her dress clung to her tiny body with a neckline that plunged halfway to her navel, held together by a lace.

This was brought back to mind through a Twitter exchange which led me to this blog on the exact subject of inappropriate Halloween costumes for kids.

Of course, it goes much further than this. It’s that Cyrus kid grinding away on a stripper pole and posing near nude for magazines, and a very strange and unsettling celebrity culture of sometimes very young people that we seem fascinated with, even when horrified.

Here are a couple more examples of how I see this seeping into everyday life. A friend was telling me that her young daughter, seven years old, when trying on new clothes for school asked if she looked sexy. Also recently, when shopping for underthings I saw a training bra (marketed as such) that would look fitting on a stripper. Sincerely, this is not appropriate for a 10-12 year old person. I get these are anecdotal tales and not a scientific study, but I still find it off-putting, and terrifyingly pervasive.

I was a women’s studies major (along with sociology) way back when, and have never bought the idea of an oversexualized woman as an image of power. Now that I have a daughter, I am even more sensitive to the idea that this ‘power’ is being sold to girls younger and younger.

I do thank my lucky (more than lucky – blessed) stars that the women in my life – my Mother, my Nana, my Aunts and my friends – have provided a collectively amazing example of real strength. That’s not to say I haven’t gone through my share of, ummmm, awkward stages where I may perhaps have covered less than I ought, but I can say with confidence, those times were all when I was old enough to know what I was doing, and what message it may be sending.

My concern, and really very disturbing question, is why is this being sold to such young girls? I get that it is a buy and sell thing, and that if there is a market for something a product or service is soon to follow, but WHY? Why are we doing this? ‘Cause we’re sure not serving up our young sons as, at very least, objects of sexual admiration to a potential older audience. So why our daughters?

Despite my irreverent title for this post (and link to South Park episode – though I encourage you to watch it if you haven’t and are inclined to like that kind of thing), I genuinely feel this is a huge problem, and I can’t think what the solution is except to encourage parents not to buy this crap for their girls, and to talk to them about what messages the image, clothes, and culture are sending.

If I’ve learned anything as a parent it’s that perseverance, consistency, love and boundaries win the race. If I stick to it and believe in the outcome, it seems to work. Hopefully, this will be the case when I have to explain to my child why she why she can’t have her first lacy thong at age six.

*Link to full episode of South Park referenced in the title here.

Congratulations! You’re a Solo Parent!

Bean on Summer Holiday

I’ve been on about this before, I know, but it really is a bone of contention with me, and it relates to why my blog has been so very quiet the past couple of months.

First, we’re in the final stages of Le Divorce, which is both time consuming and unbelievably frustrating. I’m likely not the first person to suggest this, but getting married should be as difficult as getting divorced.  In addition, Bean has met the Ex’s new partner, which led me to read (of course) a ton about introducing romantic interests into a child’s life.  And finally, my innocent little baby is officially a demanding, delightful and, every so often, demonic little person. Again, prompting me to pick up a bunch of books, read mommy and other women’s blogs, and a bunch of articles.

And every book I read, every article on divorce and children, no matter how positively titled or well-meaning, start off with a warning of all the things your child will face that others won’t, a bunch of stats to support it, and some kind of ganbatte message before launching into the support and advice.

Here is the thing – I could really live without the doom and gloom. And frankly, I don’t believe it.  If you’ve stumbled upon this blog because you’re in the same boat as me (and I’m convinced there are a fair number of us), here is my message to you.

Congratulations! You are an amazing, brave person. Your child is proud of you for not putting her or him through the torture of living with unhappy, limited parents in a dysfunctional or dissatisfying relationship.  Now that the decision has been made to raise a child on your own (and it’s a toughie, to be sure – go ahead an breathe a sigh of relief that the path is finally chosen) you can now look forward to a unique, intense and deeply satisfying relationship with your child, and one that you may have never been allowed otherwise.

And don’t believe they hype. Raising a child on your own isn’t necessarily more challenging than doing it with a partner. Your kid(s) will be fine. Lots of people are raised by single parents and manage to live an amazing, productive, loving, successful lives. And so will you. You deserve to be happy.

So shake off your worry and guilt, mama. Just because stats suggest that a child of divorce may be marginally disadvantaged, it doesn’t mean that YOUR kid is.  If you’re making the effort, conscious of your actions and engaged in your child’s life – s/he’s fine. Now that you know this, feel free to get on with the great adventure of being a parent.