Parent-Child Relationships

01.21.2011

The following is an excerpt from the latest episode of Parenthood. It simultaneously helped me understand my mom a little bit and it also helped me see myself perhaps saying something very similar one day…

(Mother, Sarah, is talking to her daughter, Amber.)

“I’m sorry you’re not doing the open mic night, I feel bad about that. You know, when you have kids, if you have kids, there’s something you should know. Very confusing thing they don’t tell you. You see so much of yourself in them. You see your ironic take on the world, you see your smile, your walk, your sense of humor, whatever, and you think they’re you. But they’re not you and they shouldn’t have all of your baggage, your fear and your insecurity, and your life experience because that’s not fair. They have their own. Your song is beautiful. It’s haunting and moving and it’s so you. And that’s all I should’ve said to you the other night. I’m so proud and I’m so impressed and I’m so in awe of you. And I want you to just go out there and fly. You can fly.”

A Bittersweet Reinvention

12.22.2010

I’ve been slowly getting ready for our traditional Lithuanian Christmas Eve dinner which, a couple of weeks ago, I was debating on whether or not I even wanted to do. It’s a lot of preparation. Growing up, we’d all be assigned different tasks in order to make the dinner but, now, it’s all on my shoulders.

I decided to do it because it’s the only thing I have left connected to my childhood. Not having any family in the States anymore (other than my sister but I’m the older one…) so it’s kind of up to me to follow through on any traditions. But what’s sad is that those traditions, as they stand now, are hanging by a thread. I’m having a rough time with this. When you’re a kid, the adults figure it out for you.

My mom, sister and I would always go to Chicago for Christmas. Very rarely would we not, so by Thanksgiving, there was a trip in the next month for which to plan. I looked forward to the travel and to the prospect of having an actual white Christmas. I’d see my extended family, get to eat my grandmother’s pancakes, and stay up late. It’s been many years since this and I’ve been floundering. At least for a while my mom was still in the States and we’d go to Lithuania for Christmas or my grandmother would fly out here. Things were different but we could at least pretend that there was some sort of “normalcy” to how they were before. But then that stopped and I haven’t been able to figure out what’s going to happen. Every year this time comes around and I have no idea what to expect. Honestly, I don’t know why I really care because Christmas is a fabrication of the Church to stamp out paganism, but, whatever the reason, it still makes me sad that there isn’t a definite plan that I know of ahead of time.

Part of me tells myself that things would change if kids were in the picture. I think parents want to create a similar experience for their kids and so family traditions, rituals, etc are created or brought back. And I’m OK with creating our own new traditions and rituals but this makes me feel scared. It’s one more example of getting older, of life moving forward and a separation from my past. This space that I’m in right now, and have been for a while, puts me in limbo and the unknown is always scary. I don’t know when I’ll next have a Christmas with my mom and my grandmother, if at all, and so I’m left to reinvent this holiday for myself and my (new) family. As much potential as this might present, it’s bittersweet. But in life, I guess, that’s nothing new.

The Road Less Traveled By

11.09.2010

I know that most of us fear change. Habit, however good or bad, gives us comfort and stability. I’m no stranger to being a creature of comfort. What I’m also no stranger to is fierce and radical change.

I think I’m the only person I know who’s lived in the same place for 27 years except for maybe my grandmother but even that’s questionable. I also think it’s strange for a child to live in the same place he/she grew up instead of a parent raising a family in one place and staying there until an assisted living-type of situation occurs or death.

In 2006, Rob and I discussed moving and even went house hunting on and off for two years but despite my occasional interest in a house, there was much resistance on my part. Leave my rent-controlled apartment? (Notice I said, “my.”) Move away from pretty much the only place I’ve ever known? Are you serious?

When I quit my job two years ago, we still looked around because the hope of me finding another job was still high. But the economy tanked and I’ve only had a few temp jobs. Needless to say, we stopped looking.

About 12 months ago, an emotional shift within me began to grow. I realized a few months ago how stagnant I feel. I also feel that Rob and I can’t grow emotionally as a couple if we continue to live here much longer. I grew up in this apartment. My family was raised. My memories are embedded in these walls, and it doesn’t matter how many times I change their color or repaint them or rearrange the furniture, the tentacles of my past restrain me.

I’ve reached a point where I want, where I need some sort of a major change. I swear I do everything backwards because couldn’t this realization come to me three years ago when I was working?

Earlier today I found myself meditating on this topic of change particularly as it pertains to work. The notion of “change” led me to think about a friend who’s pregnant and another who went into labor today. I thought about pregnancy and how that would certainly classify as “major change.” This made me think about the growing baby in my friend and caught myself with a smile on my face instead of the usual look of repulsion I have. Pregnancy and the physical change it produces still terrify me but I was in a rare moment of vulnerability when thinking about it.

I don’t know what the future holds but I also know my pattern and when I seek change, it’s radical, it’s unconventional, and it’s almost always life-changing. Leave my rent-controlled apartment? Yes. Move away from pretty much the only place I’ve ever known? Yes. Are you serious? Very.

Have a kid? “Break the rules, go with your heart, the world is wide and anything…anything…can happen.”[1]

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[1] Advertisement slogan, 1997.

42 Things That Change with a Baby

10.14.2010

A friend sent a link to the following article and I thought it was a good read for those of us who are childless and are contemplating changing that status.[1] I wanted to write my own comments under each number but that wasn't feasible. Some numbers I disagree with (like #1; I try to stop and take in a beautiful flower, sunset, rainbow etc whenever I can already), (#12; I should’ve been a doctor because bodily functions fascinate me, especially blood and wounds), (and #14. I don’t care what is said I won't become a morning person. I wasn’t even a morning person when I was a baby. Ask my mom who would wake me up.)

Forty-two things that change when you have a baby

by Rebecca Woolf

Last updated: June 2009

What changes when you have a baby? A better question may be: What doesn't change? Here, writer and mom Rebecca Woolf lists her most notable post-baby observations. Then scroll down to read our favorite comments from readers about how their babies changed their lives.



1. You finally stop to smell the roses, because your baby is in your arms.


2. Where you once believed you were fearless, you now find yourself afraid. [See a reader's perspective in #22, below.]

3. 
The sacrifices you thought you made to have a child no longer seem like sacrifices.

4. 
You respect your body ... finally.


5. You respect your parents and love them in a new way.


6. You find that your baby's pain feels much worse than your own.


7. You believe once again in the things you believed in as a child.


8. You lose touch with the people in your life whom you should have banished years ago.


9. Your heart breaks much more easily.


10. You think of someone else 234,836,178,976 times a day.


11. Every day is a surprise.


12. Bodily functions are no longer repulsive. In fact, they please you. (Hooray for poop!)


13. You look at your baby in the mirror instead of yourself.


14. You become a morning person.


15. Your love becomes limitless, a superhuman power.



And from our readers...



1. "You discover how much there is to say about one tooth." — Ashley's mom

2. "You finally realize that true joy doesn't come from material wealth." — Anonymous


3. "You now know where the sun comes from." — Charlotte


4. "You'd rather buy a plastic tricycle than those shoes that you've been dying to have." — Sophie's mom


5. "You realize that although sticky, lollipops have magical powers." — Roxanne


6. "You don't mind going to bed at 9 p.m. on Friday night." — Kellye


7. "Silence? What's that?" — Anonymous


8. "You realize that the 15 pounds you can't seem to get rid of are totally worth having." — Brenda


9. "You discover an inner strength you never thought you had." — Ronin and Brookie's mom


10. "You no longer rely on a clock — your baby now sets your schedule." — Thomas' mom


11. "You give parents with a screaming child an 'I-know-the-feeling' look instead of a 'Can't-they-shut-him-up?' one." — Jaidyn's mom


12. "Your dog — who used to be your 'baby' — becomes just a dog." — Kara [Many readers begged to differ, saying things like, " I disagree with number 12. My dogs are my additional children," "Nothing about previous babies, whether two- or four-legged, changes when a new miracle comes along," "My dog will never be 'just a dog," and "This is sad to me. My dog is still my baby too."]
13. "You take the time for one more hug and kiss even if it means you'll be late." — Tracey


14. "You learn that taking a shower is a luxury." — Jayden's mom


15. "You realize that you can love a complete stranger." — Dezarae's mom
16. You find yourself wanting to make this world a better place. — Arizona
17. If you didn’t believe in love at first sight before, now you do! — Ciara
18. You start to appreciate Sesame Street for its intellectual contribution. — Anon.
19. You have to quit watching the news because you see every story from a mother's perspective and it breaks your heart. — Brooke&Boys
20. You just plain love life more - everything comes together and becomes better because of one tiny person and your love for them. — Anon.
21. You finally find out the real reason you have those breasts. — Anon.
22. In response to #2 [above], I'd say that where you were once afraid, you're now fearless. I was always very timid and shy and let myself get walked all over … but now where my kid's concerned, I'll speak my mind and really connect with my inner "b"! — gummismom
23. The support you get from other people surprises you, because the people giving it are not always the ones you'd expect. — japanese_macaque
24. Nothing is just yours any longer. You share EVERYTHING! — DylanLsMom
25. No matter what you've accomplished in life, you look at your child and think, "I've done a GREAT job!" — Anon.
26. You want to take better care of yourself for your child. — Treasor
27. You can have the most wonderful conversation using only vowel sounds like "ahhh" and "oooo." — littlehulk2008

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[1] http://www.babycenter.com/0_forty-two-things-that-change-when-you-have-a-baby_1452535.bc?scid=preg_2_20101014:2&pe=2Uza9oW

Moments Fade In, Moments Fade Out

10.02.2010

Today was the Lithuanian Fair. What always hits me is seeing kids grow up, become teens, and young adults, and eventually party like we used to. It’s like watching a movie of my life play out right in front of me only with different stars.

Last year I had an absolute blast. That’s not to say I didn’t have fun this year; I did. But I didn’t drink as much and my circle of childless friends has grown smaller since then. The kind of fun to be had now is on a different level. I don’t hang out at the bar anymore and I’m not looking to find out where the after-parties are going to be. Not that I did all that last year but just…this year seemed emotionally different.

I must admit that throughout the day I felt pangs of desire to have a family. I watched mothers with their little ones go to the “kid’s fun zone” or carrying their very little ones around or pushing them in a stroller and, well, I felt left out. There was a moment where Rob got “attacked” by our friends’ two kids and they kept jumping on him and asking him to give them a piggy back ride (together, mind you) and pretend they were different superheroes and/or villains. It was wonderful watching Rob participate and engage these kids and I momentarily caught a glimpse of a possible future.

But as I sat there watching and observing moments in time pulse in front of me, I also couldn’t help but be saddened though I’m not really able to identify why. Is it fear of the fact that in order to have a child I need to give up the only reality that I now know that is masked in sadness? Is it fear of the fact I may one day regret the decision to never have kids that is masked in sadness? Or is it fear of the fact that I feel alone and that no one can make this decision for me that is masked in sadness?

Those moments that I observed faded in and out like a movie across a screen only that the movie is a one-of-a-kind, for my eyes only. The story, the sequence of events, and the interpretation is written, edited and directed by me. How many stars I want in it is all up to me. Who knows where next year, at this time, this one-of-a-kind movie will have taken me. Part of me eagerly awaits while the other wishes the book were written first so that I could just flip to the last page and find out.