London Calling

"Just" One

I struggle with the idea of London being an only child all of the time.  Will he be lonely?  Will he have to handle family issues alone?  Will he have anyone to confide in?

When Barry and I were dating less than a year, we had our first discussion about children.  He had a son from another marriage and strongly believed that he didn’t want to have another child.  I knew that I wanted children.  So, we broke things off.  But just about a week later, Barry gave in, we promised that we’d have one child and I wouldn’t make an issue of having another child – ever.

First, I didn’t think I would love being a mom this much. I mean, I really love it.  Love it. Love it. Love it.  But does that mean I'd love it more if we had more kids?  Maybe not.  Lots of only children live full lives and we have lots of friends with children his age.  He has a cousin who is just a few months younger than him.  So, we go on family vacations with other families and he won’t be bored.  Right?

His college fund will be twice as large and he’ll never have to share the car with a sibling.  He can look to his half-brother for advice – even though he’s 13 years older.  He’s also super mobile as an “only.”  I brought him to Europe and take him with me on the train without having to plan or think or schedule. 

As a working mom – and not just 9 to 5 but travel and bringing work home – it’s better for us to have one.  With limited time, I can focus on just him and not have to spread my attention across two kids.  Or -- the other side -- will he feel like I'm smothering him with attention or worse, become a jerk because he never had to share?

So why am I struggling with the guilt if we made the decision to have one child so long before London came along?  I have no idea.  Maybe I just like to feel guilty.  And really, if he gets mad at us in his teen years for being an only, I can always blame his dad.

Running with Elmo

We spent a fun morning with the team from WTTW Kids today at their annual fun run/walk fundraiser. That’s pretty ironic for a mom who until about a week ago wouldn’t let her son watch TV. Never say never, right? If I was brought up watching Sesame Street and The Electric Company and Mr. Rogers EVERY DAY, then my son will probably turn out all right if he watches a little TV – even if it’s before he turns two.

London is so energetic that he really hasn’t shown interest in TV. Honestly, we’ve tried a few times with the hopes of stealing 30 minutes to do a little laundry or talk to a friend on the phone, but he just didn’t want to sit still. About a week ago, we introduced him to a DVD called Baby Babble which was written by two Pediatric Speech Therapists. To me, the content is a little crazy, but London just loves it. Better, he talks along with the DVD and we can see a marked improvement in his language skills. So, out with my rule of no TV before two and in with Elmo.

HOLD ME!!!

I keep hearing that this is just a phase, but three weeks into this so called phase, I’m starting to loose patience.  Almost 90% of my time with London is spent holding him or listening to a blood curdling scream and seeing his hands up in the air:  HOLD ME! 

So I’ve gotten good at cracking an egg with one hand and setting him on the counter to be entertained by throwing peaches on the floor for the few seconds I need to open a hot oven.  I’ve even gotten used to taking a shower with a toddler playing at my feet.  What I can’t get used to is this new bedtime routine.

London used to be the perfect bedtime baby.  We’d give him a bath and a massage, read a book, drink some milk and lay him in his crib.  Sometimes he would even reach for his crib as we laid him down.  Now, I am the exception to this routine. 

When mommy lays him down, he holds on tight with his arms and legs as if I’ll never come back.  I can let go and he actually hangs from my body.  When I put him in his crib, he screams bloody murder.  Last week I let him cry it out (Thanks Dr. Weissbluth) for about 25 minutes.  When I finally gave in, I saw him standing in the corner of his crib with a pool of tears on the floor.  He handed me his blanket and his pacifier and reached out.  This week, I let him cry for 40 minutes before I gave in.

As a working mom, I only get to see London a few hours a day.  To make him so sad during our short visits just breaks my heart.  The only way I get him to sleep is to lay down with him and then Barry puts him in his crib around 9. 

Call out to mommies:  Will this last?  Should I just let him cry until he sleeps next time no matter how long it takes? 

I’d give my kingdom for a date night

Our sitter is moving to Minneapolis this weekend and we are in desperate need for a date night. Plus, my travel is putting a damper on Barry’s work-outs, so someone who could sit for 2 hours a few week nights would be a bonus.

I looked on Craig’s list and didn’t find anything I loved. Then, I ran into Sitter City, a web site for connecting parents (of pets and people) with sitters. Parents can share recommendations, but what I like best is the background check. So, I keep playing on the site in hopes of finding Mary Poppins for $10 an hour. Unfortunately, our first interview was a no-show but we’re hoping that the interview this Saturday will provide us with a much, much needed night out.

Old lady mama

We had an old lady experience yesterday that reminded me of the “Help.  I can’t get up” commercials from the 80’s. 

Our spirited toddler decided that he wasn’t finished with his bath even though we were well past bed time.  So, I removed him from the tub to his dismay and he proceeded to have the usual toddler tantrum which normally involves some kind of kicking, head throw combination.  I thought the combo could turn into a quick trip to the ER in a bathroom (picture head bang on porcelain), so I decided to bend over and pick up his writhing body.  Note I did not bend at the knees, but at the waist.

The pain in my lower back was so strong that I swear I lost my vision for a few seconds.  I put down still-screaming London and lay on the floor for a few minutes – just long enough for London to pee on his towel and the wood floor.  (A special thanks to him for missing the rug.)

I crawled to get him a diaper and then just lay in the only sort of comfortable position I could find for about an hour while London played around me.  At this point he was well past bed time, so rather than try to stand and put him in his crib, we made our way to our room and lay in my bed for another 45 minutes or so before Barry came home.

Barry put London right to bed and put some sports ointment on my back along with a Bengay patch and gave me a nice Ibuprofen to knock me out until morning.  His plan worked and this morning I can move, I can walk and I can sit in a chair.  My back almost felt good enough to try a run, but then I thought better of it. This old broad needs to recuperate for at least a day.