When she was a little girl we used to ask my younger sister “Julie, what do you want to be when you grow up?” Her answer was always the same, “A mommy!”

She was spirited and kind. She loved deeply and giggled loud and hearty. She carried streaks of wit, sass and dogged determination behind blue eyes that watered quickly at the slightest sentiment. Julie was joy. Always joy.

That little girl had no idea the ambitious, driven young woman she would turn into. She knew nothing of a Master’s in Business Administration or of careers in finance. She didn’t know she would find a man with the humor and sense of adventure to become her perfect match.

This weekend I walked into a hospital room and looked into the tiny face of my nephew. He is eight pounds of delightful squirmy newborn. The only thing I could think is that she had done it. She had become what she always said she would, a mommy.

I wanted to tell her baby how lucky he was to have her as his mommy, but I didn’t need to. He’ll know soon enough. He’ll know she is joy. Always joy.

The calendar turning to 2014 means my younger sister is due with her first baby any time. I have several other pregnant friends. My friend from college became a first-time mom on New Year’s Eve.

Julie, Kevin and “baby”

It’s the year of my second child’s infancy. These past eight weeks with my newborn son has rekindled all of those new mom feelings, but with a new confidence that comes with experience. I look at my sister and my pregnant friends and want to tell them so many things. I look at their round bellies and glowing faces and think, “Don’t you know will never be the same again? Ever.”  No, they don’t know. I didn’t.

One of my favorite quotes is this:

“The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new.”

–Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh

I want to tell them how exhausted and nervous they will be. I want to tell them breastfeeding will be hard and frustrating but it’s okay and you and your baby will figure it out. You will second guess yourself and every choice you make. Everything will take longer than you think it will. You will never look at your husband the same way, again. You will forever see your child’s face in his.

Sometimes it will feel like you’re trying to keep your head above water. You will try to be all things to everyone, a great mom, a great wife and a good employee. Sometimes you will fail and that’s okay.

You will cry. Sometimes you will cry a lot.

I want to tell you going back to work is really, really hard. It’s like leaving a piece of your heart with someone else for ten hours a day and it can be torture. You will look at your smiling coworkers who are exactly the same as when you left and you will want to shout, “Don’t you understand that I am different now?!!” But, it gets better and eventually you figure out what it means to be a working mom.

With all of that, you have to know that this is the coolest thing you will ever do. You could stare at your baby all day long. You will make plans for his future as you rock him and your worries will run the gamut from wondering if he is getting enough nutrition as an infant, to if he’ll struggle at fractions in math class, to if he’ll marry the right person. Then again, if you can make your newborn smile, you can die a happy woman with no worries in the world.

Welcome to this beautifully imperfect sisterhood, where every woman whether a mother for just a few months, or fifty years will peek in your stroller and understand everything you’re feeling. They may give you a knowing smile. Consider it an induction in to the motherhood sorority.

To Julie, Stephanie, Anjelica and all the 2014 new mothers, we’re glad you’re here. You may never be the same again, but you wouldn’t change it for anything. It is wonderful. Happy New Year.

After my miserable, hormonal ranting about being 40 and ultimately 41 weeks pregnant I want everyone to know that I understand how blessed I am. Truly. Now that I am removed from the tearful haze and the discomfort of 40 weeks, I am counting my blessings.

Yesterday was World Prematurity Day. One in nine babies in the US is born too soon. Read more from the March of Dimes here. Ya’ll, that is a lot of babies. I bet you know children and adults who were and are preemies. Recently I have found myself praying and thanking God over and over that my son was more than 8 lbs. of squishy sweetness, I was able to nurse him in the delivery room and he was my little APGAR rock star. Both my children were born full-term and as anxious as I was for them to make their arrival, I am SO THANKFUL for healthy pregnancies.

Last year I told you about sweet little twins, Avery and Raegan, who were born at 25 weeks, 6 days. My friend Nicole is their mother and I am so blessed to know her. She is smart and brave and has seen her family through a rough year of more hospital stays for her son, Avery. Through Nicole I have learned about the strong parents and skilled medical professionals that are in NICU’s around the world. More than anything, I learned the strength a mother has for her children and it is inspiring.

Avery and Raegan, age 3

These little miracles have exciting news! Nicole is expecting again! My heart nearly burst when I heard the news and I left an overly-excited, rambling message on her voicemail.

Me and Nicole at the March For Babies this year

Doctors don’t know why some babies are born too soon, but through research, they are learning more. Please consider donating to the March of Dimes. My awesome family and friends donated in honor of Henry for his baby showers or “sprinkles” this year. Let me know if March of Dimes is a charity you support or if there is another charity for babies people should know more about. Give for all the expectant mothers and little miracles you know.

This morning I woke up in need. It was one of those Sundays that called for a crispy Belgian brown wonder, dripping with butter and warm syrup. You know, a waffle kind of morning. I rolled over and asked Greyson as sweetly as I could to be taken out for breakfast. Denied. As our tot bounced between us asking for iPhone videos and saying “I’m hungry!” I thought, “Hmm…I can be an amazing mother and get my waffle fix.”

“I’ll cook!” I announced, feet hitting the floor.

As I warmed up the waffle maker and measured out the mix I thought, “Eggs. We need eggs too.” We had some grocery store brand Egg Beater-like carton eggs. Greyson checked the expiration date. October. Score. I found a smaller carton with a  late August expiration. I cooked them up anyway. Mistake. They looked funny. I tossed them. I cooked the October carton. Eh. Still looked a little off but no biggie. October date. We’re good. I was even short cooking spray and the waffles still cooked perfectly and came off the iron evenly. Greyson said to Charlotte, “Isn’t your Mama great!? It was so nice of her to cook breakfast for us.” I thought with great pride, “It is great of me. I am a good mother!” 

Charlotte has been doing this thing lately where she puts food in her mouth, chews and then decides she no longer likes it and wants to spit it out. This happened after she took a bite of the eggs she begged for. Greyson is very perturbed by this quirk and told her, “No! You will swallow what’s in your mouth!” She cried and protested while keeping the half-masticated eggs in her mouth. Greyson said, “Fine! Time out! You will sit in Time Out until you swallow your eggs!” I thought, “Ugh! I hate doing that, but we need to make sure she’s eating what’s on her plate. We need to teach her that. We’re doing right by her as parents.”

Her wimpers subsided and I scooped some eggs on my plate as well. I took a bite. “Oh God! Ugh! Greyson, have you tried these? Charlotte! You can come out of Time-Out. These are bad.” Greyson said, “Oh, Charlotte! Come here, you can spit them out.”

Our bewildered, sniffling child spit her rancid eggs into the napkin I held to her face. She looked at us with tear-filled, confused eyes. Thankfully she seemed only a bit resentful. We apologized profusely and tried to explain when food tastes “funny” or “bad” she can tell us and spit it out.

Now I’m wondering how often anything will taste “funny.” As if punishing himself, Greyson took a bite too, before spitting them out. We bought the name brand carton eggs today, thinking that $1.50 could save us from further parental failures. Okay, I’m not the fantastic waffle-making mother I’d like to be. Sometimes I’m one bad egg in a pair of imperfect parents.

Lately I’ve witnessed what I’ve dubbed “clingers,” particularly at Charlotte’s dance class. But, I’ve seen them other places too. Daycare, birthday parties and other get-togethers seem to reveal children who are clingers. You’ve seen them. They get all panicky and weepy when they have to leave their parents.

I think there are two types of clingers:

Level 1 Clingers: There are kids who HAVE to sit on their moms’ laps and warm up when the other children sit excitedly together in the circle or play at the party. These children are mostly ignored by the others. When asked by other adults if they would “like to come and play?!” or “join the group!” they bury their faces and their parents say stuff like, “He’s shy.” The party, class or event typically continues as planned and the child may or may not join in.

Level 2 Clingers: Oh goodness. A level 2. Take a breath. We’ve all seen them and feel terrible for their parents. One child was SCREAMING in dance class the other day. You would have thought the poor dance teacher had asked if she wanted to burn Elmo at the stake. She had really just asked if she wanted to sit in the circle. The child had a death grip on the woman.  I watched the bewildered mom try to catch her breath as she opened her arms and the child still clung on to her. This was snot streaming, choking type of crying. This little girl legitimately must have believed her mom had sold her into slavery. They would have been a tribe of little pigtailed slaves in pink tights. The crying stopped for a moment, and somehow the mom escaped. We heard her later on wailing again over the music and the assistant teacher eventually brought her in the waiting room to call her parents.

Non-clinger: I have a non-clinger. 9 times out of 10 she is happy to see her friends at daycare, psyched for the birthday party and ready to sit in the circle at dance class. There are the few days where she’s out of sorts when I drop her off. If she’s not feeling well or mad about the toy I made her leave in the car that day, she may be a little weepy, but it’s rare. ALL children have the occasional clingy days. We all know what that’s like as a parent and it sucks. No one wants to leave their child upset.

Most of the time  the challenge for me as the parent of a non-clinger is to help my child react to a clinger. When Charlotte is excited to see her friend who is a Level 1 Clinger, but she wants to share toys and play, it’s hard sometimes to explain the behavior. She often seems a little hurt that the child doesn’t want to play at that moment. That’s when I try to distract her or say something like, “She needs to sit her mommy right now. Why don’t we go get some juice.”

When it’s a Level 2 Clinger, distraction is not really an option. Come on. There’s no way to ignore the screams. My little non-clinger often looks at me panicked like, “Um, should I be worried too?” That’s when I’ve started saying “He is having a tough time right now, isn’t he? He’ll feel better soon. Let’s go talk to the teacher/another child etc.” Sometimes if the child is past the wailing and is just sniffling, I’ll say “Charlotte, why don’t you go give her a hug.”

I in no way want to talk bad about another child to my child. I think it’s crummy when parents do that. It’s hard. As an uber-extrovert, I do not appreciate, nor value “shy” behavior. I do not think it is okay for parents to label a child “shy” or use “shyness” as an excuse for anti-social behavior. A lot of times I really want to roll my eyes and tell the kid to suck it up. But, that would set a really poor example for my daughter. I also understand that it is very judgmental of me to feel this way. It is a fault I need to work on. Some kids have issues that I may not know about or understand. Sometimes kids, especially toddlers,  just have an off day.

So, that is how I’ve been dealing with clingers. Tell me what you do and how you deal with it. If you have a clinger, what do you want non-clinger parents to do?