My child sleeping in a crib meant she was a baby.  She could stand and peer over the edge and push toys between the bars, but she was still confined to an infant’s sleeping conditions.  She may be a walking, talking toddler during the day, but she was my baby by night. I would rock her in her rocking chair before letting her retire to her crib.  It was heaven.

It was a little bittersweet removing that front part of the crib to make a toddler bed.  She suddenly seemed so grown-up in a bed instead of a crib.  We made the change just when Charlotte turned two back in November.  I had no idea, but this turned into the most delightful little surprise in my mommy life.  Every night for the last five months I have gone upstairs to check on her before going to bed.  Sometimes I have to arrange her ever lengthening limbs to keep her from falling eight inches onto the carpet.  I cover her with a blanket.

I’ve found I absolutely love not having the front of the crib on her bed anymore.

I sit on the floor and lay my head next to hers and let my fingers get tangled in her curls.  I listen to her breathe.  I rub her back and feel the rise and fall of each of her breaths.  I brush the back of my hand against her  cheeks and thank God that this beautiful healthy child is ours.

This is usually when she startles and pushes my hand away.  Then I smile because I really know she’s mine. I hate to be touched when I sleep, too.  I give my little independent sleeper one more peck before slipping out of the room.

I wonder what other bittersweet milestones will end up being very sweet, after all?

I’ve seen and heard lots of women lately identifying themselves as “boy moms” or “girl moms,” meaning they are the mothers of children of only one sex or another.  There are even cute poems on Pinterest and fun t-shirts to celebrate this identification.

I have many friends with sons and no daughters.  99% of these women are wonderful and never say things to disparage other mothers.  But, some things have been bugging me lately when I’ve talked to a couple of  “boy moms” I know.

• Comment #1 from a boy mom at a “Mommy and Me” type of class- “I’m SO GLAD I had boys!  It’s so much easier!”

Okay, so you just said that in front of my daughter.  Granted, she is only two-years-old and probably doesn’t understand, but since you were so comfortable saying it, I imagine you would not edit yourself in front of a little girl who is say, 5-8 years-old and would know exactly what you meant by that comment.  Basically, you just told my daughter she’s not good enough that it’s a huge hassle for me to be raising her.  

Ma’m, you are the example of women for your son.  You just made that comment in front of him as well.  What is he supposed to think about girls and women when you disparage your own gender?

• Comment #2 from a woman with one son contemplating having another baby- “I just don’t even know what I would do with a girl!”

Um, okay.  YOU WERE ONCE A GIRL!  Someone knew what to do with you.  It’s not like female humans are a different species or something.  It’s still a baby.

Now, let me say.  I’m not innocent in the “Girl Mom” versus “Boy Mom” thing.  During a discussion about whether boys or girls are easier, I took it a little personal when a boy mom said, “Girl stuff is just too much.  All the bows and tights and stuff.  I mean, I don’t have to deal with periods and emotional teens and stuff like that.  Ugh!”  I fired back with, “Well, it’s boys who drink too much, drive too fast and don’t call their mothers!”

I am sorry for that comment.  I in no way meant to imply that all young men behave like that.  I probably shouldn’t have taken her comments personally.  It just grates on my nerves sometimes.  I LOVE having a daughter.  Not because she’s a girl, but because she’s ours.  I didn’t care when I was pregnant if she was a boy or a girl and I don’t care now.  I love her for who she is.

Let’s drop the titles and just be “moms.”  Okay?

So, as I was writing this, I started thinking about all my good friends who might think I’m talking about them.  I’m not.  Ya’ll are awesome.  I’m talking about acquaintances.  I promise.  

Charlotte has been looking a bit shaggy and I wanted to get her spruced up a bit for Easter next week.  I took her to one of those kiddie salons today.  We’ve been really hit or miss with this place.  They made her first haircut cute and special, but then gave her a hot-mess mullet another time.

We walked in and there was a child screaming.  I mean awful screaming like someone was scalping her.  I looked up and was shocked to see that I could indeed see her scalp because the stylist was shaving this baby’s head.  I sat with other Americans staring at these parents trying to comfort their screaming child with their deep accents.  Even though the baby was clearly unhappy, the parents were elated and proud.  The stylist carefully collected a lock the child’s hair in a bag to take home.

A quick Google search informed me this special ritual is called a mundan and is an important time in the life of a Hindu child.  Cool, right?  It was neat that we got to see it.

I did not know this at the time, however, and was dealing with my own tired and hungry tot.  I just wanted their screaming child to leave so mine could get her haircut.

After I took this adorable photo, Charlotte was a force to be reckoned with.  She screamed the entire time.  No amount of animal crackers, cartoons or iPhone distractions would soothe her.  Other parents looked at me with either sympathy or annoyance.  I avoided eye-contact with them.

All my efforts were useless.  I threatened her with a time-out.  I told her the Easter Bunny was watching her.  I bribed her with the holy grail of good-behavior prizes, the Dum-Dum lollipops the stylist had.  She took the bait, but then said, “I want a purple one!”

Oh God.  Not purple.  Anything but purple.  I can’t stand the smell or taste of anything with artificial grape flavoring.  It was never the alcohol in a Jell-o shot that turned my tummy in college.  Nope, I would only lose my liquor if I accidentally took a grape shooter.  I don’t even like my sacred red or orange popcicles to be near the purple ones in the box for fear of any purple enfusion.  This extreme aversion stems from an unfortunate stomach flu as a child after being given a dose of grape flavored Children’s Tylenol.  It was traumatic and the reason no purple candy touches my lips.

For a moment Charlotte stopped her screaming and happily sucked her purple lollipop.  I was safely in the parent’s chair.  She started up again and could not be soothed.  I reminded her that the last kid got her head shaved and she was just getting a trim.  The screams continued.  The stylist suggested I hold her.  Oh God!  I grimiced as my child wailed and smeared her sticky purple pop across my face.  I held my breath, so as not to inhale the purple fumes.  Ugh!  I got a whiff and instantly my mind went back to that night when I was six at my grandmothers and the grape evil escaped my body.

To add to this salon fiasco, the stylist decided to take the time to add a little braid, ribbons and a butterfly clip a-la 1996 to her hair.  Seriously?!  I was gagging, my kid continued to wail, and this woman was giving her a “princess style!?”  The topper was what she did next.  The stylist took a handful of gold glitter and tossed it on my kid’s head.  She said, “It’s fairy dust!”  I think I smiled and said, “Oh!  Fairy Dust!” In my brain I screamed, “Lady! Are you %&#*+=@ crazy!?  Who puts glitter on a two-year-old?  This #&^% is gonna be all over my house for weeks!”

I believe this whole experience was my penance for being a culturally insensitive, impatient American.  The grape lollipop ended up in my hair with chunks of glitter stuck in it.  The smell alone made me want to shave my head.

This is a collection of some of Charlotte’s newest things:

Do you see a theme?  Well played Disney marketers, well played.  Good job getting your characters on everything from the cup my kid drinks from to the training pants on her little hiney.  Disney has an even further reach than the toddler department.  I’m interested to see what’s next.  I’m not picking on Disney, exclusively.  Sesame Street seems to have their hands on preschool merchandise as well.  You should see all the Elmo stuff in our house.  The thing that has been sticking  out to me lately is PRINCESS.

She loves those snow boots.  I’m a good little suburbanite mommy so we searched the aisles of Target for the perfect pair.  I gave her the choice of all the boots on the shelf and she said “Pincess!”  We went to a 3-year-old girl’s party this weekend.  Princess theme.

Hmm.  I’m not sure how I feel about all this.  I’ve read the criticism of the whole princess industry and how it’s making our daughters image obsessed, subservient prince-seekers who will end up on the pole if we let them watch The Little Mermaid.  I’m worried I’ll have to start dressing like Pam on “The Office.”  She was “Dr. Cinderella” for Halloween to show her daughter positive princess role models.

Courtesy: NBC

I love princess stuff.  Love it.  I can try to deny it, but I’m a pink, glittery girl-girl at heart and always have been.  We watched “Tangled” this weekend because I LOVE THAT MOVIE!  Of course Charlotte loved it too.  I find the more recent princess movies have much stronger, more confident female leads then classics like “Snow White” and “Cinderella.”  I think they send better messages.

I took a class in college called Gender and Media Culture and it ruined every story for me, ever.  This is the class where we had to watch “The Accused” and “Boys Don’t Cry.”  We got to analyze the rape scenes and discuss how the Cinderella Syndrome is a worldwide epidemic, forever infecting women’s psyches.  Apparently all the princess fairy tales of our youth are the reason women end up contestants on “The Bachelor” because the only thing they’ve ever been told is that they have to find a man to be happy.  Oh, did you know that EVERYTHING is a metaphor for deflowering a virgin girl?  I didn’t either until I took this class.

So, you see my dilemma.  I decided to take it easy and just go with it.  She’s just a little girl and princesses are just a part of that.  If I make a big deal about it, it becomes a big deal.

She got that “Tangled” book pictured above with a little hair clip of Rapunzel’s hair.  I showed her how it lit up and you put it in your hair.  I was never more proud of her after what she did next.  She didn’t want it in her hair.  She took it and made it a stethoscope.  She “listened” to our hearts before making it the thing doctors use to look in your ears.  Then she said, “I doctor!”

I don’t think I’ll need to dress like Dr. Cinderella after all.  My little princess is already practicing medicine.

This weekend I went to the baby shower of a first-time mom.  Amber is a girl I grew up with and one of my sister’s best friends.  (See picture below. That’s Amber.) Julie is my little sister, but Kristen and Amber made up their gruesome threesome.  I feel like the other two are sort of “little sisters” too.

Amber had a mountain of gifts, thoughtfully wrapped and checked off her registry.  Many other young mothers, me included, talked about different gifts.  You know, how no Americans knew who Sophie was 5 years ago, unless you had a baby in the last 5 years.  Now like, OMG everyone’s baby LOVES them!

I sat there with my two-year-old but I found my mind running.  I wanted to shout out, “Oooh!  Let me tell you how to best use that!” or “I used that this one time when…”  I chatted with the mom-to-be about childcare and other things, but I wanted to say more.  I found myself bubbling up with advice that I had to consciously bottle up at the shower.  I didn’t want to be like, “I know it all because a person came out of my birth canal and I kept it alive for two years!”  No one likes that woman.  Then I thought, “Oh that’s right.  I have a blog.  I can write whatever I want to there.”

So here it is.  For all the Amber’s out there with your big bellies and glowing faces. My advice.  Take it or leave it.  I give it with love.

• Get a really good breast pump.  DO NOT cheap out on a breast pump.   It pays for itself as much as you use it.  Oh!  It pays for itself anyway.  For working mothers, breast pumps are now tax deductible.  Go ahead and warn your husband they are like $300.  But, save the receipt!  Again, TAX DEDUCTIBLE!  I did not rent one from the hospital because of this.  I had the Medela one that looks like a purse.  It was great.
• Get a hands-free pumping bra.  Looks hilarious, but extremely handy.  You’re welcome Bessie, now hook on up to that there pump and get yourself milked!  That’s  a good girl!
• Get on a waiting list for a day-care NOW!  If you’re not already on one by your baby shower, you may be screwed.  Sorry.  It’s true.  We were on five and only one could take us when I needed to go back to work.  Oh, it’s $150 to just get your name on the list at each one.  No, it’s not refundable.
• Wrap up those Dr. Brown’s bottles and take them back to the store.  They are a gigantic pain in the ass.  You will spend the next year of your life with a tiny bristle brush washing those stupid parts.  I’m not convinced they are any better than any other bottle and now I will have to use them for the next kid because I have about 25 of the damn things.
• Take the Brest Friend pillow to the hospital.  For me, it is the greatest breastfeeding invention of all time.  When I was shopping for Amber I saw the new Born Free pillow and got very excited.  It looks really great too and may have some features the Brest Friend pillow doesn’t have.
• You may have to buy more than one nursing pillow.  I had a Boppy at the hospital.  A friend brought me a Brest Friend.  Boom!  That worked.  Find the one that works.  For me, the Brest Friend worked when she was little, but the Boppy was better when she was older.  Like I said, the Born Free looks phenomenal.  You’ll have to adjust as you get more comfortable with nursing and your baby grows.
• Find a pediatrician.  We toured ours before the baby was born.  I didn’t know it, but having a lactation consultant at the pediatrician’s office was WONDERFUL for those newborn visits. Yep, I whipped out my boobs for the nurse at the peds office.  I needed advice and I knew she could give it.  Be weary of peds offices that don’t have them and be weary of peds offices that pump out formula samples.  Formula is fine, but advice that helps you keep nursing is even better.  You CAN do it.  It’s just hard at first.
• Buy a boxes of unscented maxi pads before you go into labor.  No one tells you you’re going to have a heavy period for 6 weeks after the baby is born and you can’t wear tampons.  Use unscented.  Trust me.  You’ll thank me later.  Use the big ice pack ones they send you home from the hospital with while you’re still sore.  But, you’ll run out and be with 8 extended family members who came to see the baby and you be all like, “Ah!  Someone go to the store!”
• Get your FMLA and maternity leave stuff lined up.  I was in a panic because we got a new HR rep at my old job when I was 8.5 months pregnant.  Fortunately, I got some of the necessary paperwork earlier.  MAKE SURE you know how much time you’re taking off and what’s paid and what’s unpaid.  My husband and my daughter were on my insurance so right after she came home from the hospital I had to get on the phone and make sure she was covered.
• Fill out paperwork for the cord blood banking now.  I totally didn’t and have no cord blood saved.  Not the end of the world, but it would be nice to have.
• Take everything from the bassinet at the hospital.  Diapers, wipes, everything.  It’s yours.  You paid for it with insurance.  Ask for two bulb syringes and two squirt bottles.  Get the nurse to grab you extra ice pack pads and that numbing spray to take home too.
• It’s okay to cry a lot.  You will.  You’ll cry at every freakin’ commercial with a baby, or when your mom leaves after staying with you that first week.  You’ll suddenly be afraid that EVERYTHING will harm the baby.  Ugh.  It’s a little rough sometimes.  You’ll get it together, but you cry a lot in the first few weeks.
• This is awesome.  It’s great.  Not all the time.  Sometimes it’s really hard, but it’s also amazing.

Phew!  That’s all I got today.  I may have to do a Part 2 of one of these posts.  Okay, other moms, what did I miss?  What did you wish you had known?

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