I can't protect him forever.

Did I ever tell y'all that Alden and I go to marriage/couples counseling? Probably not; it's not a detail that comes up in conversation very often, and when it does, people assume it's because we're experiencing difficulties in our relationship.

We don't see a counselor because we're on the brink of divorce, though. We're pragmatic people and see value in therapy, and while we hardly ever go with expectations of where the conversation will end up, we always leave feeling stronger and more secure both in our marriage and in ourselves.

Yesterday was one of those "I have no idea where this will go" kinds of sessions. It was also one of those where I talked almost the whole time, which is unusual; typically I have things to contribute, but I let Alden or the counselor do most of the talking. Since we talked about school starting up, though, my floodgates opened wide.

I recently posted about my rainbow child going to Kindergarten, so this topic was fresh (and apparently forefront!) in my mind. I expressed my fear about Tycho going to school and having to basically put in all this effort--again--to make sure teachers and the administration and students accepted him for who he was and mitigated as much bullying as they reasonably could. He's a unique kid, and with that will come some challenges that he'll ultimately have to overcome (as he has done so well already in his five short years of life), but I can't help feeling protective and wanting to shield him from all that mess.

Our counselor pointed out something important, a fact of life that I try really hard to ignore: I can't protect him from everything. I can be his rock, his guide, his mom... but that's really it. He's the one who needs to fight those battles and advocate for himself. Like, okay, duh; I can't be at school with him, making sure that his peers are kind to him at all times. It's just not feasible, and it doesn't teach him shit.

I also can't stop him from changing who he is. This one was probably more difficult for me to wrap my brain around; I've become accustomed to the rainbow-loving, nail polish-adorned, glitter-wrapped human that he is, and I'm incredibly proud to see him buck gender norms in favor of what makes him happy.

Sometimes when he comes back from his dad's house, he's not the same kid. I mean, he is the same kid, but he doesn't look like the kid I know. Recently, he came back wearing these super-douchey brown leather Sperry boat shoes, and while he didn't seem to mind them being on his feet, I had to hide my absolute and utter disgust. I mean, first, leather... y'all know my personal convictions on animal-based products, so I really don't have to go into that here.

Second, and probably most importantly, I didn't feel like they were who he was. I felt like those shoes were a reflection of his father's side of the family, who are all gender normative and do shit like make fun of a family member for being vegan. (Who makes fun of family for something that literally does them no harm?!) When I saw those shoes, I felt a sting similar to when I was pregnant with Tycho and his father questioned how he would feel about his son if he turned out gay, or to when he saw the Elsa dress that Tycho asked for as a Christmas present and he made a snide comment about taking me to court if my boy ends up in a talent show in a dress and nail polish and dancing to Anaconda.

I was secretly delighted when I asked Tycho the next day to put on his shoes and, though those douchey Sperrys were also in his shoe cubby, he went for his sparkly white ones with the elastic rainbow no-tie laces, which are getting fairly beat up after daily wear. I was even more ecstatic when Alden and I brought the boys to Target for new shoes for the school year and he scoured the rows for rainbow shoes, which we had to special order since they didn't have his size.

They also don't carry them in adult sizes, like wtf, these shoes are AMAZING.

Seriously, Target, I need these in a women's size 8, plz and tyvm.

But while I can allow Tycho to express himself at our house ("Mommy-Tycho's house," as we call it) and wax gothic poetry about his father, I can't protect him from societal and peer pressure, or even from gender stereotypes, hard as we try. There's only so much I can do if we go to the store and, because his friend either has a similar pair or because he's been picked on for his previous choices in footwear, he chooses a pair of Sperry-like shoes. Or changes his favorite color from rainbow to a "boy color." Or decides his glittery bedroom walls aren't a reflection of who he's become, just of who he was, and he wants to paint over it all.

I have to admit, I'm a little terrified of losing my rainbow child. I'm so scared of losing the creative, inventive, trendy, unique boy that I have to social pressure.

Let's be real, though; as our counselor pointed out, there's definitely incentive and motivation to succumbing to peer pressure, including becoming an accepted member of a group. He's going to do some things that I simply can't control because he wants to be accepted by his peers, and I can only hope that those things are, like... changing his favorite color or choosing knockoff Sperrys instead of drugs or alcohol or unprotected sex. I should probably be counting my blessings if that's all I (and he) had to "deal with"!

The best and most I can do is give his teachers and the administration a heads-up on who Tycho is and how he expresses himself, and aside from mitigating any bullying, pretty much let it go from there. I can't control every choice he makes, but I can at least set the groundwork for more positive interactions.

And in the meantime, Alden and I are committed to making our home his sanctuary, the place where he can truly be himself. With any luck, his school will follow suit.

My Rainbow Son's Going to Kindergarten

He sleeps in a room painted with yellow (or "golden") and sparkle paints. His nightlights are a pink  lava lamp with gold glitter and a rainbow projector across his ceiling. The blanket that keeps him warm boldly carries all the colors of the rainbow, and he repeats them with a Rain Man-like vigor like he does everything else in his favorite color: "Red-orange-yellow-green-blue-purple!"

My treasure at the end of the rainbow. ❤️🌈 #tychothekid

A post shared by Stephanie Fox (@letitproducejoy) on May 24, 2018 at 5:10pm PDT

Like every night before last night, I snuggled my son to sleep last night, waiting until his breathing deepened and his muscles twitched slightly as they relaxed before getting up. Like every night before last night, I brushed his hair back from his face, marveled at his eyelashes and his sweet pink cheeks, and kissed his forehead before slowly retreating and closing the door behind me.

But unlike every night before, it was the last night he would be with me as a preschooler. Next Tuesday, he starts Kindergarten at a new school.

And I'm admittedly scared shitless.

Today’s stats! . 5 on Friday 30#, 39” On par with 6-year-olds Birds in his ears and love in his heart . My baby boy is getting so big!! 😍❤️ #tychothekid

A post shared by Stephanie Fox (@letitproducejoy) on Apr 10, 2018 at 3:16pm PDT

It's not the hours spent away from him; I work a 9-to-5 and he spends a majority of his day in a classroom setting, anyway, so aside from the teary-eyed proclamations of "my baby boy is growing up so fast!" as his dad and I guide him to his classroom, there really won't be a difference in time spent away from him.

But my son is... unique. Delightfully and beautifully and wondrously so, but not necessarily "societally acceptably" so.

In pretty much every case where it literally harms not a single other soul, whatever is acceptable by society's standards can fuck right off. To this point, my husband (Tycho's stepdad) and I have lived this for both our sons: They're entirely their own unique individuals, and that means doing things that may be atypical of boys in general, much less their age.

Tycho drew himself with Arty from #CreativeGalaxy!! 😍🎨 #tychothekid

A post shared by Stephanie Fox (@letitproducejoy) on Mar 27, 2018 at 3:33pm PDT

I've also had numerous discussions with my son's preschool about toning down the gender-specific talk, especially since Tycho loves bucking it all: nail polish, glitter, rainbows (and especially colors like pink and purple), all loved by my son and all of which have been conversations with teachers about how they approach it with him and his peers. It's taken a couple years, but now none of these are designated "girl things." They're things everyone can enjoy.

This year, we're starting a new school with new teachers and peers and community, and I feel like we're about to start all over again. Add to that the stress that comes with knowing the older kids get, the more ruthless they become; I've managed to talk down preschoolers who insist that nail polish is "for girls" by simply saying Tycho likes it and so does his stepdaddy, and there's no rule that anything is only "for girls," but I know the older he gets, the less likely I am to convince his classmates... or, worse (and sometime more irritatingly stubbornly), their parents.

Got Tycho a rainbow sequined journal and a rainbow pencil bag stuffed with sparkle gel pens, and this was his reaction! ❤️🌈😘 #tychothekid #rainbowboy

A post shared by Stephanie Fox (@letitproducejoy) on May 3, 2018 at 2:53pm PDT

No doubt Tycho will walk confidently into his new school, adorned with his bold rainbow backpack and shiny rainbow shoes and nails likely painted a colorful gradient, with a swagger only a Kindergartner who was top dog of his entire daycare could possess. And I'll be right behind him every step of the way, ready to ward off naysayers and welcome with open arms the chance to talk about gender nonconformity and enjoying everything for all its beauty, not for society's gender specificity.

I just hope no one dulls his sparkle.

Straight-up modeling his new rainbow sunglasses. 😆🌈❤️ #tychothekid

A post shared by Stephanie Fox (@letitproducejoy) on May 24, 2018 at 5:12pm PDT

When you can't stop trash-talking your ex, or "How to Really Fuck Up Your Kids"

A month or so ago, Tycho accused me of stealing pants from his dad's house. "You're taking all the pants and Daddy doesn't have any of my pants at his house!"

Now, the weather had been all over the place that month (yay "fall" in Maryland), but considering how few pairs of pants I had in his drawer, I knew what he was telling me wasn't necessarily the truth. But how do you explain that to a four-year-old?

Fortunately, Matt and I have a good enough relationship that we can talk about these kinds of things and sort them out. I told Tycho I was sorry he felt that way and that must have been confusing to hear, I'm sure he has enough pants, but let me text Daddy just in case. And that was that.

After a quick back-and-forth, including me telling him to "cut the shit" (yes, verbatim -- have I mentioned we have a good enough relationship?) with saying things like that, even by accident, the problem was solved.

And yes, he had enough pants.

I give this example not because I want to get that story off my chest (well, okay, a little... thanks for vindicating me, Internet!), but because it shows the importance of not trash-talking your ex. I could have just as easily retorted, "Daddy's lying, I didn't steal any pants!" or otherwise accused Matt of myriad things. In fact, in some ways, it would have been easier to give into the "fuck him!" mentality in front of my son than empathizing with him and saying we'd take care of it.

I know it's not that easy for others to just keep their lips zipped, even if opening their mouth is ultimately at the expense of their children's well being. It's sometimes difficult to stop the word vomit, especially if your ex pushes a particular button or, despite the passage of time, you're still not over the fact that the relationship is, well... over. You want to screw him over just one last time, get that final word in, to the nearest audience available... and that happens to be your kids.

Of course, the best advice would be "just be an adult." In case you needed reasons to do that, though, here are some ways trash-talking your ex can really fuck up your kids -- and your relationship with them -- in the long run:

• Sure, you'd probably love if your ex was never born (or suffered from cancer or a fatal car crash or something equally disgusting and disturbing what is wrong with you) so you wouldn't have to deal with their crap anymore. But the long and short of it is, and as much as you may not want to say it: Your children are half you and half your ex. Trash-talking the other parent ultimately means talking down about half of who your children are... and if you don't think they're internalizing that message, you're wrong.

• You're setting a really bad example for them. If you're constantly calling your ex names or regularly insulting them, your children will likely take after you. And would you want to be known as the parent with the foul-mouthed or condescending kid? Hating or fearing another parent doesn't come naturally; it's a learned behavior, and if your child is learning that from you, that makes you a pretty shit parent.

• You're legit abusing your child. You may think you're getting them on "your side" (whatever the hell that means), but ultimately, so long as there's no sufficient justification for it, denying visitation, trash-talking, and other forms of manipulation are all forms of child abuse. You're playing with their heads and, ultimately, their lives. Don't fucking do it.

• You could lose your child.* I can't stress this enough... if you're trash-talking your ex so frequently that you start to alienate your child from their other parent, or if you're doing anything else to accomplish the same goal, you could lose your child. Be smart, motherfucker. Perpetual shit-talk may be grounds for reducing your custody, and in extreme cases, may leave you with no custody. Do you really want to give up your child because you can't stop being petty?

* I am not a lawyer, BTW.

Okay, so you've resolved to do better, to be better. Still feeling that vomit rising in your throat? Here are some alternatives that won't have you hugging a toilet:

• Just don't talk about your ex in front of the kids! You have friends or family, I assume, right? Fellow adults in your life? Bitch to them about your ex. Sure, they may get tired of it after a while, but at least they won't go through the emotional turmoil your children undoubtedly would.

• Related: Don't talk to others about your ex when your children are home. Ever say a cuss word when you thought you were out of your kids' earshot, only to have them repeat it days (or seconds...) later? While they may have a hard time hearing when you ask them to pick up their toys, children tune in when you least expect (and want) it. Tell others not to talk about your ex when your kids are with you, too.

• Related x2: Talk to a neutral third party. Divorce sucks, even if you really want it and you're happier in the end. When you have kids with your ex, divorce sucks that much more because you can't just ignore them into nonexistence. Consider getting yourself (and maybe your children, too) a therapist to vent to and help you come to terms with the trials of divorce and its effect on children.

• Validate your child's feelings. This goes for when they challenge you by bringing shit from your ex into your home, too. Be positive about the time they spend with their other parent. You don't need to put them on a pedestal or even say anything nice about them. Too difficult? Focus on the activities they did ("Oh, it sounds like the park was fun!").

• Support their contact with their other parent. Just because they want to talk to Daddy on the phone doesn't mean they love you less. Chances are, they miss YOU when they're with Daddy, too. Don't punish them for wanting contact with their other parent; instead, encourage it by dialing their number and giving your kid the phone. Then go to another room, across the house, and punch a pillow or something, idk.

• Remind your children that the divorce was NOT their fault. I'm not a child of divorce, but my son is, and I often reassure him that Mommy and Daddy love and care for him very much and that we are better parents for him when we're apart. If you're trash-talking your ex, they're going to believe they were part of the problem and even carry that shit into their adult lives. Imagine telling your kids that their other parent is a "liar," only for those kids to grow up believing they may be liars, too, or that the other parent never told them a truthful thing in their entire lives? Or if you slip and call your child a "liar"...

• If you ever find it in your heart to do this -- or, simply, if you want to exercise some empathy -- do the exact opposite of trash talk. Not only will you kill your ex with kindness (and that would drive them crazy!), but it's a message your kids CAN internalize. After all, you purportedly loved your ex at some point, or you wouldn't have made such a beautiful child together. Tell them the positive qualities they inherited from your ex: Their creative eye, their compassion, their soccer skills, even their left-handedness. Even if it's simple, it humanizes your ex, and your kids hear the compliments just as, if not more, readily than the positive message that their other half is important, too.

This April, both Matt and I will be celebrating our son's fifth birthday together, in the same room, with no fighting or anything. Can you even imagine?! Not only is there no drama, but our son sees two parents who, despite any reason why they divorced, love him unconditionally and are willing to put aside their own shit for his best interest.

Yes, this may take time to accomplish, but while you're waiting for the magical day when you can be within a few feet of your ex without stabbing their eyeballs out of their skull, you can at least quit the shit. For your kids' sake.

Mommy, Tycho, and Daddy on Tycho's Third Birthday
<3 Divorced parents coming together for their son <3

And he nursed for the last time.

It wasn't anything I or my husband pushed, this slow and steady weaning process. Breastfeeding just fell off the radar, with one session dropped, another forgotten. Finally, last Wednesday, Tycho nursed for the last time.

He turns 21 months today, the little stinker! He's running, talking (sometimes incessantly), giggling, constantly learning. Each day, he grows more and more, both physically and mentally. It's amazing to watch someone you made and raised turn into his own individual person, and I'm literally lost for words to describe the feeling.

Last Wednesday, at an unacceptable 5:45am, Tycho nursed for the last time. He had woken up asking for Dada, and when Dada relented, Tycho was brought to me in our bed for nursing (and, admittedly, some quiet time before our alarm clock went off at 6:30).

We had been down to morning nursing alone for a long time at that point -- I'd say, the past two months. He weaned his night-nursing at that time, and we instead changed the routine to include snuggles on the couch, reading a few books in bed, and kissing his sweet face as he sank into his pillow. That itself was bittersweet, so for the following months, I held onto that last shred of babyhood.

Having relactated when Tycho was just a few months old, I'm filled with pride to say that I nursed him this long. It was truly a miraculous and marvelous thing to nourish him in the beginning and to continue offering comfort as he grew older; there was literally nothing that nursing couldn't fix. I knew it would end, but I didn't realize just how emotional I'd be after the fact, or just how determinedly white-knuckled I'd be as it attempted to slip through my fingers.

But six mornings have passed now since Tycho has even mentioned his nenes, and while I in no way encouraged him to continue when he was clearly done, I'm left pining for 5:45 mornings, kissing his hair, and snuggling him that much closer as we lay in bed.

Babies, man... they really don't keep.

There's so much awaiting me as a mother, though, and while it's hard to accept, moving into this next stage and knowing that it just gets better from here brings me so much joy that I can't contain it all. I swell with so much pride every day for my son that, in the end, I'm happy to leave the baby stage in the dust!

Yes, I remain wistful, even a bit sad. I liken it to mourning. But this is just the start of a new, exciting path of independence, engaging conversations (even constant questions and back-talking!), teaching him to ride a bike, learning grade school science all over again, watching him hit a grand slam, and everything else that comes with... well, growing up.

Tycho's clearly ready for it, so I'm taking his lead... and eagerly forging on into this next phase of motherhood. ♥

Rave Review: BALM! Baby Diaper Balm and First Aid Balm

via

We recently lost our jar of Angel Baby Bottom Balm, which we loved to slather on Tycho before bedtime. That stuff took care of any rashes he may have had and was a great protectant, plus it was cloth diaper safe. I was at a local natural baby store to see if they had any in stock and was disappointed to learn they had run out, but a lovely associate there directed me to BALM! Baby Diaper Balm (and 1st Aid!), saying it was incredibly similar to Angel Baby.

Y'all. I think I found us a new balm. Because seriously, this stuff is amazing!

Since we had been missing our Angel Baby jar, Tycho started to develop a bit of redness, which I'm sure was super uncomfortable for the little guy. I wouldn't want to walk around with a chafed ass. I put the BALM! Baby Diaper Balm on his booty last night, hopeful that it would clear up in the next couple days and provide him with relief.

The rash was gone the next morning. I mean, I had a feeling the balm was good, but not that good. Matt had changed him this morning when we all got up, and I had to change him about 45 minutes later after he decided that, :yes, I'd love to take a huge dump right as we're all walking out the house"... and I was surprised to see no redness at all. Angel Baby worked miracles for us before, but not quite this quickly!

BALM! Baby is great for other things, too -- their product information notes that it works on eczema, newborn skin, cradle cap, sunburns, bug bites, dry hands, chapped cheeks from cold or teething, and more. Aside from the obvious (because who would want to endure any of this!), I'm looking forward to giving the "first aid" side of this balm to the test.

Their ingredients are all organic: Olive, coconut, macadamia nut oil & sesame seed oil infused in noni, calendula, chamomile, comfrey & rosemary, candelilla wax, St. John’s wort extract, chickweed extract, neem oil, kukui nut oil, vitamin e T-50, Organic Essential oil blend of orange, lavender & tea tree oils. Making it vegan, too!

And honestly, you can't beat $10. Our Angel Baby stuff had been used for months before we lost it, and we still had well over half the balm left over (making me wonder if we'll ever find it, as you know stuff always goes missing when you need it most). Since BALM! Baby has the same consistency and the directions encourage you to apply conservatively ("a little goes a long way"), and since the jar is even bigger... I imagine we'll have this stuff for a good long while.

So if you're in the market for a new diaper balm, whether you use cloth or disposables, treating diaper rash or just want a great barrier, I encourage you to try BALM! Baby Diaper Balm. :)


All opinions and experiences are mine, and mine alone. I was not compensated for this review by BALM! Baby or any other company, in form of payment, free products, or any other means. This post may contain affiliate links.

Ah shit.

Tycho's daycare provider was telling me this morning that he started saying "ah shit" at multiple times during the day yesterday. She did say that he was using it in context, though, so that's one positive. :)

I knew that this text would one day come, but against my better judgment, I didn't think it'd come so soon. I was an "early cusser", too (my parents have me on video at a year old saying "bullshit, AJ" after said AJ took a toy from my hands), and considering both my mouth and Matt's, as well as previous posts on this very subject, this day was going to be upon us sooner rather than later.

Fortunately, he used it in context, so at least we've got that going for us!

From the mouths of (incredibly, insanely cute) babes...

I'm sure the daycare provider brought it up to us as a point of concern, and I can see why: Other kids can hear and emulate it, and they'll likely bring it home to their parents. Parents who, I'll bet you everything I've got, would be far less tickled by their new vocabulary, regardless of correct context.

If it isn't evident already, Matt and I are okay with letting a little "foul language" reach our son's ears. For the most part, we use these words sparingly and in response to a stimuli that, quite frankly, deserves some strong words. So far, we've been fortunate that Tycho has been too concerned with the sounds certain animals make to worry about picking up a few fucks here and there.

Other than the word itself, though, what does it matter if he says "ah shit", "ah shoot", "ah noodles", or any other variation? The message conveyed is the same, and it's seriously just a word. It's not like some demonic dragon is going to awaken at the utterance of a "bad" word, even if that utterance is made by a toddler.

Honestly, my bigger concern is with other words, like "hate" or "stupid", words that have not yet entered Tycho's vocabulary and that I want to prevent him from saying as long as possible. While they're not "bad" words, as brusque dismissals of people, ideas, and experiences, they should certainly be! When I hear a child call someone or something "stupid", I can't help but think that child is far too cynical for his age and could probably learn a bit about common decency and giving things the old college try.

Is this to say that I never call things "stupid" or never say that I "hate" something? No, I do, though unlike my sailor mouth, I try to curb those before they pass my lips, notably in front of my son. I don't want to discourage Tycho from trying something new or meeting a new person because doing so is "stupid" or because he "hates" it before even attempting it. I want him to experience everything, even those things he may dislike, for the sake of trying it. For the sake of living it!

So do I really fucking care if my son drops the f-bomb or uses "ah shit" appropriately? What the fuck does it fucking matter. It's just a word, and so long as it's not directed at someone, the only downside is that it's not polite. I'd rather Tycho not focus on being so fake that he won't speak freely, including curse words.

But words like "hate" or "stupid"... those words are meant only to disparage. Those words are the real curse.

No, seriously!!

Happy October! Ashes to ashes, dust to dust...

It's officially my favorite time of year! The leaves are turning, the air is cooling, the scents are warming, and the pumpkin spice lattes are brewing (oh yes, you know I had to go there). It's a season we never really got to experience in Florida, and one that I've fallen in love with since we've moved up here.

It's fall, y'all! Happy October!

I was musing the other day how October and fall in general made me feel a bit more "witchy" than usual, a feeling to which I'm sure many Pagans and witches can relate. The bite in the breeze and the realization that the year is coming to a close -- whether you observe Samhain or the traditional New Year -- forces you to look back on everything that's happened, consider what all needs to be left in the proverbial dust, and those things you want to begin anew (or again!).

Motherhood is definitely one of those aspects. Tycho will be a year and a half on the 13th (where has time gone?!), and while I had all these great ambitions with regards to his childhood and my mommy experiences, there are a few things I've had to leave behind. The main one: The idea of being a "Pinterest-worthy mom". You know the types. They create homemade crafts for their kids, concoct elaborate recipes with only organic or farm-raised ingredients, bring their children on crazy adventures through town, and document every step of the way with beautiful photographs and detailed blog posts.

Yeah, totally not that kind of mom. If anything, I consider it a victory to get my son and husband and self all out the door on time every morning!

Don't get me wrong -- obviously I document our son's activities and whereabouts, otherwise I wouldn't have this blog. But where those moms are wielding their DSLRs and waiting for perfect lighting, my camera sits collecting dust and my iPhone gets most of the action instead.

And yet, I still manage to capture those moments:


That smile... :)

I've given up on trying to come across as the "perfect mom". After all, who do I end up really impressing, anyway? It's not like my son can read anything I post or critique every shot I take, so this isn't really for him (though I'd be flattered if he did end up reading it as he grows older). And while I hope that you all, my incredible readers, find some happiness and inspiration here, I do realize that there are moms out there who are infinitely better at this than I am.

Instead, my ambition has been, should be, and will continue to be trying to make as great an impression on Tycho as I can. This isn't achieved through obsessing over every little detail late at night after he's gone to bed, but experiencing life as he does.

And if I capture that? Awesome! If not, at least it's in my mind's eye.

So, mommyhood-wise, there's my dust: Perfectionism. It's admittedly a difficult one to give up, especially when I find myself longingly clicking through social media posts with these delicately coiffed kiddos and their equally put-together parents. But if there's anything I've realized over the past year and a half, it's that they have their moments, too.

But rather than avoid them, I like to write about them. ;)

Losing myself, gaining perspective.

I know it's been a while since I've posted. Things at work have been especially crazy, and between that and taking care of Tycho and other such life responsibilities when we all get home, I'm about ready to pass out when he goes to bed. In search of some balance, I've had to let a few things go lately, one of which has been my blog.

Which is a shame, as I love to write, but such is life.

I was talking to another witchy mama earlier today, and she mentioned feeling the same way. "Part of my issue is that I took on the parenting role full force. I'm the primary caregiver, I adjusted my work schedule, and we practice attachment parenting."

Since becoming a parent, I've noticed the same in myself. Practically every one of my interests -- writing, music, Paganism, cooking, even health and fitness -- all went straight to the back burner when Tycho was born, and now my days are taken up with breastfeeding, cloth diapers, baby carriers, and cuddling my sweet little boy. Could I be making a better effort to immerse myself into my interests again, and even take the time to bring Tycho into the fold? Perhaps, so, but as my friend also said:

"You sacrifice so much of yourself for your kids, but the relationship is worth it."

It is. It's absolutely worth it, even if I feel a little disappointed that I can't throw myself at my hobbies like I could pre-baby. Not a day goes by that I'm not simultaneously wistful for the past and excited for the present, and as I see Tycho grow older and become his own person day by day, I also get mentally prepared for all the future holds.

For now, I'm going to start taking little steps to get myself back into those things I want to explore more deeply, and will keep in the back of my mind that there will be infinitely more time for myself as Tycho becomes more independent. When those days come? I'm sure I'll be pining even more for the baby who insists on sitting in my lap, offers little kisses completely unprompted, and looks at me with love as he calls me Mama.

And while I'll make a more sincere effort to be present in my blog and in my own little world, I know y'all (as fellow parents or parents-to-be) understand that, at least for now, his world is my world. Which is totally cool by me. :)

(Side note: In the interest of expanding this blog to fulfill these other parts of myself that I'd like to explore, The Mocking Mommy will likely undergo some changes in the near future, not the least of which is a blog name and design change. So keep an eye out for that!)

My son is teething, and I'm a bad mom.

This past Tuesday, after having to pick Tycho up from daycare due to a purported fever (of which there was none when I took him to the doctor that same day), I couldn't take the screaming anymore. I drove into a parking lot in a fit of desperation and took my wailing son out of the car, trying to calm him down with hugs and kisses, applesauce packs, Tylenol, and teething toys while innocent bystanders stared at the scene: A frazzled mom and a toddler with limbs akimbo, the sound of his cries of pain echoing off the nearby buildings.

That is when I lost my shit.

... I started this blog as a way to, among other Fox Family shenanigans, keep track of the funny moments that happen in parenting. But things in our house have been far from funny since Tycho's teeth started coming in. He already has a handful of teeth that proved to be no problem when they came in, but I don't know if it's molars or eye teeth or what the hell is going on. The past week or so, my once-happy boy has suddenly transformed into a red-faced, drooling, screaming mess that literally can't be contained.

After trying ten minutes to calm him down, I finally gave up and put Tycho back in the carseat, singing the ABCs more as a way to keep me from yelling desperately into his face than to distract him. We were only a few minutes away from the house, but as I shut the backseat door and rested my head on the car, trying to compose myself and bracing myself to get into a car that had transformed into the seventh layer of hell, I knew those minutes would feel like an eternity.

I'm not proud of what happened on that drive home. All I can say is, there's only so far patience will take you, and eventually, everyone reaches their breaking point. Mine happened while sitting at a red light, watching in the rearview mirror as Tycho started to thrash his legs in protest and pain, and...

I screamed. I screamed as loud as I could without scaring the shit out of Tycho, but it was still enough to stop him in his tracks for all of two seconds. I had lost all self-control.

Then I cried. I completely crumbled, y'all, and gave in to the shoulder-shaking, ugly-faced, shameful sobbing of someone who had reached the end of her rope. Both of us had tear-streaked faces by the time I pulled into my parking spot, and after giving myself a moment to wipe my eyes and take a deep breath, I grabbed Tycho from his carseat and stroked his cheeks, too.

When I tell people that we practice gentle parenting (without really calling it that, as we're not huge into labels), I imagine that they think I'm always cool, calm, and collected. After all, Tycho is a happy kid and, for the most part, I'm a happy and involved mama who strives to keep him curious and always learning.

I'm no robot, people. I have feelings and emotions and a button that is pushed on the daily and shit that threatens to be lost on a now-regular basis. Just like every other parent in this world. My temper is fierce and my patience is limited, and while I try to hold it back as much as possible, I've broken down more times as a mother than I have over any other time of my life.

And as much as I know it's not true, there are days -- like Tuesday -- that make me believe I'm a bad mom.

After I put him to bed (where he continued to cry for around 20 minutes before finally falling asleep, and while I'd normally go up after 15 to soothe him, that shit? It was lost hours ago), I cracked open a beer and turned on some mindless television in an attempt to wash the day away. As I swirled the beer in the bottle, I started thinking... you know, as bad a day as I was having, he was, too. And even worse, he can't tell me why.

I repeated it over and over... "Tycho wasn't giving me a hard time to be an asshole, he was just having a bad day." Eventually, the lingering anger finally faded away and was replaced with sympathy. He was scared, helpless, confused, and as Matt put it, "He's probably sitting there thinking, this is my life now. All there is, is pain." Can you even imagine how bleak life must be when you're in such agony and can't find any way to help yourself?

My parenting philosophy is gentle, and so long as I'm trying, learning, and wanting to be better, I'm doing a damn good job. It doesn't mean that losing it once in a while is out of the question, especially when the times are really, really hard. And while Tycho deserves my best at all times, it doesn't mean I have to be perfect as a mother.

Poor baby slept that whole night, probably a combination of wanting to escape and extreme exhaustion after crying for a full three hours. When I got him out of bed the next morning, he smiled at me and snuggled into my shoulder, and I almost lost it again... but this time, with a sigh of relief. I snuggled back, thankful that the worst appeared to be over.

This, too, shall pass.

Nursenastics, gymnurstics, whatever... the nursing toddler

This was pretty much Tycho yesterday:

Ooh, are these... they are! Nenes! Oh my god, they're more accessible than I thought. I mean, so long as Mommy's here, there are nenes! How cool is that!

What's that? Oh, sorry, Mommy, I don't mean to be intrusive. But your nenes are right here and I can't reach them unless I go into your shirt. And... wait, what's this? A nene holster?! I don't approve! Guess I have to go under this one, too.

Oh, thanks, Mommy. I know you're just trying to relax and all, but I appreciate you giving me better access. Just make yourself comfortable. This front walkway looks nice. Now, I don't want to lie down, I just learned to walk and I want to do it ALL THE TIME. So how do we do this...

From the side?

Maybe if I twist this way... nope.

One foot in the air doesn't work, either.

Oh sorry, am I pinching you?

How about... yeah, your lap works, I guess. But first, lemme get that nene!

*latches*

*wiggles side to side*

*twists legs around until sitting*

*finally settles down*

Ah, that's nice. Wish I had known about this sooner!

Toddler nursing is SO MUCH FUN.

Today, I stop pumping.

I've been staring at the screen for almost an hour now, not sure what to say or where to start, so I guess I'll start from the beginning! How appropriate that I broach this topic during World Breastfeeding Week.

I was so excited to nurse my son before he was born. I had all the materials, had read all the books, and had neglected to buy all the bottles because heck, why would I need them before I went back to work, anyway. So when he was born, it was devastating to me that nursing just didn't work out. He had a posterior tongue tie and thrush, both of which were diagnosed and treated well after we had stopped nursing, and I only managed to make it a week before I admitted that continuing would just wreak further havoc on my body and my sanity.

To say it was not a great experience is... not telling the whole truth. In reality, it sucked.

Matt and I agreed to switch Tycho to formula, which was difficult not only because of the emotions I had tied to breastfeeding and the sudden crashing down of my dreams when it didn't work out, but because all the stuff that comes with it. There are bottles, and finding the right formula, and cleaning out those bottles, and water temperature and cleanliness, and measuring scoops of powder at 2am. Formula-feeding is NOT for the weak. But we made it work, and as my body started to heal and my hormones settled, I finally found my happy place again.

After returning to work, I vied again for that breastfeeding experience, and I decided to relactate. To do that, though, meant I was tethered to a pump up to eight times a day to bring my milk back, then down to three or four times at work while I'd nurse at home. Every. single. day. It's been over a year now since I decided to relactate, and while it has been entirely worth it and I'm down to just one pump session a day, I've finally reached my breaking point.

So today, I stop pumping. It's time to call it quits.

But as I write that, I'm starting to mentally freak out. Am I ready for this? Is Tycho ready? Is this really the right time?

My mother-in-law recently came to visit, and she watched Tycho while Matt and I took a mini-cation to Virginia. It was a great time for us, and Tycho did really well with her. We had prepared milk for him while we were gone, but he ended up not taking too much and was just fine regardless. When we returned, I found that two bags of milk were still sitting in the freezer, untouched. Considering, I'm sure he's ready.

Tycho still loves nursing (or "nenes", as he calls it), and I'm more than willing to continue nursing until he's done. At this point, though, he's only down to two, sometimes three times a day, and is otherwise too on the move to bother with it. And as for milk during the day? We've already got him to accept water at daycare and at home, so it won't be a huge adjustment at all.

We have about four days' worth of fresh milk in the refrigerator, and maybe a week's worth of milk in the freezer. Enough to see him through to 16 months.

As for me? I do have some fear that stopping the pump will lead to Tycho wanting to wean earlier rather than later, but I'm admittedly very ready to be done with pumping. I've been ready for a while, I've just been afraid to pull the trigger. But, just as some day I'll have to send him off for his first day at school, drop him off at college, or even watch as he marries his true love, I have to face the fact that he's growing up.

I hope to take it as gracefully as I know he will. :)

My (not-so-little) nursling! ♥

Father's Day celebrations and my love for Tula

For Father's Day last weekend, at Matt's request, we went to Harper's Ferry for a short hike and to explore the town. We had a lot of fun, and even though we didn't take the actual hiking trail (I mean, that shit was FOUR MILES, we would have died! #outofshape), we really enjoyed the old shops and the historical train station.

While there, I got to try out my new babycarrying love: A standard Tula. I had heard about them from other babywearing mamas, but I've stuck with my Beco Gemini for as long as I possibly could have. Tycho was quickly outgrowing it, though -- it really is suited for smaller babies -- so I had to buck up and get another, larger carrier.

Thankfully, just as I was on the serious hunt for one, Tula came out with a foxes print! They're only available in Europe (and if they ever come out in the US, I'm going to kick myself), so I paid the extra expense for shipping and received my very first Tula a week later.

And let me tell you, people... there's a reason why it's called Tula Love. Because LOVE. It's supportive, lightweight, easy on the back and hips, and generally made Tycho feel weightless... and considering his recent growth spurt, this kid ain't a lightweight anymore. It hugged his body perfectly, helped him feel super comfortable, and didn't bother him in the slightest even considering he was carried in it for at least two hours. I'd say it was a win all around.

Overall, we had a fantastic time, and I enjoyed breaking in our new carrier. We'll have to head out there again when we're not so terribly #outofshape. ;)

Handsome hubby and darling son. :)

Please note the post-baby pudge, which is still there over a year later. YAY.

#datass

Family photo! ♥

Our "little" boy ain't so little anymore!

Nenes at the train station. :)

DADDY IS THE BEST!

Right now, it's all about mommy. Crying? Mommy. Need a change? Mommy. Want a snuggle? Mommy. I fell on my butt and I can't tell yet if it hurts?

You guessed it.

One day that'll change dramatically, and I think part of my heart may rip out (then dance down the street, celebrating its newfound freedom, lol). When it does, I will fondly remember this infographic...

Happy Father's Day, y'all. ;)

To My Son, on His First Birthday.

Photo cred: ||Megan Evans Photography||

To my *incredible* son:

This week, you started standing on your own. Daddy and I couldn't believe our eyes when, confidently and without hesitation, you lifted your hands from your walker and stood upright for those few seconds. We couldn't speak -- I could hardly breathe! We were literally stunned speechless, just so proud of you for what you just accomplished.

Then you did it again, and again and again, to several rounds of applause and, after we managed to catch our breath, words of encouragement: "Go Tycho!" You gave us this grin that says I know I did something cool, watch me do it again!

You are seriously growing up so fast. In these past few months alone, you've learned how to properly crawl, pulled yourself up to standing, babbled like you were actually talking, referred to us as "mama" and "dada", pointed to things you wanted to inspect more closely, eaten pretty much anything offered to you (your favorites are steamed broccoli and olives, and you're still not a fan of avocados), and learned to use a walker to, you know... walk.

Today, you are one year old. A whole year of having you in our lives! Of getting to know you, being your mommy and your daddy. Of loving you, wholly and completely.

At times, especially during the hard times, it felt like the longest journey ever. We didn't know if they would ever end. But when we think back to this past year, we also see how fast it went. It feels like a blink of an eye, and suddenly... you're not our baby anymore.

This first year with you, my sweet baby Boog, has surprised me in more ways than I can possibly count. I honestly didn't know love or pride until you came into our lives. Sure, I still love your daddy immensely, but this... this is different! You completely blindsighted me, captivated me, rocked my world, shook my heart to its very core.

It's a love I can never describe, but I'm sure every mama knows that feeling.

This first year? It's been a hell of an adventure! I'm a little sad to put it behind us, but when I think of how much growing you have left to do, how many other adventures you have left to go on, I feel nothing but excitement and joy, and I am so thankful that we get to experience and foster these adventures with you.

I love you with all my heart, my mama's boy, my little love, my sweet Boog.

And I can't wait to see what this next year brings.

Happiest of first birthdays!! ♥

Love, Mommy and Daddy

These pictures. These are why I blog. These are why I'm the Mocking Mommy.

We recently signed up for an Ident-A-KID ID, where they get basic information on your child and submit it to a national registry while providing you with a physical and electronic ID. I can't wait to carry this around in my wallet... wonder if anyone would even recognize this kid! Drunk and disorderly:

I cannot stop laughing at my son's expense. OMG.

After I got this, I decided to check out his other mishaps... erm, I mean, photos that we've taken throughout his first (almost!) year of life and share the funny with you. These are in no particular order -- they're not dated, and they're all equally hilarious.

I hope you get a few giggles, too. :)

And the parents that raise this adorable monstrosity of a boy:

Now y'all see where he gets it from. ;)

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