Stay out of My Uterus

Over the last few weeks, I have been a tad sad. As my children continue to grow and become more independent, I’ve been recalling the moments I missed with them while I worked. I’ve been wondering if I am silly to regret not having another baby since I got laid off almost four years ago.

It’s been on my mind how I wanted four children, a good even number. I wanted to be able to be there, from birth to at least the age of three, since I figured I’d be home anyway, but finances were our major issue. Shoot, finances have always been an issue for us. There was none of our children, other than our first, that finances were not a problem, even before I got pregnant.

Some family and friends were very concerned when I got pregnant with my second son. They were somewhat vocal, especially since our first son was only eight months old. We were still pretty much in a good place financially, but we were walking a fine line. In fact, nearing the end of that pregnancy, I feared whether or not we would be able to meet all his needs. There was even a day that I drove home after a women’s Bible study crying, wondering if we had been stupid for not being more careful.

When he arrived though, he was the sweetest little man. He still is. I don’t know what our lives would be like without our little Earthquake, the nickname we gave him in the womb. He’s still our most active child: running to one room to the other for no reason, tossing objects he finds as if they’re footballs, kicking any size ball on the ground, due to his love for soccer. He’s the best sharer, very considerate, helping, loving, and he loves Jesus with all his heart. It’s pretty amazing, and I can’t imagine how different our lives would be without him.

The day I hesitantly decided to announce my third pregnancy, when my second was nearing eleven months, I was met with no holds bar opinions and verbal abuse. I heard things like, “Is that all you people think marriage is for?” “What is the hurry? Is there some kind of contest you’re trying to win?” “Can you guys even afford another baby?” “Is that even smart right now?” “I’m not really sure what you guys are thinking.” “How will you take care of this one?” “Are you the only ones God told to multiply?”

Needless to say, I felt awful. If those I respected and loved most weren’t happy for us, how was I to get through the pregnancy without feeling depressed? Would anyone be around to welcome the baby with us? Were we really being impractical? Funnily, the answer is a resounding, ”YES!” I had just started my Master’s program, there were talks at my job about impending lay-offs, we were struggling to pay the combo of our first and second mortgages. In fact, my husband was initially upset with me, because I had gone in to see my OB/GYN to remove my IUD after asking what he thought about it, but not really asking for his okay. (Yah, not wise, ladies.) I just wanted my baby girl, and I knew my third would be it.

The day we found out we were having a girl, my husband was elated. He know he secretly envied my relationship with our sons. He had always talked about having a “daddy’s girl” but lost hope after our second son, stating, “Children are expensive! Let’s give it a few more years.” However, our baby girl was an answer to our prayers and totally lights up our lives. She’s self-assured, speaks her mind (very matter-of-fact….I wonder where she gets that from), and a defender of her brothers. She is the strongest believer in Jesus in our household it seems sometimes. She has the faith of a warrior.

I say all this to say…no child is a mistake. No child is here for no reason. Some choose to have one; some choose to keep counting. Either way, each of us has our limitations, and God knows it. Some of us may chose to have one child, and no one should knock that. If that’s not God’s will, hey, you’ll find yourself pregnant, and live goes on.

I’m not going to act like I’ve never thought to myself when told someone was pregnant, “Again?” “Really? They already have a hard time parenting the ones they have.” However, I have to remind myself to stay out of the other person’s uterus. I met opposition with my last two children, and I am so happy I eventually did not allow people’s words to phase me. I have to give others an opportunity to walk in faith, or respect other people’s plans of limiting their family sizes.

I’m a big believer in unity. If a married couple talks it over, decides to continue to reproduce (despite the odds against them) or simply calls it quits after one or two children (for whatever reason), that’s their prerogative. You don’t pay their rent/mortgage, put food on their table, know their dreams/goals, or have to baby-sit.

A couple that welcomes a child into this world is responsible for that child. No complaints about the cost, no one wanting to baby-sit, or the loss of time with friends, etc. You had them. They should never be treated as burdens. If I can’t hang with you, because I choose not to get a sitter or prefer to hang with my children rather than attend a meeting, don’t hate. They are my priority, after Jesus and my husband.

What may be right for me may not be for you. Stay out of other people’s uteri, and get your life!

Nobody Cares What She Said

“Daddy, Mommy said we have to wait to buy them.”

“Yah, she said we didn’t earn them yet.”

“Who cares what your mom said ? We’re getting them anyway.”

That was a conversation I heard at Target a few weeks ago. A boy and girl were talking to their dad about something (which I didn’t catch), and obviously, their dad and mom were either not on the same page, or the dad just wanted to be a jerk.

Even though it wasn’t and isn’t really any of my business, it still bothers me. I guess I took it more personal, being that I was wondering if he even cared about the mother’s perspective or if being dismissive was his way of getting back to their mother/his wife. I think we as humans disregard others quite a bit, sometimes genuinely unaware of it, and others, blatantly so.

In the case of parents, it’s important to present a united front. “A house divided cannot stand” (Mark 3:5). If the two key foundational pieces, Mom and Dad, are pulling in two separate directions, how in the world will the children know how best to deal in specific situations? Consistency and unity are key as parents. Mutual respect for one another serves as a good example to children, whether in a marriage or between divorced parents. It’s a necessary element in growing well-functioning individuals, because what children glean from us is often what they take into their relationships.

Just before our daughter was four years old, she learned the divide and conquer method. She’d ask me for something, and I’d say “no”. She would give it a few minutes and head in her dad’s direction and inquire about the same thing. Taken by her bright smile and innocence, he’d say, ‘yes”, and she would either hide away from me, or purposely ensure that she passed within sight to let me know she eventually got what she wanted.

After one too many times, my husband and I decided ignoring this issue would only make her believe that we were not united and that what she was doing was okay. So, we decided that if any of our children requested specific things, they would need to get the final word from one of us in particular. That way, the decision maker regarding it would not feel slighted. Or, in many cases, if we have an idea the child just came from the other parent, we ask, “What did daddy/mommy say?” They caught onto this rather quickly and were disciplined if they attempted to lie or take advantage of either of us.

There’s so much to learn as parents; however, it doesn’t stop children. They can be very cunning if and when they figure out the dynamics of our relationships, which is why communication is also important between parents, regardless of our statuses. Once we become parents, we cannot relinquish or take a back seat in our role as dad or mom. Each child has one daddy/mommy. In blended families, the dynamics can be different, but it’s still important that both parents are cordial and that they check with one another before making decisions regarding the children.

The way we treat one another is how our children will, or try, to treat us. As with anything, they learn from us, because we’re their examples. If mommy disrespects daddy, a child could end up disrespecting daddy or her future boyfriend/husband, because she counts that as the norm. What we teach them indirectly, or what they watch us do tends to be what they follow.

(Our mom DESPISED this cartoon and song when we were growing up. Go figure.)

Fighting to Remain Superwoman

Earlier this week, I spoke to my sister about how mothers are resilient. My oldest son returned home from school last Friday very tired and weepy. He said he didn’t feel good, and from the moment he got home from school to the next morning, he simply slept. He woke up with a cough, but he had a little more energy. Somehow, someway, his little sister picked up where he left off on Monday evening. She was coughing, lethargic, and just not her usual self. After about three days, she was fine. My second son, however, had picked up the baton on Monday as well and was sent home early by the school nurse. He remained home until Thursday.

During that span of time, my husband had a stint at the ER. He was in pretty bad shape and freaking out, but he pulled through just fine, even though he continues to shower me with coughs during the night. Through it all, I remained strong and in good health, playing the role of the nurse to all: catching used tissue before it made to the carpet and further contaminating us, providing bags for those who even looked like they were about to vomit, and ensuring everyone was remaining hydrated and getting tons of rest. Every night, I dusted myself off and thanked God that the S on my chest remained intact.

Well, that was until last night. I got back from picking up my boys from school and was just exhausted. I told my husband that I needed to take a short nap, and I’d take care of dinner and showers. Two hours later, I woke up feeling like a baby had been tap dancing on my forehead. That night, I slept again and woke up feeling even worse. However, I managed to make it to the farmer’s market with one of my good friends and our five children.

Halfway through our adventure, my head started to spin. My body was just done, and I had to excuse myself and my children and go home, where I took a nap for a little over an hour. One would think that the rest would make things better. Nope! My eyeballs felt like they were being separated from their sockets. The back of my throat felt like someone was aggressively reading Braille on it. The tap dancing of a baby on my forehead had advanced to two dancing penguins going to town, not caring how it was affecting me, and my left leg felt like I had Elephantiasis.

Despite it all, I managed to get up after my husband had made dinner, wash the dishes, clean the countertop, and sweep the kitchen. Afterward, I felt like five gorillas had descended on me and walked slowly but purposefully up the stairs and just barely made it into bed, where I still am at this moment, with my sidekick by my side. She has prayed for me and assured me that I can definitely make it to church tomorrow. Well, we’ll see. I wasn’t able to dodge the Kryptonite, but my S is still hanging on, even if only by a thread.

Moms, we need to take care of ourselves. While our role of maintaining the household is very important, if we don’t take proper care of ourselves, we can’t help anyone else. And that’s when  dads make grilled cheese sandwiches with macaroni and cheese and call it dinner, put way too many snacks in lunchboxes, which don’t include fruits or veggies, and the children are up until 10 pm on a school night. More power to you all; I’m off to bed to regain my strength. I will NOT be defeated!

I Want a White Mom

This week has been a mess and a half. As usual, I’ve spent my days with 1/3 of my posse, my 4-year-old daughter. Leading up to this week, she’s been slowly copping an attitude that has not been resting well with me. She’s given a little more sass in her responses, a little more side-eye when referring to people, and a twist in her step that I, for one, do not appreciate or deem appropriate for someone that I birthed.

My calls out to her have been met with, “YES, Mommy?!?” like I’m bothering her or something, rather than her usual, “Yes, Mommy?” I sure don’t know what changed of late that has made her think more highly of herself than usual, but I guarantee that if she doesn’t straighten herself up soon, she’s not going to like the results.

The other day, while we were doing my version of pre-school at home, she tried me with an attitude when I gave her two Essence magazines and told her to look for things or actions that started with the letter of the week, P, or to at least find as many of the letter as she could. She flipped through the magazines really quickly and replied, “There are no Ps there.”

I stopped what I was doing and said, “Ummm…what? What do you mean there are no Ps?” We agreed that for every P I found, she would get a hand swat. By swat three, I gave her the same instructions as before, and she just sat with a scowl on her face. By the third time, my patience had worn very thin, so I told her to go to her room while I made lunch. She proceeded to tell me that she couldn’t go, because she had not had her snack.

I told her she was lucky she would be having lunch and needed to go upstairs to her room. I returned to preparing lunch when I turned around to find her there, arms crossed, still with a scowl and unmoved. I reminded her of my instruction to go to her room, but there she stood...unmoved. As I made my way in her direction, she attempted to raise her hand at me, and ooooohhhh weeeeee…that was all it took. I went after her. In her attempt to run away, she tripped over a 3-gallon water jug, which then tipped our water stand, which then fell over and broke our porcelain water container, which was 3/4 full of water all over the carpet. I was livid.

I just couldn’t at that moment, so I left the mess there and realized she was nowhere in sight. The moment the porcelain jug fell, our eyes met, and all I saw was terror in her eyes, and she ran. Where? I don’t know. Needless to say, less than ten minutes later, I heard a faint, “Mommy, I’m sorry. Mommy, I’m sorry.” I called her to meet me in the kitchen and waited several minutes before she joined me. I knew if I reacted in that moment, she would be dealt with in major anger, and I would just etch her impression of black moms in her head further.

Two days prior, she had done something, for which I disciplined her. Afterward, when we discussed if she knew why she had been disciplined, she stated she knew and verbalized why. A few hours later, she came to the kitchen and simply stated, “Aunty (name here), Aunty (name here), and Miss (name here) are always being mean to their kids. How come they have to spank them? We know when we do bad stuff. You guys don’t have to spank us. I want a white mommy. White mommies talk to their kids and don’t spank them. That’s why their kids like them. You know…I love you, but I don’t like you.” She then thanked me for her snack and walked away after eating it.

A white mommy, huhn? I think she needs to spend three years in a Nigerian boarding school. Discipline is now being equated with one being mean? I think not. I refuse to raise an individual who is useless to society, who does not own up to his/her faults, who believes all the problems in his/her life are due to everyone else but does not consider the poor judgment calls he/she has made. I will not foster rude or disrespectful behavior or enable entitlement, and that’s just me as a parent.