Watching your kids grow up is hard

My Little Pork Chop at three days old

Today is our Little Man's first birthday eve. Tomorrow, he turns one, and my heart is hurting just a smidgen. I know he's the last baby I will have, and this knowledge makes each milestone all the more bittersweet. The ironic thing is, I have already gone through this milestone with my middle daughter Emily, whom I expected to be my youngest. Funny how things work out.

When Emily was born, I knew (or thought I did) that she was my last baby. It wasn't easy to get pregnant with her, and my pregnancy was super difficult. Anyone who has suffered with hyperemesis gravidarum knows the pain of which I speak. Constant vomiting made it very difficult to enjoy the pregnancy, but oh how much I loved seeing my little girl born. I had two beautiful, healthy daughters, and I was done. I loved watching them grow up and get big. The next baby in my life would be a grandchild, I thought, and technically, it was! I have a gorgeous granddaughter, and what a joy she is!

You never know what curve ball life will throw you, however, and with the help of modern science, Emrys Henry was born. A boy! Almost twenty years to the day since my last baby! How in the heck can I raise a boy, I wondered? My sister had boys - three to be exact. I always felt that she was better equipped to handle them. Me? I'm better with girls. I often joked if I had a little boy, he would be the prissiest little boy ever, because I have no idea how to raise them. But if you read my blog on gender neutrality, you know that it doesn't matter what you do as a parent, kids will turn out the way they want. Emrys is all boy - he is already pretending to be a monster, crawls under and over everything and is just all around busy. I love it. No danger of being prissy that I can see (not that I care if he's prissy).

But he's definitely growing up, just as his sisters did. That's the problem with having a lot of years between kids. Since I've traveled this road before, I know what's ahead...and I'm not ready for it. He's getting bigger and one day, I know he will leave our home to make his way in the world. I'm just not ready for sports practices and girl drama. I'm not ready to take him on tours of colleges or stay up late worried that he's somewhere in danger. I'm not ready for lippiness and backtalk - but it's coming. I know it.

I want those days of rocking him to last just a bit longer. I want to inhale his sweet baby scent just awhile longer. I want to see him tottering towards me on unsteady legs and reaching out with eager arms. I'm not ready for him to wiggle down to play because he's too busy to be snuggled. I want to capture in my mind and heart that look of baby adoration he has for me right now, today. I'm just not ready for him to grow up.

I'll try to remember the words "we are raising adults, not children" but today, I don't want to think about that. He will be an adult far sooner than I'm ready, and in the meantime, I'll enjoy each baby moment. When he's sleepy, I'll try to sneak in some extra rocking time, and even big boys who walk fall down and need a boo boo kissed. I will not hurry him to the next stage, but will instead enjoy each second of the one he's in. That's a promise, my Baby Pork Chop.

Nostalgically,
Amanda Z

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What happens if you DON'T go to the store for milk, bread and eggs???

I'm no stranger to severe weather. I grew up in Hurricane Alley after all, and I saw more destruction and breezy days than anyone should see. Jim Cantore from the Weather Channel came to our city a lot which meant we were screwed. If Jim visits, just put a big red X on your ass, because you're gonna get clobbered. On a side note, am I the only one who thinks he's kinda hot? He reminds me of Elliott on Law & Order SVU, but I digress.

Jim in all his glory. Hot or not?

The reason I mention this is because I'm well aware of the rush to buy milk, eggs and bread. I also have heard the million jokes about folks hurrying to buy these three items in the event of a natural disaster. I admit I always thought it was pretty funny, since your power is sure to go out during a hurricane, so why buy milk and eggs?  But like any good prepper, I would make sure my fridge was full and hope for the best. I don't want to be that epic failure who has no milk, eggs and bread when my roof blows off!

Fast forward, and I moved from a coastal town to Raleigh, NC. In Raleigh, we didn't get a lot of hurricanes, but we did get measurable snow from time to time. Snow days were a lovely time to stay home, make chili and catch up on Law & Order. Again, I did the rush to the store thing and bought the obligatory ingredients for french toast. See my recipe here.

Now I'm in Kentucky, and we're seeing a pretty tough winter. I have a ton of snow outside, and it isn't going anywhere. But at least I went to the store on Sunday and bought important stuff like beer and chili fixins'. This time, however, I resisted the urge to buy a ton of milk, eggs and bread! No ma'am, I'm not doing it this time. Oh lord, bad move.

Guess who is low on milk? Guess who forgot to take into account that her little man is transitioning from formula to cow's milk? Yeah, that would be me. Guess who has NO bread and two eggs. Again, that would be moi.

I'm a storm prepper failure.

Even as I'm typing this, I'm getting a little breathless and anxiety-ridden. How could I have made such a mistake?

Now my husband has to make a stop at the Food Giant (I'm not even kidding) and get milk, eggs and bread.  That's assuming he can get his car out of the driveway. I hear him shoveling even as we speak. If he can't, he will walk two miles to get supplies for us. I'm hoping that the smart folks who were better prepared for this storm than us didn't clean out the store's supply. If so, I have a sneaky suspicion the empty shelves and bare coolers will whisper mockingly to him..."Next time, you will buy eggs, milk and bread. You must, as it is your duty."

Hopefully, those of you out there snowed in at your house did better than I did. I bet you're eating French toast as we speak.

Coldly,
Amanda Z
Domesticology

Would you want to know he cheated?

Getting smooches from the man I love...

Last night, I was snuggled up with Dr. Z and I threw out one of those awful chick questions that all guys hate. I asked my sweet man this hypothetical question: If we were in our sixties, would you want to find out that I had cheated on you when we were in our 30's? Does it matter at that point in our lives?

Yep, I really asked that. And no, I haven't cheated.

I had been struck with this brilliant question after I read an article on infidelity. Not to mention, my favorite movie is Love Actually, and the pain Emma Thompson feels is so raw, it touches you right through your television screen.  It shows, a lot of folks cheat, both men and women. More than that, I realized a lot of them must get away with it. So knowing that, would you want to know about it many years after the fact?

This was a no-brainer for me. Any woman (or man) who has been cheated on knows the pain and heartache it causes. It takes some people years to get over that kind of betrayal, and some never do. Right now, and I hope for all years in the future, I hold my husband in the highest esteem. He is kind and loving, and a terrific father and step-father. He never yells at me and will quickly hug me if he thinks I'm sad. I can't ask for better. But if I found out he cheated, even thirty years after the fact, I would see him differently. The respect I had for him would be diminished, and sadly, so would the way in which I viewed the life we shared. Even though it's illogical, I would question every tender touch and loving word. I would constantly think about him lovingly touching someone else, and I know I would never recover. Our marriage would be over. I would not want to know. There, I said it. Ignorance is bliss sometimes.

Now that you know my answer, guess what his was. Would he want to know?

Of course, he said.

What?! I asked in shock.

Yep, knowledge is never wrong, he confidently stated.

But would you see me differently?

Probably.

Would you still feel the same about the life we had shared?

Probably not.

But you would still want to know?! Even if it destroyed our marriage?

Yes.

Ugh, I don't get him. Scientists.

Would you want to know? Why or why not??

Trustingly,
Amanda Z
Domesticology

Should we encourage gender neutrality in children?

In my college days, my concentration was in women and gender studies. I won't even discuss the classes I took which basically made me feel like every man in the world was out to screw womankind over, and the men of the world should promptly apologize to me and all women for having a penis. One thing I definitely learned in my college years and day-to-day living is that it's a patriarchal world and I'm just a vagina owning woman trying to live in it.

To compensate for this and to change to a more fair and equitable society, we have begun a backlash movement which tells us that no matter our gender, we are all the same.  I recently read about a Canadian family that is striving for complete gender neutrality with their youngest child.  I have to agree with the writer of the article - their kids shouldn't be a social experiment, and I see some very confused kids in the future. Men and women should be treated as equals but I will argue that boys and girls are not the same. Should we as parents encourage our boy and girl children to be the same? I for one, say no. Boys and girls are different, and I think that's awesome. If I ever thought otherwise, my son and his buddy have taught me otherwise.

In the last few weeks, I have watched my son and his best little friend Susie* happily playing in my living room (shameless plug - they are so freaking cute when they play). Because all the parents are pretty educated, we want to encourage both kids to embrace their masculine and feminine sides and never encourage gender stereotypes. I have an assortment of balls, blocks, dolls, riding toys and climbing equipment designed to promote intellectual growth, but not to enforce rigid gender division. There are no "girly" toys or "manly" toys. There are just toys. In fact, when my son gets older, he will likely have kitchen equipment and no, I won't freak out if he likes dolls. I'm sure Susie's mom wouldn't freak out if her daughter liked playing with toy hammers instead of kitchen items. By providing this very neutral environment, the plan is to see the kids playing the same kinds of games, and the lines of gender will, hopefully, be blurred.

Well, that's not how it's going. Boys and girls are different, and they certainly play differently.

Yesterday, for example, I gave the kids pots and wooden spoons to play with. My son promptly hit his, making a satisfying loud clang which could wake the dead. Susie did also...for a few seconds. But then she turned the pot over and started stirring her imaginary dinner with the wooden spoon. Oh my god! She was cooking! I couldn't have that! So I turned over my son's pot and showed him that he too could cook. That went over like a fart in church. He wanted no part of it. I began to panic.  Did I somehow subconsciously make Susie take on a "female" role? No, she just liked playing that way, and my son didn't.

Susie takes the little Disney characters over to the window and quietly sits with them and dare I say it, plays with them in a very ladylike manner. She lines them up and talks to them in her sweet little girl voice. Emrys takes the same toys and beats them on the table or throws them.  She likes to come over to me and climbs up in my lap for snuggles and love. Emrys comes over and gets reassurance that I'm still there, and then he's off again. Susie cuddles the stuffed animals and puts them to bed and talks to them in a mommy-like voice. Emrys isn't all that into the stuffed animals. He would much rather hit everything in sight. He listens very intently to the different sounds that an item makes when he "tap-taps" it. That's entertaining to him.

So what does this all mean? Are stereotypes there for a reason? Is there some biological drive within us to behave a certain way? I'm going to say yes, there is. Susie is already displaying mothering behavior. Does that mean she can't grow up to be an astrophysicist? Of course not, so why is the whole world freaking out that she is a nurturer? If Emrys doesn't play with dolls, does that mean he's going to be a horrible father someday? Of course not.

My scientific opinion is this: let the kids play like they want. They will grow up to be just fine. I'm more excited by the kindness they show to one another (mostly). I like the baby voices they use to communicate in a language I cannot understand.  I like the way Emrys follows Susie around the room, waiting to see what their next adventure will be. So far, she is definitely the leader!

I'm sure they will be a fine man and woman someday.  Different, but both equally wonderful.

Fondly,
Amanda Z
Domesticology

*name changed

My Beef with Meghan Trainor

44 years-old and feeling fabulous!

When I heard "All About That Bass" for the first time, I admit I felt somewhat liberated. Here was this super cute young girl singing about embracing your body, no matter the size, and it's okay to flaunt that fine fat rump. I have a fat rump (whether it's fine is debatable), so clearly this song was written with gals like me in mind. My husband certainly doesn't mind a little meat on my bones, so why should I? All is right in the world.

Or is it?

Ms. Trainor is part of a growing movement that has me a little nervous - this so-called "healthy at any size movement." Don't worry if you're severely overweight, as long as you love yourself. You'll never hear me say don't love yourself. In fact, if you read my blog, you'll notice I say a lot of issues we have as women are directly related to our lack of self-esteem. But does that mean it's okay to love being morbidly obese? Some folks would say yes. I'm going to say no, and here's why.

Fat isn't about aesthetics. It's not about how cute you look. Obviously, you can be overweight and be beautiful. It's about health. I come from a long line of fine fat southern women. No, I'm not going to be politically correct and say "thick" or "meaty." They were morbidly obese, and most of them are dead now. Very few lived to a ripe old age, and before they died, their co-morbidities made their quality of life unpleasant with many trips to the doctor and hospital admissions. Diabetes, heart disease, cancer...you name it and they dealt with it. As we have gotten bigger as a nation, we've become more unhealthy.

We won't even discuss the lack of mobility. It's funny to joke about being lazy and not moving from the couch. It's less funny when you're barely sixty, and your body hurts too much from lack of use to even walk around the block. As I wrote this, I thought about my dear mother, and I realized something shocking. She never once took me for a walk, nor did she ever go for a walk.

I can't help but think how disrespectful it is to those who have no choice but to be immobile when we able bodied people fail to use the healthy bodies we're born with. Instead of protecting our healthy bodies, we spend our lives feeding it crap and not moving. Then we look to science to make us better or try to find good health in a bottle. When you think of it in those terms, it doesn't make sense.

At my highest weight, I weighed 262 pounds on this 5'2" body.  I was barely thirty-five years-old, and yet, I felt like a seventy year-old woman inside. I would put things at the bottom of the stairs until I had enough collected to justify a trip up. My knees ached all the time. I had GERD so badly that I ate TUMS like they were candy. The amount of food I consumed was unreal. I kept getting bigger and bigger and less and less healthy. It doesn't matter if I loved myself or not.  Obesity related diseases don't care if you have good body image. They don't discriminate between those who have good self-esteem and those who don't.  Diabetes and heart disease were in my future.

Struggling with obesity

My mobility was becoming compromised, as well, and I was getting to the point that walking was a struggle. Was I going to be that fat lady on the Jazzy at Target because I ate myself to such an unhealthy size that I couldn't move easily? At thirty-five?

No ma'am- no thanks. In 2005, I had gastric bypass surgery and got my life back. I lost down to 135 pounds, and I felt amazing. Never in my life have I felt so in control, healthy and beautiful. It was bliss. I became a runner and finally understood why people say exercising makes you feel great.  I've gained about twenty pounds since having Little Man, but never will I let myself become morbidly obese again. I owe it to my son to make sure he learns healthful eating so he doesn't have to deal with obesity. I want his quality of life to be wonderful, not filled with health issues. I'm working on taking off these last stubborn pounds, even as I write this.

Meghan Trainor is 21....she has no idea what's ahead of her if she doesn't get her weight under control. I know, and I want no part of it. She can gorge herself on junk food (which she's admitted she does) and not exercise regularly (which again, she admits), but it will catch up with her. I hope in forty years she's not writing a song called, "All about that heart disease." I wish her a long and healthy life, but first she has to realize she won't be young forever. Now is the time to start taking care of her health.

Amanda Z
Domesticology