This month’s guest column is written by Adrienne Griffen of Post Partum Support Virgina. For more information, please contact Adrienne at (703) 243-2904 or Adrienne.griffen@gmail.com.
Read April’s guest column here, postpartum-depression-support.doc
Update: Survival and the power of the portable dvd player. When I was pregnant, I said that my son would not watch videos until he was atleast 2 years old. Apparently, I was wrong. We made it to Grandma and Grandpa’s house on the train with limited tantrums thanks to Baby Neptune.
I have decided to bring Peanut on the train to visit family in New Jersey. Just the two of us. On the train. Alone. My son on the train. My son who won’t sit in his high chair long enough to finish dinner (not even for the strawberries). I can not explain my decision to embark on this journey and it as occurred to me that rational people do not make these kind of decisions. I want to be one of those moms that just picks up baby and goes. A toddler in tow, no big deal. There has not been one moment in the past 15 and 1/2 months that I have been this mom. But, tomorrow, well, maybe that will be me. Or, I could become that woman on the train that I have always despised. The one with the uncontrollable child screaming his head off that she can not seem to hear as busy as she is reading a trashy magazine and talking on the phone. Wish me luck.
I thought I was being so careful. Diligently scrutinizing the ingredients of any food or products that I gave Peanut. He never touched any piece food if we didn’t know what was in it, how it was cooked and where it was processed. patiently watched Peanut go through all of his toys and tear apart his room, rather than nap this afternoon, I mindlessly picked up his toothpaste and read the ingredients. And, there it was, Ingredient #10 “lysozyme (from egg)”.
Yesterday morning I had to make some telephone calls. Calls that I kept putting off because it is impossible to use the phone in front of Peanut. He is in love with the telephone. To an almost alarming level. Nothing sets him off into a temper tantrum quite like not having access to the telephone or even worse when it is taken away from him. Just try and pry your cell phone from his little paws as he clutches for dear life. The screams and cries are out of this world. Most of the time he is a happy, easy-going boy, but, when he hears that tell-tale ring, you can hear the rapid pitter patter of his little feet as he comes running and screaming, “hi!”, “hi!”, “hi Dadda!”.
But, back to that morning. I could not put off the calls any longer. So, Peanut was happily banished to the playzone downstairs to watch Baby Macdonald while I got to it.
In the winter, the temperature on the first floor of our townhouse ranges from freezing cold to ice age, so, Peanut was decked out his stylish camel colored chords, turtle neck, and jacket. When I came downstairs 15 minutes later, this is what I found:
Apparently, he was not down with the stylish camel colored chords. I am afraid we may have a little nudist in the making. I am grateful that diaper was still intact.
I have always been against the war in Iraq. But, my opposition to this war has taken on a whole new meaning to me now that I am a mom.
Driving with my son the other day, I snuck a few peaks of him in the rearview mirror as I often do. I saw him staring out the window in wonderment. I saw him look at the passing truck in delight. I saw him smile at me and laugh. I saw his excitement, his hope, his enjoyment of the journey.
And, I thought of all the moms who years ago saw a similar scene in their rearview mirror and felt as I had that day and later lost their child to this war. I thought of all the moms who lost this happiness, this hope, this promise, this love.
How can we allow this travesty to continue? How can we allow another parent to lose their baby? How can we do nothing to end this suffering?
Even the soldiers that do return home do not come home as they left. I read a report that 1 in 8 returning soldiers suffers from post traumatic stress disorder. PTSD is a debilitating mental and physical condition that can cripple even the strongest person. These soldiers are returning home haunted by their experience.I have suffered from PTSD in various forms for fifteen years. Does it ever go away? Does life ever return to normal? I do not know the answer for these soldiers. I know the answer for me. No. It never goes away completely. I will never be the same as I once was. And, I fear neither will these soldiers. Neither will this country.
My latest obsession: the reverse pregnancy calendar.www.mymonthlycycles.com/whencalcct.jsp?calctype=rpc
Plug in the date you want your baby to be born and it tells you the day that you must conceive. How convenient! You can schedule your baby’s birthday.
Having trouble deciding on your baby’s birthdate? First, head over to www.babiesonline.com/horoscope/ and pick your baby’s desired personality. Then, plug in the the dates for that sign into the reverse pregnancy calendar and mark your calendar.
This is how it works… Life does goes as planned, right?Well, this is my latest past time, atleast. Just don’t tell my husband. We are not even thinking about talking about having another baby any time soon.
The 6th annual Luna film festival will be held at the Arlington Cinema and Draft house on April 11. Proceeds will benefit the Post-Partum International local peer lead support groups. Tickets are $10.00 at the door. Wine tasting begins at 6:30 and the movies at 7:30 p.m.
What began as a love affair has come to a bitter end. After 2 frustrating experiences at JW Tumbles in Arlington, we will not go back.
We took Peanut to Pay to Play Wednesday evening at the JW Tumbles in Arlington. He enjoys getting one last play in before bedtime. And, we were happy to join him.
After last night, playtime is over.
Last Wednesday, the other kids played while their parents chatted with one another. One family chose to bring dinner for their kids to eat in the common area in between their play time. But, since the parents were busy chatting with one another, one of the children brought his chicken tender onto the slide with him. Luckily, we noticed this and grabbed Peanut.
I complained to the one young employee who was busy talking on the phone almost the entire time we were there. A few minutes later, she told the parents there was no food allowed in the play area.
Last night we returned to for another round of pay to play. The same young employee was on the telephone again. This time a few parents decided to bring a large buffet of food for their children. The parents did not seem to understand that this is a children’s gym, and not a children’s restaurant. Open boxes of snacks were lined up in the common area.
Once again, Peanut was having fun playing when we noticed a child eating his dinner in the play area.
What is wrong with these people? Can’t their children eat dinner at home before or after they play? Could it be that even in this day and age, some parents are clueless about food allergies? Just a little common sense and consideration could prevent a horrible accident.
When I complained to the employee, she graciously put her caller on hold. She told me that maybe the parents did not know about the no food policy, to which I wonder, “well, isn’t your job to tell them? They are right in front of you.” I did not see a prominent sign declaring the play area a no food zone. I did not see wipes offered for children to clean their hands after they ate. I would not have joined JW Tumbles had I not been reassured that there would be no food in the play area.
Children’s health and lives are at stake. JW should be more attentive to its own policies. Hang a sign, offer ways for children to clean their hands and hire staff that pays attention to children around them.
We will not go back. Peanut will have to play at home for a while.
Peanut made his first friend over the weekend. A friendship he started all on his own.
We were at open play at JW Tumbles. On his 50th trip into the tree-house, Peanut approached a little girl playing with the steering wheel. He smiled and said “Hi”. The little girl allowed Peanut to turn the wheel with her. He was happy and tried to talk to her, but, with his limited vocabulary, he only managed to say, “Hi, Dadda”. The little girls’ parents, noticing Peanut, said to their daughter, “let him have a turn.” The little girl put a protective hand on Peanut’s shoulder and replied, “I am. This is my friend.”
I felt a surge of pride. I was so happy. Another child called my son her friend. We have done well, my husband and I. At 14 months old, our son can successfully navigate the playground and make friends.Peanut was happy too. He beamed as he replied, “Hi Dadda”.
I can be a bit of a germ-phobe. Rumor has it that the last time my husband was sick, I sprayed him with antibacterial sanitizer. And, there are times when I want to give Peanut a good antibacterial hosing down such as after a trip to the park or a gym class. But, I don’t want to expose him to alcohol just yet.
