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Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Wednesday Guest Post "If You Have Kids..." by Trudy B.


Trudy B.

Boston native, skate enthusiast. Trudy spends her time juggling 3 little boys ages 12, 5 and newest addition of 9 mos. while pampering spoiled hubby of 7 years. She also managed to obtain 2 bachelor's degrees amidst the family madness. Her hobbies include reading, anything outdoors and hosting couples events. With Honduran heritage Trudy has strong family values and believes that the former generation is responsible for the next generation. People spend so much time idealizing their circumstances; I choose to live by the FISH- Fuck It, Shit Happens.

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If You Have Kids…

“I plan to give you love nurturing
and just enough dysfunction to make you funny”
 ~Anonymous

                                          
If you have kids, the older you get the more you find yourself sounding like your parents. If you are a woman, you realize that all your adult whining makes you sound exactly like your mother. Being the eldest of my siblings when I rant and rave at my kids, I may sound like my mother and although we were all raised by the same woman, we were not raised by the same person.
The woman that raised me had a no nonsense stand, “you won’t be going anywhere until you clean the kitchen” approach. The woman who raised my middle brother didn't set a curfew or tell us our company had to go home. The woman raising my youngest brother today doesn't even bother to check homework. So what is it about motherhood and the transitioning of parenting styles as women age?

When we have a first child we are all gung ho, amazed, in awe and wonder and revel at how a tiny little creature could come from our womb. Having given birth to my first son at age 19, I marveled at the fair skinned child with the most curious eyes you ever saw. With a lot of support from grandparents there was nothing I wouldn't do for my child according to the “great parent” standards. He had all sorts of outfits and shoes, despite nowhere to go and being immobile. It was like a little prince in a royal kingdom.
By the time my second son was born he was still special and although planned, we didn't take as much interest in him because it was a sort of been there done that kind of attitude. By this time around I knew what I needed and didn't  There weren't as many outfits. I don’t even think he took first portraits. Shamefully there was no baby dedication (I know). Even to this day my middle child is the “free spirit” partly due to us relying on our eldest to entertain him so that we can attend to other pressing matters like checking homework or bill paying. It sounds bad, but there are some days where he kind of just gets by because so much attention is given to the stresses of life.
As you can imagine, it all goes to hell by baby number three. Based on the pattern how does this kid stand a chance?? I’m sure he is thinking “What the hell kind of family is this”, I find myself less inclined to boil bottles, buy all the baby crap or even prepare a corner for him in our bedroom. Ask me where the fence is to guard the stairs, I’ll tell you where… It’s still at the store. His other brother learned not to go near the steps after one tumble and is still around to tell about it. No seriously, with more hands and eyes in the house we just don’t see the need. Baby number three is always in the arms of his older brothers while I fill in the blank with any motherly duty. Just the other day I used the laundry basket as a playpen and there he sat atop the towels gurgling while I boiled water for dinner. We still have a diaper pail and the other essentials like car seat or stroller, but at this point we are DONE with the baby hardware.
I can only imagine as time goes on what other great parent rules will be broken for our third son, or the Last Mohican as a like to call him J.

Like my mother changed by my youngest sibling, I have also changed my personal standards in the grooming department. 1st child I still made it to the salon every week, second child every two weeks. Now there are days when I look in the mirror and I don’t even recognize myself. Salon Grooming is last on the list after school lunch, being a personal shuttle bus, football games, birthday parties and all the sacrificial duties of being a mom. My hubby took a glance at me the other day to comment on how I needed my hair done, in the same breath here comes my middle child who declares how my belly is big and proceeds to give it a jiggle. While I knew they weren't doing it to be malicious, I had to attribute my downfall to MOTHERLY SACRIFICE. Why would I have time to go to salon? Of course I have a pouch! When I do have the free time (rarely) all I want to do is go to my room, shut the door and have nothing to do with you Neanderthals so I can sleep. So excuse me if I happen to look like Fiona!!!!!!

Truth be told, as you age your priorities do as well, hell even a bit of your sanity or state of mind might shift. But it’s the love that never falters. My mom loves us all unconditionally even if she didn't raise us the same. I love all three with every ounce of my being despite being tired or not giving them the same upbringing. I see that the same holds true for moms and grandmother everywhere. The fact of the matter is you just CAN’T be the same parent to every child, circumstances and their personalities just won’t allow it. I am not 19 anymore with minimal career goals; I am no longer 25 with a stable job and only K1 homework to commit to weekday evenings. Hell I had to pull teeth to sit down and write this piece and believe me something else went undone because of it. I am now 31 with all sorts of needs for each child of varying ages. In addition to having time set aside for me so that I don’t lose whatever marbles I have left. I can’t give 100% to every child and my husband. I can just do my best and do what works and more importantly love them…
After all isn't love all we need?


“Supermom wasn't a bad job description. 
The pay was lousy if you were talking about real money. But the payoff was priceless in so many other ways.” 
~Roxanne Henke


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