Best Year Ever.

Wow, what a year.

On February 12, my adorable, tender, adventurous, darling baby Mini turned one.  It’s been, without a doubt, the fastest year of my life.  It’s been both easier and more difficult than I imagined it would be.  How can I accurately reflect on the last 365 days in just a few paragraphs? Quite simply, I can’t.  I can only paint broad strokes while focusing in on the most minute details – the feeling of carrying her through the snow into our apartment building, setting her car seat down in the middle of the living room, and thinking, “now what?”; the stomach churn of snapping her into my most favorite newborn onesie, only to come to the sad realization that it was entirely too small; the pride from pushing her around in her stroller, passing other moms and smiling empathetically or having strangers coo and make faces at her on the subway; the volume of her voice when we squeal back and forth at each other while I do the dishes and she pushes her baby grocery cart around the kitchen.  I remember the feeling of standing over her on her changing table at three in the morning, willing myself not to cry over my exhaustion and confusion because there were mothers out there who’d lost their children, women aching to be mothers, who would give anything to be standing where I was at that very moment.  I remember every person who felt obligated to point out how much she doesn’t look like me or ask whose baby she was, since she “obviously” wasn’t mine.  I still feel a jolt of shock and immeasurable love when I look into her crib and see her sleeping.  My baby.  My little baby girl.

We had a big party over the weekend, held in the party room of a friend’s restaurant because the combination of apartment living and sub-zero temperatures limit birthday party location options.  I agonized over it for weeks, scouring Etsy for the “perfect” headband, birthday banner, and fluffy fairy wings for her fairy garden fete, pinning dozens of perfect party images on Pinterest, parties planned by moms far more creative and intrepid than myself, and discussing it over and over again with my mom and sister-in-law, both of whom would have done a far better job if I had let them take over from the beginning.  Naturally, I forgot to take good blogtastic photos and apologize for this sad little collage.

Lots of people asked why I was agonizing so desperately over a party that Mini would clearly have no recollection of, but I will.  I will remember.  This was also an opportunity to say thank you to our village.  Thank you to my mom and dad, who drove us home from the hospital, going ten miles an hour in a blizzard and slept on our couch that first night home, who have kept Mini in the finest designer threads, who have FaceTimed on a nightly basis, singing songs through an iPad.  Thank you to my brother and sister-in-law, who sent boxes of party supplies for an event they couldn’t attend.  Thank you to my best friend, who didn’t write me off because I have forgotten to return her calls more often than I remember to.  Thank you to our co-workers, who have supported our transition into the real world with child with more enthusiasm and love than we could have hoped for.  Thank you to our friends, who get to the restaurant ahead of time and secure a high chair while we apologetically smack everyone around us with a diaper bag.  Thank you to our family and friends overseas, especially Husband’s mom, dad, and siblings, who are thriving on oddly timed Skype calls and whose thoughtful gifts always arrive on time. 

Thank you to my husband, who more often than not spends all day with Mini with only a few hours sleep and never complains, who pushes her stroller up and down the hallways of our apartment building to get her to nap, who scrambles eggs and changes diapers and plays “one two threes” for hours on end. 

Thank you to Mini, who, in spite of my occasional shortcomings, never, ever, ever fails to look at me like I am the best, most exciting, smartest, most creative, funniest, and most loving mom in the universe.  Thank you for making this the best year ever.  

NO MOM IS AN ISLAND

Looking At the Vaccine Debate From a Different Angle

On February 12, 2015, my little Mini turns one.  I think most parents can agree that the first year of their child’s life is the fastest year of their lives.  It seems like only minutes ago that we were watching The Bachelor and I was pacing uncomfortably around my living room, Husband convinced this thing was about to happen and me convinced that I had just eaten too many Oreos.  I had gone back and forth over whether or not I wanted my mom in the delivery room with us, but at 4 AM I was on the phone begging her to get in her car and drive up from Virginia just as fast as those four wheels could get her to New York City.  Someday I may write in more detail about my labor – the overcrowded hospital, the sudden onset preeclampsia, the Olympic pairs figure skating on the TV in the background, the med student witnessing his first delivery – but as I reflect on this past year, no moment is more important than the moment they plopped that wriggly little six pounder in my arms and told me I was a mom.

Please excuse the tragic hospital hair.

In the last twelve months, I’ve done things I never said I would, or not done all the things I was sure I would.  I swore up and down I would never breastfeed on the subway.  That lasted about two months (thanks Hooter Hider!).   I swore I would never put the baby in the bed with us.  Luckily she sleeps great in her crib, but sometimes there are late nights (and early mornings) where Mini just needs Mama and Dada on either side of her.  Who knows what I will or won’t do in the future as we move forward, but here again my mantra rings true – all we can do is the best we can do.

I was hesitant to wander into the vaccine debate raging around the country right now, but as we get ready to take Mini for her MMR vaccine, I thought about whether or not this was something I’d be willing to waver on.  Personally, I am 100% comfortable with our decision to vaccinate, just as I’m sure those families who have decided against it are with their choice not to.  I recently saw an interview with an Arizona doctor, who chooses not to vaccinate his children and keep them “pure” (that’s an interesting reference, but I digress), and also spoke quite plainly about not caring whether or not his children made other children ill.  Is that really the kind of attitude we want to teach children in our society, that it doesn’t matter what you do to someone else? Take away the vaccine issue and insert another topic.  If you have more than enough food for your child, do you not care if another child goes hungry? If your child is getting a quality education, do you not care if another child gets no education? Whatever happened to “it takes a village to raise a child?” Must I accept a society wherein it’s okay for someone to say we shouldn’t care about one another?

I’m never going to be a perfect mother or make all the perfect choices, but I’m trying my hardest to put something good into the world.  I want to contribute to the village, and let the village shape who we are as a family and who Mini will grow to be as an individual.  I want to raise her to share her toys, play with the other kids on the playground, and stand up to bullies.  I want her to volunteer with those who are less fortunate and be reminded that just because she “has,” not only is she no better than the “have-nots,” but there is reward in doing good for others. I want her to see the value in young women who spread joy, love, and positivity. 

My understanding and interpretation of this poem by John Donne, which I first read in high school, has changed and evolved over the years, but it’s always something I think back to when I find myself losing sight of the bigger picture.  I’m not here to tell anyone what to do or not do.  I’m only here to say I want to be in this village with you because I care about you and your family, and I hope the feeling is mutual.

No man is an island,

Entire of itself,

Every man is a piece of the continent,

A part of the main.                   

If a clod be washed away by the sea,

Europe is the less.

As well as if a promontory were.

As well as if a manor of thy friend’s

Or of thine own were:

Any man’s death diminishes me,

Because I am involved in mankind;

And therefore, never send to know for whom the bell tolls;

It tolls for thee.

Keeping Up With The Momses - Stroller Edition

When Mini was just a few weeks old and I was sitting on the couch in a zombie state nursing her in the middle of the night, I turned to Netflix for company. In a fit of nostalgia, I put on "Look Who's Talking" for a good laugh. Back in 1991, Kirstie Alley was pushing baby Mikey around in a two-foot high umbrella stroller, and John Travolta stuck a car seat that looked like a folding chair forward-facing in the front seat. Thanks to safety standards and "experts," so much has changed since then. But ever since Miranda Hobbs rolled Brady out in his thousand dollar Bugaboo stroller, the name brand baby game has taken on a whole new meaning. How are we new moms meant to keep up with our musical playgroup and baby gymnastics counterparts?

Can your baby sleep in it?





When Sex and the City came along and took up the task of exposing the world's females to the finer things in life, suddenly we were all dreaming of Manolo Blahnik Mary Janes and Dior purses, no matter which "girl you were" (I'm a Carrie with a healthy dose of Charlotte, fwiw).  The ink was barely dry on my first big paycheck from Real Simple before I was in line at Bloomingdales to scoop up the Marc Jacobs purse I had always dreamed of. As a singleton, I had few qualms about postponing a cable bill in favor of a trip to Intermix. When my FRER turned pink, I could hardly wait to zip off to Buy Buy Baby and register for a Bugaboo Chameleon. After all, I couldn't walk by a park or a NY Kids Club without tripping over one, so that’s what a fab girl like me was supposed to have, right?

Do dogs like it?
 

With the advent of Pinterest and savvy mom blogs, I began to look at the broader world of baby gear. Why hadn't I considered a $1200 Stokke? Who put out the memo that an UppaBaby Vista was the stroller du jour? Should I get an Orbit Baby, so Mini could sit at a 47-degree angle? How was I meant to pick from all these fabulous rides? I thought back to "Shopaholic and Baby," the hilarious book by Sophie Kinsella, the warehouse with an all-terrain testing course for a wide range of strollers, and the four strollers Becky insisted she needed. If such a place existed, surely there was one in New York City. Alas, the best I could find was the showroom floor at Buy Buy Baby and their well-informed staff and wide range of choices. We pushed the Chameleon and its all-terrain wheels around for a while, then moved onto the Bee, which seemed oddly low to the ground.  The Vista looked like a Dodge Ram up close, and Husband wondered if the Stokke would tip over.   

 Does your husband look cute standing next to it?

If my life were centered around Union Square or the Upper West Side, or if my stroller were just being used for neighborhood walks or trips to a suburban mall, the stroller that weighs 27 lbs without adding baby, infant seat, diaper bag, and the additional 15 lbs of stuff that I need, may have stayed at the top of the list, as long as it was the one I wanted and not the one the Momses were telling me I should have.  The Momses aren’t helping me carry all that weight up and down the subway steps, and too frequently, neither is anyone else.  So, we settled on the ride that seemed to match us best.  We love our Cruz (and the customer service – thanks for the wheels that arrived in two days after ours were damaged in a snowstorm!). We love its comfy ride, light weight, front- and rear-facing capacity, and giant lower basket.  It would be nice if we could fold it while the seat was rear-facing, or with one hand, and should another little Mini come along, it’s the Vista that converts to a double, not the Cruz.  But we love the brand and will probably turn to them again when it’s time to invest in an umbrella stroller that can handle the mean streets of NYC.  Picking a stroller is likely to be the first (and definitely not the last) piece of baby gear that you will have to choose for yourself, and not the Momses.  So hang in there.

No, seriously.  CAN THEY SLEEP IN IT?

 

Time to crowdsource – what’s that piece of baby gear that tempted you with its name brand and flashy looks? If you chose to skip it, do you have any regrets?

Love, the Rafferty girls