Lazy Compliments and Pounds

The nicest neighbor in the world asked me a question last night. Poor guy was trying to be kind and I didn’t respond as kindly as I could have, because he just happened to ask a question about something I have been thinking a lot about for, oh, I don’t know, I guess the past 30 years.

He simply said, “I know all women love to hear this question, but have you lost weight?”

There is a good chance that you have one of two reactions to reading that question. One reaction might be: “That’s nice that he noticed something positive about you. Why would you not respond kindly back?” Which I understand this thought; really, I do.

Another reaction might be more like the one I had which was, “Do all women love to hear that question? Is weight lost always a measure of good? Should it always be considered something that is well-received?”

I believe that he was trying to tell me that IF I had been trying to reach a goal of weight loss, that it was noticed and he was happy for me. It’s not like there aren’t millions of magazine and website articles telling us why we should have weight loss as a goal and how to attain it. Add to that the billions of dollars made on the hopes of losing weight. Luckily we have social media to remind us that we can be accepted just as we are and that silly before-and-afters will not make you more popular or valuable. Oh wait, just kidding, I got that backwards. Want to have more followers and become an influencer? Lose weight, post bikini pics, and tell others how they can do it, too. Cha-CHING!

The weight loss comments didn’t begin years ago with nice neighbors. (Well, I don’t know, maybe they did. Maybe some neighboring caveman was like, “Oh, hey, I know it’s a famine around here and everyone is dying, but DANG GIRL, you are looking good with those bottom ribs exposed.”)

It won’t end with one woman’s words on your computer. (But, hey, maybe if you share it, then we can all become a bit more aware that we should try to change.)

I have had too many people I love become victims to the idea of THIN. The positive verbal reinforcements are enough to propel them to further weight loss. “You are getting so skinny!” “Have you lost weight?” “What diet are you on and how can I get on it?” Here’s the rub: none of those statements are in any way a compliment. Read them again. If you said them to a dog, are you saying that the dog is obedient, kind, or even handsome? Nope. Just stating that the size may have changed.

So why is a size change given so much value? How do we know that the person we are “complimenting” for changing size isn’t, in fact, ill, or terrified, or stressed, or hurting, or needing those words so badly that they will do unhealthy things to hear them?

I gained a lot of weight AFTER my fourth child. Yes, I gained weight when I was pregnant, but I gained more of it when I got mysteriously ill after he was born. For six years I have been trying to navigate a mysterious illness and added weight gain. For all intents and purposes, those who I live around now don't know what I look like at my "normal weight" since we moved here seven years ago while I was pregnant. To them, I am becoming a different person. To me, I am figuring things out and going back to a more normal-for-me size. Still not “thin enough” to make the big influencer bucks, probably never will be. Plus, I am in my late 30s, so that ship has sailed, anyway.

The hardest part about gaining weight for me was realizing how often people talk about others who have “lost weight and look good now” and that I hadn’t been the recipient of a physical compliment in quite a while. I realized how much I had craved it and felt validated by the way I looked—and more specifically, on an acceptable size. My sisters mentioned that they had similar feelings and I asked them to do me a favor: if I were to lose weight, please don’t compliment me.

Don’t compliment me for pounds.

You wouldn’t compliment me for gaining weight. Even if I really wanted to. You wouldn’t compliment me for growing my hair out, even though I have been trying to grow it out for four years. Well, now that you know that, you might compliment me for sticking to a hair-growing goal, but chances are you’d feel funny about it. Because it is silly. Who cares? It’s a personal decision and it doesn’t have any merit on who I am as a person or what I am trying to do as a mother, wife, professional, neighbor, or friend. It’s just FREAKING HAIR! But, it does look good, thanks for noticing. I really like my hairstylist. Let me know if you want her number.

Compliment me for being bold. Compliment me for trying something new. Compliment me for writing something that makes me anxious to share. Compliment me for my purple eyeliner, even, because at least that is something we can share and exchange and I know that you’re looking me in the eyes. Compliment my dinner or the fact that my basement is vacuumed because you know how much I hate vacuuming (and that I finally hired someone to help me do it). Compliment my shoes, because they are really cute and I can tell you where you can get some and now we have a shared experience. Compliment my kids… I can’t take credit, but it’s great to hear that you see them as positively as I see them.

Compliment ME, not my body. Not for pounds lost.

Here is what I hear when you say all the “compliments” associated with lost weight. “You didn’t look good before.” “I was worried that you were fat.” “I notice your fluctuations and won’t say anything when you gain it back, but I will notice.” “Your face looks better with less fat.” “You are becoming more valuable.”

The trouble is, we hate walking on eggshells, especially when we want to be kind and pay someone a compliment. I’m not suggesting we don’t give compliments, but let’s not be lazy with them. Give someone a good, old-fashioned compliment. Tell someone they are wickedly funny or have an engaging personality. Tell them that their hair reminds you of the sunset and their fingernails shine like justice (name that song!). Tell someone that their smile makes you want to smile and their laugh makes you want to laugh.

My son’s first-grade teacher told me just yesterday that anyone who has the opportunity to be my son’s friend is very lucky. Now THAT is a compliment. Worth the mysterious illness and weight gain for that kid and the person he is becoming to merit such a compliment.

Lazy compliments are centered on pounds. And they aren’t even REAL compliments. Don’t be lazy.

By the way, you are a really good reader. And you seem sincerely funny and kind, too!

AnnaM

New Mom Monday, 20

Being a parent is hard, and nobody cares.

We have been having a teething week going on two teething weeks. I'm not normally bothered by dealing with extra fussing and clinging, since it's nice for someone else to be more fussy and clingy in this relationship for a change, but the baby has been on what I've come to find out is called a “nursing strike.”

A nursing strike is when babies stops nursing abruptly, for reasons the word strike implies are deeply meaningful to them and their communities, but they still need and want milk. How they're still gonna get it is your problem.

Luckily I have a pump, which I've been using night and day to feed my husky almost-10-month-old who throws all the food I cook for her onto the floor, I guess as a protest against corporate greed or the electoral college or something else over my head. I've been setting alarms to remember when I have to, and it feels an awful lot like I have a newborn again. I also look like I have a newborn again, and so does my baby.

Clothing is always optional at my house, but now it is a relic of simpler times, and my husband asked the other day if the fact that we can't find her comb is a sign of bad parenting.

“Is the fact that we can't find her comb a sign of bad parenting?”

“Yes.”

Nursing moms like to be self-righteous about the time they put in and sacrifices they make to feed their children, but breastfeeding is way easier than pumping or using formula. I mean, I put so little thought into feeding my baby that I don't even know how much milk she needs. I have to like, measure things in the middle of the night? This is too much.

There seems to be a direct correlation between the percentage of my day I spend crying in frustration while thinking of worst-case scenarios and how much I enjoy motherhood. I was in a bit of a funk last week when I spent all day just trying to get her to nurse, but since I stopped trying so hard we’re both a lot happier.

This seems to be a lesson I have to learn a lot.

New Mom Monday, 18, ENYA!

I have never given much thought to the fact that all my elementary school teachers loved Enya. They listened to Enya all the time! They were so lucky they got to pick whatever music they wanted, and they played some of those sweet Irish jams while the class sat quietly reading, sat quietly working on art projects, and sat quietly writing in journals.

When I had a child, I realized that my teachers probably thought Enya was okay, but what they really loved was quiet. The music is haunting and hypnotic, and the lyrics are both memorable and impossible to understand. It might all be in Gaelic? I don’t know; I just know it works. And this is exactly what I told Ryan the other day when Winifred would not take a nap for the sixth day in a row, so we decided to just go to the mall.

It was a very bad idea. Even though she loves the mall—the clothes, the echo-y white noise, the sales associates who squeeze her puffy ankles—she was irritable the whole time and started her terrible twos early. We were there long enough for me to find a nursing bra with actual cups in it (look out world!), and then we hoped the baby would fall asleep in the car on the way home.

“Play her some Enya or something!” I gently and lovingly urged my husband, holding a screaming, writhing baby down in her seat with one hand and buckling her straps with the other.

After about twenty minutes, we were nearing our freeway exit without a nap in sight. Was she tired, or was I the one who missed my naps that day? I was feeling a little exhausted and foggy.

“So she’s not asleep yet?” Ryan asked, and it was the kind of question where the answer is really obvious, which is my favorite kind of question. “I listened to Enya… for nothing?”

I told him telepathically that he listened to Enya to do something nice for his daughter that would go completely unnoticed by her.

That’s not a problem, is it?

Libbie Henrie is a new mother and really smart gal. You should believe everything she writes, especially the super sarcastic parts. She lives in Arizona with her husband and newborn baby. You can read more of her musings on her blog and follow her baby wearing adventures on Instagram @sweetcheeksbabywearing

New Mom Monday, 17, Get Stuff DONE!

It's hard to get stuff done when you're a parent. You heard it here first, people, parents with babies can't get anything done!

Every time I really need to work on a project, the baby senses my urgency to get her to play quietly on her own or to sleep and takes that opportunity to get clingy and monkey-shriek at me. “Winifred! I'm trying to dooooo something!” I exclaim, not entirely unlike Margaret Thatcher (Meryl Streep version).

So what kinds of things am I trying to do all day? Here are some things that I think will take a long time, so I dread doing them, but once I get off my cute buns with their waterbed-like softness, they take me three minutes, max, to do:

• Dusting my living room

• Loading the dishwasher

• Writing proposals for consulting jobs that I won't get

• Hanging up a flannel plaid shirt that I last wore in January (no YOU don't have the body type to wear one of those)

• Removing a bare toilet paper tube from its holder and replacing it with a fresh roll

• Wiping toothpaste off my husband’s mirror, not questioning how it got so high up there

And here, my captivated audience, are some things I think will “just take a minute” to finish while the baby naps in the morning, then it's 10pm and I still haven't showered:

• Organizing my nail polishes by mood

• Waking up really early and, unable to fall back asleep, deciding to learn how to can food

• Planting a vegetable garden

• Reorganizing my nail polishes by special event

Wait, I see it now.

Libbie Henrie is a new mother and really smart gal. You should believe everything she writes, especially the super sarcastic parts. She lives in Arizona with her husband and newborn baby. You can read more of her musings on her blog and follow her baby wearing adventures on Instagram @sweetcheeksbabywearing

New Mom Monday 16, First Mother's Day in the bag

I know a lot of people don’t like Mother’s Day, but I love it.

I think it’s nice to have a day to remember all the special women who have touched our lives, including teachers, friends, neighbors, sisters, aunts, and Leslie Knope. You may be thinking, But Libbie, I remember these women every day, and I call my own mother regularly, and I think that is wonderful but most of us are dum dums who forget how much our moms and other fabulous females have done for us, and we need greeting card companies to pressure us into finally getting around to doing something to thank them.

On my first Mother’s Day, I woke up very early to feed the baby, who had slept in my bed the night before. This was lucky, because then I remembered that I still needed to text my own mother to check under her bed, where I had placed a dozen of hand-selected surprise donuts for her to eat in bed.

After the baby ate, rolled over to lay against my husband with her feet tucked into one of his armpits, then fell asleep, I spent an hour meditating and doing yoga. Haha no, I ate leftover french toast I made the day before

Since it was still pretty early in the morning, I thought it was the perfect time to try something out I saw on a chimpanzee documentary, where the chimps stuff themselves then take a long nap. It is nature’s way!

When I woke up a couple of hours later, Winifred was on all fours, letting out a long, steady stream of farts right into my face. “Hey!” I said, and she let out the rest of her gas in a startled gust as she rolled over and laughed at her new trick. I am her mother so I found this both gross and adorable, but hopefully we are not starting some weird tradition here.

Libbie Henrie is a new mother and really smart gal. You should believe everything she writes, especially the super sarcastic parts. She lives in Arizona with her husband and newborn baby. You can read more of her musings on her blog and follow her baby wearing adventures on Instagram @sweetcheeksbabywearing

New Mom Monday 15, First Mother's Day/Month

Happy Mother’s Month, everyone!

It is a tradition in our family to celebrate birthdays and major holidays all month long, so I can’t wait to see what my husband has been planning for me.

This time just last year, I was pregnant and very certain of the kind of mother I would be. I wouldn’t get overwhelmed because I had taken care of newborns before. I wouldn’t worry too much about all the conflicting advice floating around on the internet, because all babies are different and sometimes you just have to trust your instincts. I would try breastfeeding, but if it didn’t work out? No big deal. I wouldn’t overreact every time my baby fussed or cried, and I certainly wouldn’t be overprotective. I would be relaxed and easygoing, not the kind of mother that gets herself too worked up about starting solids or setting sleep schedules or preventing rare diseases.

I would certainly take a rational approach to sharing my new mom life on the internet, not letting the fact that I have a baby overshadow that I’m my own person. “Everyone thinks their children are the most beautiful and the smartest,” I would say, “but I understand that no one else needs to see dozens of pictures of every new outfit and milestone.”

You are probably not surprised that I’m surprised that I was wrong.

Maybe it’s my age, maybe it’s hormonal, or maybe it’s that my child really is so wonderful that the rest of the world can’t help but see how wonderful she is, but I have an uncontrollable need to overshare, coddle and smother. Nothing makes me happier than when my child and I are in coordinating outfits; I hope my next nine kids are all hungry boys who I can feed all of the time.

I’ll never dress as well as Bev, but this woman has the right idea

W recently started sleeping in her crib all night on a consistent basis, and it is still very hard for me. She is the kind of baby that sleeps much better on her own, so I know it’s for the best, but this conflicts with my very real and important need to snuggle. I am so worried about her all night that I sleep less now than I have since she was an infant. What if she’s too hot or too cold? What if she gets lonely or bumps her little head on the crib railing and gets a concussion?

I can’t tell you when I’ll get used to this new transition into independence for my baby, but I know in the future it’ll be much easier to differentiate between what I want and what my child needs, because that’s just what good parents do.

Libbie Henrie is a new mother and really smart gal. You should believe everything she writes, especially the super sarcastic parts. She lives in Arizona with her husband and newborn baby. You can read more of her musings on her blog and follow her baby wearing adventures on Instagram @sweetcheeksbabywearing

New Mom Monday, fourteen "Say Mom!"

Recently, two things happened for the first time: one, I used the term “mom brain” unironically as an excuse for something dumb I did; two, my baby said “mama.” It could have been “more milk,” or “Mad! Mad!” but this isn’t the first time I’ve passive-aggressively pretended she was yelling sweet and kind things at me, and my coping mechanisms are becoming so second nature that I don’t notice them anymore.

Besides crying when they’re hurt, tired, hungry, sad, bored, or embarrassed of you, babies don’t give you a lot of feedback at first, and I really think that’s one of the hardest parts about taking care of a newborn. Then they start to smile, and it feels like the best thing in the world. Their faces light up when they see you, and you look at them with your tired puffy eyes and think, Okay, maybe I can do this.

As your baby gets older, they start to look at other things and lose interest in you. Nothing makes W crankier than staying at home all day with me, when there are so many places to go, people to see, and things to chew on with her single tooth. While I’m glad she’s comfortable around others and doesn’t mind if someone else holds her when I finally remember I have to pee, sometimes it does make me a little insecure when I see babies who cry when their mom puts them down or leaves the room. Don’t worry guys, I’m not comparing myself to other moms -- I read an article online about not doing it and so I don’t anymore. Well I read the title but it was pretty obvious what it was about.

It’s hard to go through the everyday motions of taking care of a baby without feeling like anyone could be changing them in and out of clothes they don’t want to wear, or putting food on their trays that they don’t want to eat, and they wouldn’t even notice. And that is why it feels so special when they start calling you something, anything. You think, My baby recognizes me as a real person! I exist!

I wonder if there have been any official internet article studies done on parents who depend on their children to give their lives meaning? I'm thinking they are happier than other parents because they love their kids so much? Please send me the link. Or better yet, just give me a brief synopsis. I’m too busy living that busy mom life!

Libbie Henrie is a new mother and really smart gal. You should believe everything she writes, especially the super sarcastic parts. She lives in Arizona with her husband and newborn baby. You can read more of her musings on her blog and follow her baby wearing adventures on Instagram @sweetcheeksbabywearing

New Mom Monday, Thirteen

If you have any kids, or know anyone with kids, or know of anyone with kids, then I think you saw this coming after my last post: I didn't really “sleep” last week. Ha!

But while my failures may be many, there is one thing I am doing right. You see, I care about my child’s future. If my daughter is going to have a good life as a wealthy socialite, she has to get good grades so she can get into a good school, start a nonprofit or cure cancer or whatever these teens are doing these days, so she can get a rich husband and take care of me. She will take me to a spa day and say my pores are looking a little lower-middle class. She loves me, it's great.

That's why I only purchase toys that stimulate her highly malleable brain.

It is of the utmost importance that I seize every opportunity to educate, to enlighten, to inspire.

Play time is a time to nurture her growing mind.

Only the best for my Winifred.

Libbie Henrie is a new mother and really smart gal. You should believe everything she writes, especially the super sarcastic parts. She lives in Arizona with her husband and newborn baby. You can read more of her musings on her blog and follow her baby wearing adventures on Instagram @sweetcheeksbabywearing

New Mom Monday, Twelve

My husband always says that we have the best baby--the perfect baby!-- if only it weren't for her little sleep issue. It’s not really an issue, especially for someone who snores too loudly to have ever even heard her cry in the middle of the night. But the three or four times a night she gets up is starting to feel like a little much. I especially think this when I sit her on her two-year-old cousin’s lap then immediately pick her back up, because they are the same size and I am inadvertently crushing my little niece.

Every night she goes to sleep by herself in her crib, then sleeps in our bed when she wakes up anywhere from 11pm to 1am, when she has rolled over into a crawling position in her sleep then wakes up. My child also has the dexterity to grab my face only where I have one of those painful, under the skin pimples, but she can’t manage to get her pacifier back into her mouth after she has pulled it out to chew on the side of it.

AND THEN. And then.

The past two nights she has slept in her crib for 12 hours straight without crying to nurse.

It came out of nowhere, and as we mothers know, nothing good ever happens to us without consequences. The first night, I awoke from a light, listening-for-the-baby sleep with a tight pain in my chest when I rolled into my side, and got up to pump my lumps. All night I felt guilty and thought maybe I had slept through her crying. I spent a lot of time just listening outside her door, then sticking an ear in her room, then my head, then taking a small step towards the crib, then leaning into the crib, then feeling for her breath with my finger.

I’m proud of her for growing up, but also sad and lonely without her at night. I think it will be much easier when she is an adult and there won't be any changes that come out of nowhere and we will spend all our time together.

New Mom Monday Eleven, Who's Cool

If I were a betting woman--which I almost became that one time my sister Tula and I pooled our change together to get a Powerball ticket, and almost almost won--I'd bet that you know someone young and full of life who posted some bit of 90’s pop culture on Facebook while lamenting Ugh, I'm so old. You guys I'm literally so. Old. And I'm betting you rolled your eyes so far back into your head that they got stuck and now all you see are your own thoughts which started a weird Inception thing in your brain and your Ophthalmologist wrote you a prescription to avoid the Internet for three years.

It is the unfortunate fact that everyone my age is constantly in one of the four phases of a life crisis (scrolling through Instagram, depression, social anxiety, consuming junk food appropriated by the gourmet hipster community), but that's only because everyone else our age or younger has a better job, takes better trips, dresses in better clothes, curates better Pins, etc. And while I don't personally let myself get lost in the kind of comparison spiral that ends in me consuming boxes of fancy donuts or vegan snack cakes, since I already do that on Tuesdays, I often do share the sentiment that if I haven't done anything important yet then maybe I never will. And that does give me that whiny, icky I'm getting old feeling.

You know who is younger than I am? All the teenagers who are inventing things and curing diseases. Like all the ladies on The Bachelor. And the little bundle of joy that wakes up at 2 am and immediately rolls over onto all fours to play--nothing ages you faster and reminds you of your decrepitude more than an energetic baby, my friends. I’d like to think I'm turning into a regal matriarch character, but I think we have more of a Goonies villain situation going on here.

I used to be fun! I used to be cute! I used to get my hair cut at appropriate and consistent time intervals!

Right?

I’m asking because I don't remember.

New Mom Monday Ten, Dress Like a Mom

I sincerely hope everyone had a great holiday of their choice. I spent the weekend cooking and unsuccessfully entertaining a whining baby -- I'm starting to notice a theme here.

My baby looked cute in an appropriately pastel dress, of course, and I looked like someone who has not bought any new clothes in two years.

I didn't really buy maternity clothes, because I didn't gain any weight, because my body has been ready to carry and birth a baby since 7th grade. My petite younger sister didn't have hips until she got pregnant; if my hips got any wider I probably wouldn't be allowed on airplanes.

I am one of those women that waits her entire pregnancy to get a cute pregnant belly, who thinks she's going to “pop” any day now, and before she knows it she's in labor and still just looks like she enjoyed burrito Wednesday at her favorite gross Mexican food place (which in my case was actually true). If you would have placed a friendly hand on my belly without asking permission, as is your right to do to any pregnant stranger, you might have been shocked to find I was attempting to steal a large, under-baked bagel under my blouse. Relax, that's just what motherhood feels like. Soak it in.

Even so, the combination of a sour candy diet and no exercise for nine months left my body with plenty of flab and rolls of skin that I don't remember being there before. I won't complain about my new boobs, because I enjoyed them enough while I had them. Even in high school I knew they wouldn't last, and I wore dresses that were cut too low, I unbuttoned one too many buttons on my shirts. It was fun.

My old clothes all fit, but I feel very different in them. My young person clothes look cheap, and my quirky thrift store clothes make me look old and deranged.

I look like a mom, I bemoan to myself out loud when I catch my reflection walking up to a store window, All my jeans look like mom jeans, and not the millennial, Coachella kind.

“You are a mom,” my husband says to me in that way that makes me so mad because he is smirking at me and making me feel ridiculous. It's not what he says, it's how he says it, if that makes sense.

New Mom Monday, nine

Oh friends, this is Anna. I have been on a Spring Break kid bender (meaning lots of kids, I'm not drinking kids, nor are the kids drinking, FYI) and I feel so out of the blogging loop. We are moderately recording all of our fun over on snapchat (ahhnnab is my name there), but I have been a bit MIA around here. Soon to be remedied. But please, enjoy another amazing installment of my favorite niece writing about new motherhood. She's hilarious, amazing, adorable, and as humble as I am.  Enjoy!

Being such a young, hot, young mom is a lot of fun, but it also means you might have to get your wisdom teeth pulled while you are nursing a fat, sassy baby.

My body really likes nitrous oxide, but I still had a hard time relaxing, or “getting in the mood” as my dentist calls it (no, he doesn’t, but he should), in the dentist chair. W hasn’t been sleeping well, so I was sort of looking forward to lying down for an hour, totally out of it. Ryan sat with the baby in the waiting room during the procedure, and maybe hearing her happily screaming at the office staff is what kept my brain alert despite my body getting too slow and heavy to keep my stomach sucked in. I must have passed out at the end though, because I had four teeth removed but only remember three getting pulled.

I’ve been spending the past few days sitting up in bed in my satin nightgown, hair shiny and coiffed while my husband fetches me everything I need. Just kidding, I’m not really that glamorous: my face is puffy and my kitchen is totally trashed, and I keep finding dried chocolate pudding on my upper lip. I gingerly ate my first solid food of rice and curry yesterday while the baby shriek-scolded me like a strong tiny Pai Mei (I'm obviously the slender Uma Thurman here). However, I think once the swelling goes down the extra empty space in my mouth will make my cheekbones look better than ever. So look out Instagram.

New Mom Monday, Eight

Someone please help.

Every time W is learning a new skill, like sitting up this past week -- NOT crawling thank the fates -- she is so cranky while she's trying to master it, then cranky again after she's mastered it but realizes there are more things. I wake up every morning crossing my fingers that we will be starting that sweet spot between growth spurts, where she realizes things aren't so bad because she has a gorgeous mother who loves her and does everything for her.

I cannot believe how rude a tiny baby can be, a word that correctly connotes that her actions are completely intentional and meant to inspire self-loathing. Ever since I can remember (the past week), every time I have nursed her she’ll be eating just fine, whip her head around to see what is going on behind her back (nothing), then turn back and yell at me for distracting her -- this happens at least six times before she's done.

She is also back on newborn schedule at night, but somehow I'm not really feeling as responsive as I was when we first brought her home. I easily doze off after she's been fed but wants to start some pillow talk at 2 am, and the nights I once jumped up at every peep seem far off and quaint. The baby and I slept separately from my husband for those first few months, so now that we all share a bed, Ryan is struggling to adjust to her waking up during the night. It is hilarious.

Naps have been okay though (?).

I don't really know how you can help me, I just wanted to keep you updated, like one of those letters rich people send out at Christmas.

Very truly yours,

Libbie and Winifred

Grow a Boy in Six Easy Steps

Today my oldest son turns 12. TWELVE! He is not a boy, not yet a man (someone should write a song about that... it's kinda catchy). As I was thinking about him this morning, I remembered this post I had written a couple of years ago about growing a boy in six easy steps. I slightly modified it, but I still believe it. Oh boy, these boys!

I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't sad when I found out that my fourth and final child was a boy. I was sad. My firstborn was a daughter and we were poor enough that most of her clothes as a toddler were hand-me-downs and gifts. She still looked adorable, mostly thanks to my sister's jewelry line and great style. That little girl of mine always had a cool pearl necklace and a few bracelets on, even when swimming and sleeping.

When we found out we were expecting a fourth child, I was excited to have a new live baby doll to dress. But nope, third boy. I wasn't super excited about more jeans and converse, light sabers and tiny cars, haircuts and dirty pockets. My heart yearned for a tiny dancer and someone who could wear all of those adorable necklaces. But as soon as Rhett was born, my heart changed. I wrote about that miraculous change of heart five days after he was born (here).

I know some people have more than three boys and older boys, but there are some things I have learned in this past decade of trying to grow little boys. Wanna hear?

Here it goes:

1. Boys Love Hugs

Girls are cute, but when that little boy wants to hold your hand, kiss or snuggle with you, you say YES! Something happens to a mother and her squishy heart when her little boy needs her affection. It becomes more squishy, to be sure. It melts and puddles down to the pit of your stomach and you think you could die of happiness. It also does something terrible to your memory: "What smashed window? What dirty sink of dishes? What ruined patch of grass? What torn up jeans?"

But, do you know how much your little boy needs YOUR hugs, too? They might seem tough, but those little boys need your hugs and back scratches and hand holds more than you do. They need affection just as much as your daughters, and I believe it will only make them better and kinder men. Hug your boys, especially when they don't deserve it.

2. Boys Love Sticks

It's true. A stick is a magical gift from the gods. You may spend $20 on a Nerf sword (which my boys all love and somehow we have accrued over a dozen), but a stick can be so much more than a sword. It is a light saber then a rifle, a sword and then a wand, a rope swinging from the trees and then the beginning of a fort. Did you know there are sticks in different shapes and sizes? It's true. My boys are constantly showing me how this stick looks like a machine gun and that stick looks like a boomerang.

Sticks are amazing. Get your boy out and find some sticks.

3. Boys Love Style

It is still fun to dress boys. We had a pair of seersucker pants that all of the boys wore and every time it just made me want to grab and love on them. It is even more fun when they start having their own style. My 12yo is very involved in his hair styles and the cut of pants he prefers. Our 9yo acts as if he doesn't care, but there are a few items of clothing that he refuses to put on and wear outside of the house. Our 6yo is all about the accessories. He loves wearing sunglasses, ties, watches, wings on his shoes, and anything else we will let him wear. Which is a lot. He has more bracelets than I ever did as a child.

Some people have expressed concern over our boys' styles of dress and hair, but I don't worry myself with any of it. Boys like style as much as girls. It is all part of the process of growing and feeling comfortable in your own skin. Take your son shopping and see what he gravitates toward. Boys love dates with you, too. One on one time is the absolute best.

4. Boys Love Work

Well, not really. Most of my boys complain and whine every single Saturday when it is chore time. My middle son rolls his eyes every time I ask him to do anything but play on a screen. But, boys need work. Things are easier now than when I was a kid (and that was easy!), chores are simpler, games are everywhere. Boys need to still work hard, see value in their accomplishments, be prepared to leave your home when they are 18, and open a door for women. I still believe in boys learning to be hard working and respectful. Opening doors and letting women go ahead of them is included in learning respect.

My boys are naturally pretty smart, God-given to be sure. But I tell them often that the most successful people in the world are not the smartest, but the hardest workers. Don't raise soft, lackluster smart boys. Raise boys who can love work.

5. Boys Love Potty Words

It is true for all three of my boys. They love potty words. Throw in a "poop" or "fart" into your story and you are the most hilarious person ever. I have never believed in shushing the potty words completely. Like all fine pleasures in this world, moderation is key with potty words. Boys need to express these funny little phrases more than you can understand, and if they don't do it around you, they are most definitely trying it out with friends. Why? Because THIS.

I don't know when they outgrow seeing humor in potty words. My 40yo boy still laughs heartily at a well-placed "poo" reference.

6. Boys Love Praise

Don't we all? Somehow in the history of raising of boys, we humans have felt this need to make them tough and resilient and we do it by being very selective and sparse with our praise. Allegedly, If we tell them too often that they are strong and smart and kind and good-golly quite handsome, then they will not grow to handle criticism and disappointment. Baloney. Criticism and disappointment will come all over the place as they grow, which is all the more reason to give them love and praise at home.

Don't get me wrong, I reprimand and correct all of my children. I also try my darnedest to tell them how unique and cool they are, how much I appreciate their help and listening, why they are so smart and handsome. A sincere compliment is worth more than the snazziest outfit or coolest Nerf sword that you could ever buy. Give your boys praise and do it as often as you can. All it will do is make him more confident as he grows in this world and prepares to leave your nest for good.

Wait. My boys will leave my nest for good someday?! I know it's true, and yet thinking that in six shorts years my oldest boy will be taking flight is enough to make me stop typing this post and run and give him sloppy kisses and praise for days.

I am so glad I got three boys to follow my daughter. I can't believe I ever doubted that they were exactly what I wanted.

a

Women support women

I am a feminist.

I feel really lucky to be living in a time when the word feminist doesn't automatically mean anti-male nor does it mean anti-feminine. To some, it may still mean one or both of these things. But for the most part, when I claim feminism, most people yawn and say, "ok" while they think "what else you got?"

Two years ago I wrote a blog post staking my flag in the feminist world and while I still agree with most of what I wrote, I have become a lot less sure of what others think and more confident in what I think. Funny how that works: you get older, you learn more, you claim to know less.

On International Women's Day, this is what I believe: Women are divine. Men are divine. Individuals are divine. There is no one gender greater nor one lesser. I am grateful for the feminine qualities that I have and for those parts of me that may be deemed "masculine" just as I am grateful for both characteristics in my husband.

There is no one right way to be a woman. I take that back. The right way to be a woman is to BE A WOMAN. To be confident that you are worthy and valuable. In the end, I hope my daughter feels worthy and declares her worth. I hope my sons feel worthy and proclaim their worth.

Might I leave you with this feminist thought that I posted over on my @thingsaretheworst Instagram account today?

To celebrate women today, I plan on telling all the women I see how incredible and valuable they are. Maybe smile and knowingly wink (although I can't wink for beans). I hope today that you know YOUR worth. We can be UNSTOPPABLE.

a

New Mom Monday, Seven, Modern Mother Needs

I have a little secret for you.

Are you ready to hear it?

*laughs huskily*

Come a little closer so I can whisper it into your ear.

I sssstill have all my wisssssdom teeeeeth.

Luckily for me, I was born during the era of modern medicine, so when my last wisdom tooth starts cutting through and I get a little bacterial infection, I don’t have to wait until it spreads into my brain and I die. I ask my sister to watch the baby and go pamper myself at the dentist for a couple of hours, where everyone asks me how I’m feeling and seems very concerned about my well-being. I might even stop by the grocery store on the way home if I’m feeling especially indulgent. What a time to be alive.

It got me to thinking, I am so lucky to be a millennial mother, and not just because my physical deficiencies and deformities require teams of contemporary doctors to keep me alive. I know what you’re thinking -- what about all the pressure of being a modern parent? Don’t you feel so much pressure? Nope. I think I would feel more pressure if I was expected to use an actual pressure cooker and can all my own food, iron the bed sheets, cook multiple courses, or sew all my baby’s clothes just to have her ruin them with her neon alien poop. Being a mom seems like it used to be so much harder.

Do you remember when you were growing up how people would just stop by? Or how when you got the mail or a package you would have to answer the door? You literally had to have clothes on all the time. When people come over to my home, it is carefully planned in advance via text message (phone anxiety!) and I spend hours choosing which of my three outfits I’m going to wear. I scrub the toilets and wipe the mirrors, maybe light a candle, but I usually don’t mop because mopping is a waste of time.

A lot of moms get overwhelmed by the internet and social media, but let’s all just take a deep breath and try to be a little more appreciative, a little more centered, like I am. Let’s just let go of the imaginary pressure we put on ourselves to post every little thing with perfect lighting.

Okay now that we have taken care of you and your feelings, let’s get back to me. I am getting my wisdom teeth extracted next week, and I’m not sure how to go about it. In your experience, on a scale of 1-10, how willing is your dental office to change the light bulbs in your procedure room to something more flattering, 1 being “ignoring your voice mails” and 10 being “also volunteering to take photos from angles that hide your jowls while you’re unconscious”? Mine is at a 2 and I’m considering finding another doctor who better understands a modern mother’s needs.

Libbie Henrie is a new mother and really smart gal. You should believe everything she writes, especially the super sarcastic parts. She lives in Arizona with her husband and newborn baby. You can read more of her musings on her blog and follow her baby wearing adventures on Instagram @sweetcheeksbabywearing

Birthday bike

This isn't one of those parenting blog posts that tell you how wise I am and what you could learn from my experience. Not this time, at least. It's also not a sponsored post showing you something awesome that I have and you should buy so that you, too, can be awesome like me. I'm sure you're already as awesome as I am. This is a blog post that asks for YOUR expertise and experience for a small problem/question I have.

This is my son, Johnny.

He is going to be 12 next week (oh how does that happen? it goes so fast, I kid you not) and he is seriously one of the greatest individuals who has ever lived. Let me paint you a quick pic of Johnny:

Every morning he is the first one awake in our house; he practices the piano, takes the dog out for potty, wakes his little brothers up. He makes his own lunch for school and often makes his 6yo brother's lunch, too. His mother is lazy, it seems. He never wants to be late for anything, but especially school, his teachers love him, he is a kind kid, he always asks if he can help me with anything. If ever I need something from the storage room, I ask Johnny and he will get it right away. He brings in the garbage cans without being asked. He loves making dinner and cookies and any food that I let him make. As I am writing this, he is on the other side of the kitchen island, peeling potatoes so he can use the spiralizer to make us fries and omelets for dinner. Johnny has his difficult moments and frustrating times, but I am quite certain he is one of the good ones and I am just lucky to have a chance to spend so much time with him during his life.

Because he is such a good and easy kid, sometimes it is easy to not worry about him. Especially during special events and celebrations. He always gets great test scores, so we expect it from him. When his brother gets a good score, we do back handsprings and bake a cake to celebrate. For Johnny's birthday next week, he has asked for new pants because his are getting too small and worn (mother of the year, anyone?), a ski helmet because his is too small, and maybe some gum would be fun, he says. So, I will get him a pack of gum at Costco and take him to buy some pants. The ski helmet can wait until next season (heaven knows his head could grow over the summer... right?).

Then this afternoon we were outside getting the bikes ready for spring riding. Johnny pulls out the bike he got for free from a neighbor and the valves on the tires are all wonky. We try to get the pump on them and the tire completely busts. Guys, this thing is kind of an old piece of junk. But Johnny loves to ride bikes so he doesn't care, so long as it rides. He asks if we can take it to the bike store to fix the tire and that he even has some money to get the repair. I tell him that I will go look online for some nearby shops and see what I can find out. But really, I think, "Johnny should have a new bike for his birthday. If anyone would take care of a bike and treat it well, it's this kid."

So for the last two hours I have been scouring articles and websites looking for a good bike that can last him a few solid years before he gets too tall and needs a new one. So it should be affordable, too, since I know it won't be his forever bike. I would love something sturdy and cool, because he's super cool. I love brands that are small and need some recognition and support. I also love if they are easy to repair and service. Because I've never bought this kid a new bike, I am at a complete loss of what to get. That's where you come in. Tell me what bike is worthy of this kid (and that I can afford--hehehehe... heh!) that you have loved/currently love. Share with us some of the lesser-known companies that need some support and eyes on them. Tag your friends who are bike gurus. Because I am sure I am not the only mom with a ridiculously good-looking and deserving kid who needs a kick-A bike.

TIA, yo.

So you wanna be featured?

I am still overwhelmed by all the support and shares with @kidsaretheworst. When I first had the idea to start an Instagram account that showed the "less desirable" side of parenting in a fun way, I had hoped that parents would find the account, have a good laugh, and not feel so alone. I had no idea that it would grow and be shared as it has. Thank you for being a part of it. Big kisses to YOU!

There are a few things I have learned as the account has grown that I didn't understand before and I wanted to share them with all of you that reach out to me, share photos and videos and want to have your account/photos featured on @kidsaretheworst.

1. I am only able to see 100 of the most recent actions associated with my account. So when you @ me on a photo or in a message, if I am not on Instagram at that moment and checking the updates, I won't be able to see your message. These recent actions include likes, new follows, and all comments left on all posts. Sometimes 100 actions happen within a minute. If you have mentioned "@kidsaretheworst" and I haven't responded, this is why. There is a huge chance that I never saw it.
2. Many people write #kidsaretheworst wrong. It happens to the best of us. Hashtags are hard to write because the spellcheck will always say it is wrong and words look funny anyway when jumbled together. One easy way to make sure it is spelled right--if you want to add the hashtag to be found--is to click on the hashtag in a @kidsaretheworst post. Then Instagram notes that you have interest in this specific hashtag and will autofill it as you type. Boom!
3. If you have a private account, there is a 75% chance I cannot see your direct messages. For a while, I was messaging people back saying, "Darn, I can't see your message. Can you resend it or email it to me?" But frankly, aint nobody got time for that. Also, if you're private, there is a 100% chance that I cannot see anything on your account if you @ or # kidsaretheworst. (wink wink)
4. Tagging OLD PHOTOS on Instagram will most likely not been seen. I see them in order of date posted, most recent first. So, if I start seeing familiar photos on the hashtag, I stop looking. If you have an old photo that you'd like to be considered for featuring, please email or direct message. Mwah!
5. Sending videos is also difficult via Instagram's direct message. I don't know why this is, but it is a bizarre occurrence for me that I can receive photos from someone and then not videos via DM. Email them to me (address below) or #kidsaretheworst for best visibility.
6. Please know that once you send me photos and videos, whether via email, DM, or #, that you are giving me the rights to repost and caption your photos. Unfortunately, photos get "stolen" off my page and reused without your rights. It is stupid, for sure. But, please be aware that you are taking the chance of not being appropriately credited once I post it. This is why I put the @kidsaretheworst symbol on all photos that come from followers, so it can always be traced back to the original owner. If I do post your photo, it will have @kidsaretheworst written on it.
7. I can't post all the photos and videos I get. Love me anyway, ok? You would be surprised how many submissions that I get everyday. Often it is of the same type of thing that I recently posted. I try to post a variety of scenarios, because I think even I would tire of seeing diaper blowouts ten days in a row.
8. The best-looking photos and the most obvious will be featured the most often. If your photo is too dark or blurry or takes too long to understand what is going on, the chance of being featured is lessened. People will look for about 1.2 seconds at a photo. If they don't see what is so funny or cute in that amount of time... DONE. So, take a clear, well-lit, obvious photo for a greater chance of being featured.
9. I can't share your company, product, sister's custom pillow cases, blog, party, cause. As much as I would love to (and as much as I appreciate when people share for me), it would not be possible to share everyone who asks me to share. Once in a while I do find companies that make sense to partner with or who are an obvious fit with @kidsaretheworst. And to be fair to everyone, I have to be extremely picky. Please understand that I am rooting for you and your sister's companies. Legit. I hope everyone can find a good audience and success. I would love to chat and see if your brand works well with mine. Thanks for understanding.

Any other questions? Please ask me. Write them in the comments or email me at kidsaretheworstest@gmail.com. That's also where you can send videos and photos if you are private. Please add the name of your Instagram account in the email so I can give you proper credit.

Is there anything that you would love to see on the website here? Let me know? Know of anyone who would love to write a weekly feature on the blog? Have them email me. Are you following us on Facebook? So many questions, Anna!!

Thanks for reading all the way down. I can't wait to see what you can share with all of us. You're rad.

New Mom Monday, Six, Breastfeeding

I would like to take a break from all the controversial topics I’ve been posting about and share my views on breastfeeding. More specifically, breastfeeding in public, which is not as interesting or divisive a topic, but I hope you’ll keep reading.

I had never thought I would breastfeed until I got pregnant, and I thought it would be a fun little thing to try, since it’s good for babies and mothers, and I have also seen a lot of celebrities doing it.

Unfortunately for me, my little princess got her laziness and aversion to hard labor from her mother, which coupled with some anatomical issues that I won’t share out of modesty (nipple stuff), made it so hard to breastfeed at the beginning. I had to use a shield in the hospital to nurse, which is a piece of silicone you use both hands to suction onto your breast so that your baby can nurse without having to work very hard. It is almost impossible to do anything that requires both hands with a newborn, but you’re really only supposed to use it for a few days until they get stronger and figure out your weird body; we used it for over three months.

During that time, I couldn’t leave the house unless I thawed a bottle and packed my pump to use in the car, since I wasn’t very comfortable with whipping out my boob and trying to secure the shield and balancing a squirming baby on my lap anywhere but my living room. As you can imagine, the day Winifred stopped needing it to nurse, I felt like a free woman, and I wanted to go out into the world with nothing but a few diapers and a dream, a dream to breastfeed anywhere and everywhere I happened to be when my little fatty got a hankering to eat.

As a mother, every single thing that I do or don’t do makes at least one person so angry they could spit, and I have a feeling where and when I breastfeed may not be any different. All a mother can do is what makes her baby and her most comfortable, and what makes Winifred and me comfortable is not worrying too much about using nursing covers, because we don’t like waiting for our food. We also don’t love warm, confined spaces. However, while I no longer feel any embarrassment at the thought of strangers seeing whichever of my body parts they please, I do try to be very conscious that most people absolutely do not please. A nice loose-fitting top is easy to lift up and drop down in a pinch, and a dressing room makes a quiet, private place to let it all hang out.

Any sort of success in a dressing room is a nice change of pace for me.

I try to be respectful of others, and luckily, most people are respectful in return. The closest thing I’ve gotten to a dirty look was an older Asian woman who sternly turned the other way when I sat down in the mother’s lounge at Nordstrom and asked if it would be alright to nurse there. She missed out if you ask me!

I don’t think that breastfeeding is something shameful or to be hidden, but I’m not under any delusions that flashing strangers is going to change the world, or make anyone who hates the idea of women using their goods to feed their babies suddenly okay with it. I’m not willing to add any more layers to my sweaty body, but I’m probably not going to nurse over a plate of chili fries like a soft, pasty Maggie Gyllenhaal. Unless I’m nursing when someone finally buys me a plate of chili fries--that’s an opportunity I would never pass up.

What about you, dear reader? How did you figure out what you were comfortable revealing to the masses, and how long did it take you to get the courage to do it? Or do you think the idea of worrying about it at all is silly? Or do you think nursing moms should stay at home until their kids are in college? So many questions!

Libbie Henrie is a new mother and really smart gal. You should believe everything she writes, especially the super sarcastic parts. She lives in Arizona with her husband and newborn baby. You can read more of her musings on her blog and follow her baby wearing adventures on Instagram @sweetcheeksbabywearing

New Mom Monday, Five

Who has two dimply thumbs and turned six months old this week?

This girl!

That's right, half a year, baby!

To celebrate, I performed an ancient ritual that one only learns about when one becomes a mother, and I won't ruin the surprise but it involves of eating half a vegan pizza with non-vegan pepperoni under the half-moon while half-dressed and half-awake in front of a TV series you're halfway through, and no it can't be Friends, and then you pick up your crying half-swaddled baby and get yourself to bed for a full night’s rest (though that last part is traditionally handled by the husband).

I thought about making a half-cake, ‘cause I'm just one of those fun moms who does ca-RAZY stuff like that! But I didn't okay, and to tell you the truth I’m not very keen on all the judging going on here.

This is my favorite age so far, when they're big enough to play by themselves while you finally get around to wiping the toothpaste off your husband’s bathroom mirror, but not big enough to crawl or walk or tell you that you need to put on pants already. If you would have told me five-and-a-half months ago how much fun she would be, I would have told you that's not helpful. You want to be helpful? Hold the baby for like fifteen minutes without telling me she's hungry again so I can wash my hair. That's helpful. My husband and I are very happy.

One of the best things about being a mom is watching your kids become their own little people, especially when they are turning out to be funnier, smarter, kinder versions of yourself, plus a few quirks of their own for good measure. The other morning she started covering her face with the bed sheet, then when my husband or I say, “Where’s Winifred? Have you seen Winifred?” she pulls the sheet off and jerks her head around to stare into your soul, then without looking away, slowly creeps the sheet back over her face. Calling it peek-a-boo implies there is a joyfulness to this “game,” but it is more of a serious exercise than anything else -- I think she may be trying to overcome her greatest fear of her face being trapped under a blanket, but her infantile parents keep disrupting her efforts. You would think playing with a giggling baby is more enjoyable, but actually playing with an annoyed baby giving major side-eye is the highlight of my day.

As a mother, I’ve learned to love someone more for what they are than what I expected them to be. I'm just so much better than the person I was before I started this motherhood gig… you know career might be a better word for it? Well maybe calling describes it better. It's definitely a calling. Having this baby and this calling has made me a much, much better person, a person free from all the negativity and unhappiness that comes from disappointment in others.

I just hope my husband doesn't expect the same treatment.

Libbie Henrie is a new mother and really smart gal. You should believe everything she writes, especially the super sarcastic parts. She lives in Arizona with her husband and newborn baby. You can read more of her musings on her blog and follow her baby wearing adventures on Instagram @sweetcheeksbabywearing