Wishes for Today
oday was my second Mother’s Day as a mother. Last year at this time, everything was so new. New baby, new routine, new schedules, new phase of my life. But today, today I got to reflect at how much my life has changed now that I’ve got the added title of “mom” in my resume.
No Meira, I haven’t had a radical phase shift in my brain to make me decide to give up my hard-charging careerist bent. But there are so many small things in me that have altered/changed/shifted in some subtle and some not-so-subtle ways.
Take for example, the tissues and wipes. I now have tissues and wipes at the ready for the slightest booger or grime emergency. That’s a reflex that I never had before. I hear that moist sneeze and my hand is already reaching for the tissue. This is a new mom response. I also notice that when I’m around other mothers, the same sneeze will elicit the same automatic tissue reach. It’s almost Pavlovian.
I’ve also noticed the automatic, she’s first response that I’ve developed over the past year. Now obviously Zizi comes first for both AdoringHusband and me, but when we go out to eat, like at our friendly neighborhood IHOP, for example, I don’t even think about taking a bite of my food before getting her settled in with her bits of scrambled egg, sausage and pancake. AdoringHusband, on the other hand, seems to have the every man for himself approach. “Uh honey, you want to stop shoveling in that Big Steak Omelette long enough to give Zizi something to eat?” Ah heck, why bother saying it? It’s just something that I do now. She’s first. I’m second. (And if you ever see AdoringHusband, you might want to refresh his memory about how things should be ordered!)
There are just so many more little things, like continuing to listen to Buzz Buzz and Snack Time even when she’s not in the car, because it makes you remember her bopping and laughing to the songs. Or the way you hang out in Baby Gap, Janie & Jack, Gymboree and The Children’s Place and just don’t even feel like stepping in old haunts like Ann Taylor, J. Jill and Talbots. Even your shoe whoredom now relates to Ecco Kids, Umi Kids and Primigi. So very different.
Sure there are still times when I have some nostalgia for the days pre-Zara, when I could sleep if I felt like sleeping, go to the movies at the drop of a hat, and have a living room not decorated in brightly colored plastic. But who am I kidding? Without Z, the sun would just go out of my world. AdoringHusband? Some days I’d just smack him upside the head just as soon as look at him, but the Z-monster? That’s my heart.
And all of this typical Liana long-windedness brings me to my wish for today. For those who are already mothers, even those like me, the Teleflora non-mom moms (OK, I know that they changed it but I couldn’t resist) I hope that today was a day of gratitude…gratitude for your blessing of your child(ren) and your family’s gratitude for all you do as mother.
For my sisters still on the path to motherhood, I wish you strength, tenacity, and insight to forge the road that is best for you.
And for those sisters who have been through it, and have chosen to live childfree, I hope the Hallmark schlockyness of the day was not as nauseatingly horrific as I know it can be. I wish you peace.
Lastly, to my dear husband, for you I wish the understanding that Mother’s Day is designed to give Mom a respite from many of her daily tasks. This is not accomplished by your playing with your new Wii while I do laundry, wash dishes and clean up. And don’t even think about uttering “pizza” ever again when I inquire about the plans for my Mother’s Day dinner.
Harrumph. Wait until Father’s Day.
I’m A Non-Mom Mom
ccording to Teleflora, I’m a non-mom mom.
I wasn’t aware of my non-mom mom status until one of the women on my adoption board passed on the information about the lovely Americas Favorite Mom contest being run by Teleflora, with sponsorship by NBC, Kraft, MySpace and Redbook.
The contest seems innocuous enough until you look at the categories of mothers seen on this semifinalist page. Note the description of the non-mom mom: Grandparent, stepmom, or mom to adopted children, each one raising and loving a child. A priceless gift for everybody.
See, isn’t that just special? I’m a non-mom mom, no different from a grandparent or stepmom. So I guess my daughter doesn’t have a real mom…or maybe that would be her firstmom? I don’t know what Teleflora, et al would say about that.
Here’s a description of one of the non-mom moms: She was an adopted child who is now mom to her own daughter, plus six adopted children who started life as “meth babies”. I love that mom to her “own” daughter part.
Well you know what? I’m so sick of this being relegated to second class status because of the state of my reproductive capabilities! I have already taken time from my busy day to call Teleflora and complain about this offensive designation. I will never use them for any floral business that I may have. I plan to let all the sponsors know that as a mother, not an adoptive mom, and not a non-mom mom, I am so disappointed in them.
I’m Zara’s mother…period.
Here is contact information
America’s Favorite Mom
1-800-225-7435
info@americasfavoritemom.com
Email for Donny and Marie Osmand
Kesti@marieosmond.com
email4donny@donny.com
Teleflora
1-800-835-3356
(310) 231-9199 (main corporate headquarters)
Redbook
1-800-888-0008
Kraft Foods
800-323-0768
EDITED TO ADD
On Friday evening, one of the representatives from the Edelman Agency posted in the comments an apology from the contest and Teleflora:
My name is Rebecca, and I work with Edelman on behalf of Teleflora’s “America’s Favorite Mom” program. Thank you for sharing your thoughts about this issue. After closer examination, Teleflora recognized how this may have been offensive to moms who have adopted children… moms who are indeed real moms in every sense of the word. This show of insensitivity was in no way intended and Teleflora offers its deepest apology. It was always Teleflora’s intent to salute and celebrate all moms.
Please know that in response to the concerns expressed, Teleflora immediately change the name of the “Non-Mom” category to “Adopting Moms,” which has already been posted at AmericasFavoriteMom.com.
On behalf of Teleflora, I would like to offer my sincerest best wishes to you on this Mother’s Day.
Despite this, it was clear that they still did not understand. I put my reply in the comments, but I am reposting it here in the post body for easier reading:
While I appreciate your coming to my blog and providing this update about the change in the category, I do not believe that you fully understand the point that I am raising in my post about what it means to be a mother to my daughter.
Yes, it is much better to change the non-mom mom category to “adopting moms,” but the problem remains that you have separated those of us who are mothers through adoption from those mothers who have experienced pregnancy and delivery of their children. Do we really need to be separated in this manner from biological mothers if we are, as you state, mothers who are real moms in every sense of the word?
Instead of treating us differently because of how we added to our family, why not just forget the separate but equal new ideology and just let us be moms, no different from any other mother who is entered into your contest. That would show true fairness and an understanding of the different routes that people often take to become parents.
Were my daughter old enough to enter me in such a contest, I would want her to only have to choose the category of Working Mom for her entry. She shouldn’t even have to consider the category of “Adopting Mom” since her adoption has been done, final and over since she was 7 months old. Adoption is not an ongoing process. After finalization it is over. As such, I’m not her “adopting” or “adopted” mother. I’m simply her mother. And that is what people who have little to no experience with adoption do not seem to understand.
So again, you have made an improvement from an egregiously offensive category title to one that while not as blatantly insulting, still treats my motherhood differently than mothers who conceived, carried and delivered their children in the more “traditional” manner. There is indeed still room for improvement.
Perhaps Edelman should learn a little bit more about adoption and alternative means of family building before they attempt a marketing campaign/contest of this magnitude again.
One
know. Way to leave people hanging, huh? Did I get out of the hospital or am I still in there languishing?
The good news…I got out on Friday, just in time to pick up Z at daycare after her cupcake party and get in some toddler loving before she went to bed.
All I can say about my hospitalization is that I will do my best if there is ever a next time to make sure that the ambulance takes me to a real hospital where there are real doctors. No, Dr. Dumbass, my bloody diarrhea, fever and intractable vomiting are not from a fucking hemorrhoid. And starting antibiotics resolved the fever and the diarrhea…this was not, as you insisted, a coincidence. And if you think I will even think about coming to you all for my follow-up colonoscopy, you are sorely mistaken. Sorely mistaken! Luckily my real doctor insisted on putting me back on antibiotics after discharge. And thank god/the goddess I can tell the difference between Dr. Dumbasses and real doctors.
That was a real learning experience for me. I’ve spent so many years in high-end academic medicine that I’m not used to physicians who just feed me a load of nonsense as fact. Is this the kind of care that so many people receive? It frightens me to think about it.
But happily I am better. I still don’t know what pathogen caused all this, but at least I am better.
And happier still, my daughter is one. This beautiful little baby who was entrusted to me at 2 days of age, is now a silly, cheery, energetic, inquisitive toddler. There are no words that can accurately describe the impact 2 feet and about 22 pounds of warm Zara have made on my life.
I left the hospital determined that her birthday party must go on. Unfortunately Josie was not able to join us for the big day. But we had a nice little party for her at the house with good food, good friends, and lots of love. (Unfortunately doughhead Mommy forgot the ice cream for the cake!)
And this is where we sing:
She also really got into the balloons:
So far, Mommy managed to find the hit birthday toy. Zara is digging her lion.
Here’s my video with the technical difficulties:
Now Mason and I have to get up every few seconds to guide her around an obstacle. I would be kicking myself for purchasing such a labor intensive (for me) toy, but seeing the joy on her face when she uses it is just too much.
Welcome to the adventure that is toddlerhood.
I Don’t Like Being A Patient
esterday I got admitted to the little hospital near me. This admission comes after two ambulance rides in the past week. All I can say is uncontrolled vomiting and pooping blood are both very, very bad things.
I’ve got to get out of here soon. Zara’s birthday is tomorrow!
Bunnies & Chicks
took little Zizi to the photo studio to have her picture taken with the bunnies and chicks for Spring. (OK, so they really were supposed to be Easter photos, but I was too late in getting the appointment because I’m a dimwit mom.) The pictures all came out so cute that I cannot decide which ones I should order. Can you guys help me out? I can’t order them all. I’m running out of wall space here!
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They do offer some 3, 6 or 9 image collages for people like me who cannot choose…
Letter To My Daughter
ur day care center told us that this week is The Week of the Young Child. In celebration of this week, one of the things we had to do was to write a letter to our child. The teacher would take some quiet time alone with the child and read the letter to him/her.
Of course, as luck would have it, I am traveling this week. I’m here in Newport Beach at a conference. But this center is nothing but resourceful. The manager told me to e-mail the letter to her at the center and she would print it on pretty paper and give it to the teacher. Ah the perils of being a traveling careerist parent…
Here’s my letter:
My dearest baby girl Zara,
Becoming your mom has been the most wonderful thing that has ever happened in my whole life. You have changed me in ways that I didn’t think were possible. Your mommy was an old lady of 43 when you were placed in her arms. But you, my little squirmy Yum-Yum, taught her that her heart was capable of a love so powerful that all other love she had felt before paled in comparison. Holding you, my tiny perfection, mended my battered soul.
Watching you, my beautiful daughter, grow this past year from a sweet, smiley baby to this amazing, joyful, and speedy little toddler has been the greatest miracle of my life. No matter how tired, stressed or frustrated I may be, seeing your grin, hearing your delighted laugh, or kissing your little-big head reminds me of how blessed I really am, and suddenly everything is all right. You are everything to me. You bring such sweet innocence, purity and utter goodness into our world. As your great grandmother Katherine (aka Grammy Cream Cheese) would say, “You make my heart full.”
Right now you may not understand these words. These days, the most important things are exploring your world, finding noisemakers to shake, getting Mommy and Daddy to give you more Crunchies, and being the best 11 month old in the whole world. But Mommy promises you that you will always know and feel how much she loves you. She loves you larger than the ocean, more than the galaxy and even bigger than infinity plus one. You are my heart, Zara. I will love you, honor you, respect and cherish you for all the days of my life. There will be times when you are upset with me or I with you, but this will never, ever, change how much I love you and how honored I am to be your mom.
Love and kisses,
Mommy
Signs That You May Be Losing It
suck.
It’s been ages since my last post. Actually I did write a post last week but stupid Wordpress lost it somehow and I was too pissed to recreate it.
I’m tired. Very, very tired. Being tired wouldn’t be so bad if one were allowed to have time to sleep or at least sit still and rest. But alas no. I’m busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest. Half the time, I don’t know which end is up.
You wanna know how tired and confused I am? So my 11 month old Zizi is acting up while I’m trying to feed her in her high chair. I’m frustrated. She’s frustrated and is alternately shrieking and whining. So what does Mommy say?
“Zara, use your words and stop whining!”
Uh, earth to Liana…she’s using all the “words” she’s capable of using, for goodness sake. Clearly somebody needs a nap and it isn’t her!
Somebody help me.
Green & Yellow Teeth? Not So Good
’ve been learning a lot this week it seems. First it was how to properly strap Little Girl into her car seat (and for those who requested pictures, they will not be forthcoming!) 
and now the ever important lesson that teeth should not appear green or yellow under any circumstances.
Before anyone begins to think that I have really lost my mental faculties to the point where I’ve forgotten how to brush my teeth, I want to assure you that this is not the case. But I am lazy and my laziness has led me to appear to have food-colored teeth on occasion. And that is not good.
I have not mentioned it before, but last year I succumbed to vanity and started using Invisalign, the invisible, removable braces-like teeth aligners. I suffered through years of real braces when I was a kid and had absolutely no intention of revisiting that misery with real braces to correct the recrudescence of my overbite. But according to my orthodontist (in whose waiting room I sit as the oldest patient ever), I was the perfect candidate for Invisalign.
When I first received the aligners, I was told all the rules: keep them in for at least 20 hours a day. Remove them to eat or drink anything other than water. Brush them (and your teeth) after you eat anything. And for about a week I was good, but then that old demon of laziness crept back into my world.
So now, 6 months after starting this process, I do manage to keep the aligners in 20 hours a day on most days, but hell if I’m taking them out every time I eat or drink something. That is a pain in the ass. I’m a bad patient who has managed to successfully eat with her aligners. Yet I managed to compound the badness by not at least going to the bathroom after I eat to check and see how much food is stuck in and around the aligners. And there is where the yellow and green teeth come in.
On my flight down here to Greensboro, I ran into one of the fellows from my old hospital and we got into a great conversation. I ended up giving her a ride to the hotel prattling along the whole time. Only after I got up to my room and looked in the mirror did I realize that my chicken wrap that I ate before boarding managed to leave nasty yellow and green remnants all over my teeth and gums. Not only did I look like someone who hadn’t brushed her teeth, truthfully I looked like someone who didn’t even know what a toothbrush was! 
Way to make an impression, L! 
So the moral of this story is…stop thinking you can play it off when you eat with your Invisalign in. You can’t. You need to go brush your damn teeth. Good lord, I’m too old to be so foolish!
Ivy League Morons
’ve always thought of myself as being a fairly smart person. And I know that AdoringHusband considers himself to be incredibly smart. So why is it that two smart, Ivy League educated, graduate degree having, multilingual folks can fail at something so basic….something so absolutely incontrovertibly easy, that I know I risk losing your respect when I tell you what it is.
OK. Deep breath. Well, it seems that AdoringHusband and I have been putting Zizi in her car seat incorrectly. Not dangerously, but indeed stupidly.
Go ahead and laugh. We had to laugh when we realized this yesterday. All I can say in my own defense is that it’s all AdoringHusband’s fault!! He’s the one who told me way back in the beginning that the way I was strapping her in was wrong. I figured that he was the one who had read the manual, so he must know the right way to do things. I was wrong!
We came to this great realization now that we have had to move to the convertible car seat. We had been waiting for the Orbit Toddler Car Seat but its release was pushed back from February 15th to March 15th and now until the end of April. Zara was squished into her infant seat, so we had to stop waiting.
I ordered a Maxi-Cosi Priori seat in Indian Red from Elite Car Seats. AdoringHusband, not one to be a slave to fashion like I am, got a more basic color this weekend from Target. Yesterday he called me very pissed off after taking her to day care. “The straps on this seat are too short! I’m taking it back!”
“What do you mean they’re too short? This seat is supposed to fit a child up to 40 pounds!”
“Well it doesn’t work. I had to contort her to get her into the seat just like the trouble we were having with the straps on the Orbit! I’m just going to get the Britax.”
“I thought you didn’t like the Britax.”
“I don’t, but clearly this isn’t working and I have to get something. Do you want the ordering information?”
“No, hold up a minute. There has to be more to this,” I replied.
“I’m ordering the Britax,” he said with finality.
I said goodbye and decided to try to figure this out. We read tons of reviews about the Priori and only one mentioned that the straps were short. The others were all very positive. I’m thinking to myself, how can our average sized 10 month old not fit into a seat rated up to 40 pounds? Something wasn’t adding up.
I called Elite Car Seats and asked about issues with the straps on the Priori. She began with some nonsense. “All children are different and not all seats work for all children…”
And I’m like, “Lady, please stop right there. You are not going to convince me that my 50th percentile 10 1/2 month old daughter somehow won’t fit in a normal convertible car seat. I just want to know, have you had any issues from Priori buyers about the length of the straps?”
“No, not really,” she answered. “But I can call Maxi Cosi and see if they have an extender to help with the problem.”
“That would be great.” I thanked her and she promised to call me back.
In the meantime, I’m looking at the car seats and wondering… I call AdoringHusband back.
“How did you put Zara in the Priori?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“What did you do with her legs? Did you put them through the straps?”
“Of course!” he said, huffily. “That’s when I found out that the straps were too short.”
“I don’t think the legs are supposed to be put through the shoulder straps.”
“Of course they are!”
“Well I’m not so sure…”
“I put her in the same way we put in her the Orbit seat.”
As we are having this dialogue, we are both on the Maxi Cosi site looking for the manual. He finds it first.
“Oh no! I did it wrong! Her legs aren’t supposed to go through the straps!”
“So there’s probably nothing wrong with the seat, then?”
“No…” he trails off.
“This also means that we’ve probably being putting Zizi in the infant seat the wrong way as well.”
“Geez…”
“Good lord, we’re morons! But you told me to do it your way!”
“I thought it was the right way!”
“Sheesh”
“Man…”
“We’re stupid.”
“Yeah. Don’t tell anyone.”
“Who would I tell?”
Go ahead…laugh.
Flossing My Bling
rom the Urban Dictionary:
Flossing (or Flossin’): Showing off; showing what you’ve got.
Bling: flashy or gaudy jewelry, named for the sound generated when worn.
I guess that’s what you could say I’m doing today. I’m flossing the bling given to me by my dear husband as an anniversary present. But you know there is a story here…and this story comes with the good, the bad, and the crazy. Let me begin.The Good
Last Saturday, the Ides of March, was our 5th anniversary. Ordinarily that would be a day of celebration for any couple. Yet for us, it was especially poignant as finally it was an anniversary where my AdoringHusband was sober, employed commensurate with his education and abilities, living at home, and being an amazing partner and husband. In short, my husband had truly come into his manhood.
We celebrated the evening in the city with dinner and an attempt at bowling at the upscale Lucky Strikes Lanes. Unfortunately since that Saturday evening was the same night that most people were celebrating St. Patty’s day, we weren’t able to actually bowl, but we did get to have some kick-ass martinis.
His anniversary gift to me arrived early this week. He came into the house with a box the size of a bowling ball. I put on my game face since I have trouble accepting presents. Inside the big box was a lot of glittery paper. But taped to the bottom was a small red box. I was a little puzzled since the 5 year anniversary is wood or silverware. Neither seemed right for the little red box. I opened it. And there was a beautiful diamond and sapphire eternity band!
Here it is below my engagement and wedding rings:
The Bad
The bad part was my reaction to this lovely gift. First, I was stunned. I simply lost the power of speech completely. I just kept looking at him as if he had lost his mind. And then when I had regained my words, I began sputtering a lot of crap that sounded like something other than gratitude.
Oh, you shouldn’t have gotten me something so expensive!
This is too much!
I thought we were just getting each other little things!
My god, a ring?!
Finally he was like, “Don’t you like it?”
And I’m like, “Yes, it’s beautiful, but its too expensive.”
Then he’s like, “It’s my money and I can decide what I want to spend it on!”
Somewhere a message from the sane part of my brain starts to come in. He’s right. Why I am tripping? And why have I forgotten the manners my mother raised me with?
“Thank you, baby,” I say, hugging him. “It’s wonderful.”
The Crazy
And then the crazy began. Because even though I tried to be OK with having the ring, internally I was still tripping.
I’ll bet he thinks that since he bought me this ring, I’ll stop nagging him about cleaning up around the house. He got me this great gift…how am I ever going to find something that will be as good for him? He only got me the ring so that he could tell other people that he bought his wife an expensive ring.
Luckily it was only 2 days before I had my therapy appointment. When I vented all the crazy to Jeannette, the first thing she said was, “Boy, we’ve got a lot to work on here!” Yeah, I kinda had that coming.
I tried to explain how uncomfortable I felt accepting such