Everybody And Their Mother
Growing up, Mother’s Day was not my favorite holiday. It probably had something to do with the fact that I wasn’t a mother. However, holidays in our house — unless they were for me — weren’t a huge deal. My parents didn’t require being showered in presents and specially planned events just because it was “X” Day. Mother’s Day used to be a day with obligatory mushy acts of affection, and since my mom never made a big deal of it, my dad and I didn’t either. Don’t get me wrong — we appreciated her all other days of the year anyway (though she probably didn’t always feel like we did), so Mother’s Day was just another Hallmark event.
After 28 years of saying “Happy Mother’s Day” to my mom and grandmas, I finally got to receive the sentiments and let me tell you, I am totally on board with Mother’s Day now! What a treat! I’ve loved being a mom for 279 days from the night Madelyn was born through May 13th, but I really loved being a mom on Mother’s Day! It really feels great to be appreciated and I didn’t have to wash one bottle that day! Score!
I woke up to cards from my favorite household loved ones. Interestingly, Princeton, Madelyn, and Bryan all have the same handwriting. Hmmm…
Hallmark owns my dining room table.
Good morning giggles with my love bug!
Princeton's card says "I RUFF YOU." I'm glad he and I have the same sense of humor.
Madelyn calls "Take backs!" on the card she got me! Rude!
Bryan also managed to surprise me with a gift. A lot of my mama friends were asking for diamonds. I like myself a carat or two as well, but Bryan also knows his wife well, and when mommy is stressed, everybody is stressed. So lucky me got a gift card to my favorite day spa! Facial, massage, and pedi here I come! Wheeee!!!!
Madelyn tries to torture me so she can steal my gift card. Who does this kid think she is?!
Smiling with my children, Baby Human and Baby Spa Gift Card.
It was nice to spend the morning with Madelyn and play together. I think she knew that Mother’s Day meant she had to spoil me; she was on perfect behavior, giggled like crazy, and went down for her nap like she was an Olympian napper with endorsements from Serta.
We knew we wanted to spend the chunk of the day with our own moms, too, so we planned to have everyone over at our community pool for lunch, chit-chat, and play time with everyone’s favorite baby. We exchanged cards and simple, kind gifts. And Madelyn gave her grandmas and her Gigi a card with handprints that she made in our Mommy & Me class. I can’t wait until she’s a little older and she comes home with handmade presents for me. I think I will wear them and hang them proudly!
Eating and talking. And probably both at the same time too.
Grandma holds up Maddie's prints -- almost as valuable as diamonds. Almost.
Madelyn the pop star riffs freestyle because that's just the kind of soul sista she is. Mmmmm hmmmmmmmmm
Mother's Day ROCKS! Next year, I'm totally buying my mom a private jet to Tahiti and getting Ryan Gosling to sign her bra.
Madelyn in a sea of her own DNA.
Madelyn flashes her gang signs in broad daylight for the camera.
Four generations, holy cow!
The original Mama Friedman with her two babies.
Don't worry, Ma. I totally get Mother's Day now. We are going big from now on!
It truly was a lovely day! Our time at the pool flew by, which is easy when you’re noshing on summer fruits and gushing over a baby. And to the HOA Gestapo who tried to tell us that pets are not allowed in the pool area, I say, “What pet?! It’s Mother’s Day and Princeton is my child!”
Is She Baby Enough?
Does she sleep through the night? Does she crawl? Is she walking? Can she say her name? Did she get early acceptance to Harvard Medical School? And how does she measure up and compare to other babies who are just trying to be… babies?
Labeling babies as if there’s a Baby Olympics where the competition is stiff and then broadcasting it to other babies out there would be absurd. And yet, that’s exactly what TIME magazine did with their cover story about moms and the choices they make for their babies. The cover shows a mom awkwardly breastfeeding her preschool-age son with a hand on her hip as he stands on a chair (yeah, because THAT’S how moms breastfeed their children all the time…), creating a platform for moms to judge other moms and in my opinion, that is mean. And stupid. The mom chose to breastfeed her baby beyond a year. So what? Who cares?
I read the article. I read the follow-up responses. I took the quizzes. Apparently, I am not mom enough. According to the quiz results, I do not subscribe to the methods that Dr. Sears prescribes. And, because I do not sleep with my baby or breastfeed her, I am not an attached parent. So if I don’t subscribe to attachment parenting as a whole, then does that make me a mom who is detached?
Newsflash: I really like my baby. In fact, I love her. Actually, every choice I make is with her in mind. I am extremely attached to her. Even more so, I am attuned to her needs and respond to them in a manner that suits our family unit.
What the many articles and the Dr. Sears studies don’t mention are the many obstacles, usually unexpected, that moms and families as a whole, experience that could drive lifestyle preferences a certain way. I had every intent to breast feed my baby. I never gave myself a time limit. I assumed at least six months. Hell, I’d try to make it to a year. I didn’t expect to go longer because I knew I’d want my body back and that my baby would receive nutrition from her advanced foods. And that was my personal choice. As we all know by now, I made it two weeks. A week of breastfeeding and a week of pumping gave Madelyn about three weeks of breast milk. I fell about 21 weeks shy of meeting a benchmark I had for myself and am still mourning that lost experience due to the complications after my c-section. Dr. Sears would say I am not an attached parent. Laughable.
I should make sure it’s known that I don’t take a side on “attachment” parenting or not. I just think parenting, period, is important and necessary.
It’s no secret that breast is best. But things happen. Life plays tricks on you (or, you are just unlucky enough to get an on-call doctor who couldn’t care less about you when you explain you are in pain, which results in a horrible infection). Moms who don’t breastfeed aren’t shrugging their shoulders and shaking their heads as if to say “Nah. I’d prefer to give my child what’s second best.” We make choices. And sometimes decisions are made for us. Novel idea: how about we moms just give our children OUR best and stop putting so much pressure on everyone else?
The controversy about the article is really just annoying. Why breastfeeding has to be a controversy at all is beyond me. We are mammals. Yes, breasts are sometimes utilized during sexy time — wooo! — but their primary purpose is to nourish our children. As humans, we have the ability to make choices (or, in my case, not) and some choose to feed their children with a bottle with breast milk or formula, and some choose to feed their children straight from the tap with the breast. Other mammals do not have these choices, but no one questions a baby elephant in the wild who nurses until he’s about three to four years old. Likewise, I believe a breastfeeding mother shouldn’t judge and label a mom who’s nourishing her baby with formula.
Would I nurse my baby until she’s three to four years old? H. E. Double hockey sticks!! I love my baby, but I’d want my body back! But do I care if other moms do? Absolutely not.
So why the Good Mom vs. Bad Mom rivalry? Why the labels? Why does one side have to be right? And who can really be on one side anyway? I imagine, like the way most people identify with politics, parenting styles rarely fall in line with one single perspective. A little bit of this. A little bit of that. A pinch of this. A sprinkle of that. Why can’t moms learn from other moms, see what works, and practice what makes sense to them individually? That would seem like a perfect blend of methods and choices that work for the child-parent relationship.
By labeling and categorizing types of parenting in the spotlight like TIME did, we are putting a stigma on the methods we do or don’t agree with. This creates tension and polarizing differences between groups of moms if we don’t accept other moms’ practices. And don’t we want to raise little humans who are tolerant and accepting of others who are different than them? Is this really what we want to model?
Choosing only one camp and living exclusively by its set of bylaws seems to actually promote ignoring the baby’s needs for the sake of being loyal to a labeled lifestyle. There are aspects of attachment parenting I practice that I didn’t even know fell into the attachment circle of the Venn diagram. Reversely, Bryan and I parent in ways that would not be considered attachment parenting. But until I was aware that there was this war on moms — by moms! –, I always just thought instincts led parents to raising happy, healthy, and balanced children. I’d say we don’t use any specific method. Just our instincts.
TIME magazine played dirty. They took breastfeeding and made it into a topic that requires campaigning one way or another. It should be a non issue. Instead of educating people about available methods of parenting, TIME divided varying styles of motherhood, pinning moms against each other. Being a female is hard enough already. Didn’t we leave middle school behind us ages ago? Why is there a need to good cop/bad cop moms? It was sensational “journalism” to make something that’s natural and thousands of years old like breastfeeding “news.” The cover photo was a cheap shot to sell magazines in a world where print media is dying. Publishing a cover with a breast should not be the ticket to selling units. It makes me sad that a breast is sexualized so much that it’s a scandal and the talk of the town just because it appeared on the front of a magazine. If our elephant friend had been on the cover suckling on his mom, would we even be having this discussion? I’m sorry that print media is suffering but not at the cost of labeling moms and how they do the hardest jobs in the world.
I may be a rookie at this mom gig, but I haven’t met another woman who has said that being a mother is a piece of cake. I also believe that dads don’t have it so easy either. Parenting is hard work. Making, growing, and raising a human is the hardest job anyone could have, but its blissful moments and heartwarming experiences are better than any other million-dollar pay out could be. We are rich for being moms. And dads. And I don’t care how you do it and the media shouldn’t care how I do it. I am very attached to Madelyn and simply by being her mother and her being my daughter, we share a life-long bond that will always be strong.
The best thing you can do for your children is to love them and guide them to be independent, responsible human beings. Unfortunately the judging won’t stop. You will see it through all of her school years. But, you are a great mom and Madelyn will know that. She is a doll baby. Follow your heart and trash the crap you hear!
Thank you!!! Thank you for saying what so many of us have been thinking, and quite eloquently at that! Time’s article is absurd because it’s purpose was to cause controversy. I haven’t been able to read the entire thing, but based on the cover photo and what I’ve read about it, I can say with certainty that it is incredibly unfair. The last thing we need to do as mothers is fight against one another, take sides, point fingers and judge. Ugh. Parenting is hard and we need to encourage one another!
And I’m disgusted by how they chose to portray breastfeeding. I can’t help but wonder how ruined that poor boy’s life is going to be. How embarassing that photo will be for him as a teenager…
Well said.
Eff Dr. Sears.
Nine Months!
Today marks nine months of Madelyn! Starting tomorrow, she will have been out and in our lives longer than in and part of our dreams. Those nine months of pregnancy were (mostly) magical, but these nine months of babyhood have been extremely eye opening and adventurous!
Good morning, America!
I was looking at old videos from the pregnancy before Maddie was born and I stumbled across a very nervous Alison at an ungodly early hour before taking off for the hospital. I listen to this Alison and this Bryan and I barely know them. Ah, how young and ignorant they are! They think they’re going to a hospital to entice a baby to slide out and then go back home 48 hours later and enjoy the pristine nursery in all its pre-Madelyn glory. I find myself laughing at those two people and yelling at the computer: Oh, you guys! You’re going to wait like ALL day for a baby to come and then she won’t and then there’s going to be a dramatic surgery and then you’re not coming home for FOUR days and then when you do, Alison will be worthless while she recovers from an infection and Bryan will have to do ALL the work and by the way, the nursery will never stay clean because when she’s nine months old, Madelyn will crawl everywhere and untidy up all the decor like the dolls and pillows and books by pulling them down so they’re strewn across the carpet and you’ll never have time to clean up after her because you’re too busy running after her. OH YOU GUYS!
That’s what I would say to those two strangers.
So, there we have it. Nine months have gone by and we have a kid who, according to her check up today, weighs 17 pounds and ten ounces, is 28 inches long, and has a head that’s 17.3 inches around. She got a shot (boo!) and was cleared to start drinking
less expensivenormal formula (yay!). The doc was super impressed with all of her tricks and she’s on target, if not early, with all of her developmental milestones! Proud parents! Swoon!This month, Madelyn…
As always, our greatest joy is watching Madelyn grow and explore. She’s working so hard and practicing all her new skills. She’s on her way to a perfect 10… months. Happy nine months, love bug!
Dear Sweet Madelyn!
Happy 9 Months! You are so funny and fun to be around. I just love watching you blossom and thrive like a beautiful flower. I wonder what you’re thinking in that curious, smart & adorable head of yours and am amazed how you size people up with those gorgeous big brown saucer size long lashed eyes.
You make me smile!
My leg and thigh muscles have gotten used to sitting & crawling around on the floor with you & my arms are stronger from lifting & holding you—I definitely burn more calories when we play together, so thanks for that!
Love you~~ Mimi
The Good Ol’ Days
Have you seen the movie “New Year’s Eve?” The one with basically every actor that ever happened who all play characters that are somehow and ridiculously connected and all end up solving their problems to try to make New Year’s Eve the best night, like, ever? It’s a very mediocre movie. Another incarnation of “Valentine’s Day” which had the same tricks up its sleeves (ride that pony, Garry Marshall!). And, really, neither of them come close to my all-time favorite that mastered this concept, “Love Actually.” They’re dumb and predictable movies, but totally satisfy a date night and a need to consume a bucket of popcorn. Okay, so back to “New Year’s Eve.” It’s not that good.
I cried. Big tears. Warm fuzzies.
We watched it at home this past weekend. We were comfy in our PJs, dirty dinner plates still on the coffee table, feet up, Madelyn long asleep in her crib, and there’s a scene with a couple (in what universe would Seth Meyers score Jessica Biel for a wife?) who just have a baby (I promise I’m not giving anything amazing away). So there’s Seth and Jessica, holding their brand new and very perfect looking baby all wrapped up in that famous hospital blanket — you know, the flannel one with the blue and magenta stripes on the ends — and that’s basically the whole scene.
Yes, I cried. I don’t think Bryan noticed. He was probably too busy trying to calculate Seth’s algorithm for locking in such a hot wife from another league and solving for X (Answer: X = out-of-touch casting directors). But there I sat in the corner on my side of the couch and I had to pretend I had to sneeze so that my watery eyes and flushed nose wouldn’t give me away. You know, FOR CRYING DURING “NEW YEAR’S EVE.”
This kind of bothered me. This wasn’t “Schindler’s List.” This was a seasonal rom-com that featured a not-as-cute-anymore, teenage Abigail Breslin and served as a platform to give Lea Michele an opportunity to sing in a film.
Then it dawned on me. The scene with Jessica Biel holding her hours-old baby (who’s actually probably three months in real life) made me really nostalgic for a time in our lives that was only a blink-of-an-eye ago, and so, so significant. Our time in the hospital with Madelyn was extremely sacred and special. Sure, maybe it was the gallons of drugs pumping through my body — and clearly, my brain — but those two days that turned into four while we were in the hospital were days that I — we — experienced the purest form of love and support from each other, strangers (like the hospital staff), and our families (like our parents).
It blows my mind that we went into the hospital as a clueless young couple in our late 20s and in one moment, suddenly there was a baby. No, I didn’t forget that there was a fourteen hour labor and the sudden change of plans to have a c-section and the prep and process to get me settled into the O.R. But just like anything — you take one step to go from inside to outside; you take one bite to go from famished to satisfied; you take one kiss to go from single to married — you go from one thing to something else. A physical metamorphosis, if you will. Sorry for the graphic-ness, but this is how we welcomed our daughter into the world, it took one slice to meet our baby. One moment she was inside me. Another moment, we were breathing the same sterile hospital air.
Moments after that, she was in my arms.
And many moments after that, she was wrapped in that same hospital blanket that the “New Year’s Eve” baby adorned as Jessica and Seth’s new kid on the block.
That blanket symbolizes newbornhood to me. The moment everything changed for us. I see friends become new parents on Facebook — because isn’t that how we all know what’s going on? — and people I haven’t even spoken to since high school; friends of friends from college — and that same blanket makes an appearance and my heart flutters as I long for that same wonder and awe that a new baby brings. I’m jealous that they’re experiencing that same newness and excitement that we enjoyed. I’m happy for them. Friends, strangers, whoever is reading this: embrace this hospital time. I know, I know, Madelyn is not about to get her driver license any day now. The girl just learned how to stand up. But, as gradual as babyhood into toddlerhood is and teenhood into adulthood as I remember, there’s nothing like the first few days of a baby’s life when it seems like life begins — again — for everyone.
I miss our days in the hospital. It’s crazy to even utter — or write — that I enjoyed our time with the beeps and the pulses and the wires and the pain and the interruptions. Bryan and I were treated with the same fragility as our newborn Madelyn. The nurses were patient, tender, and kind. Our families were full of emotion and pride. Our nooks on the Internet poured the love like we never could have imagined. And, the best, Bryan and I were both so new to the same thing and learned together what it felt like to be parents and mutually love our baby, crossing over together from one moment to the next.
Every day with Madelyn gets better and better. Yesterday I thought that I could love her no more than I did, and then today comes and my assumption is ruined and I’m proven wrong. And the nerve she has to get cuter and cuter — my eyes can’t handle such a feast! And that brain that grows as she learns and becomes smarter — I love watching her discover everything new. I can’t even fathom what tomorrow will be like. And don’t get me started on what may be in store next year at this time. My mind can only handle so much explosive love for this kid.
But I’ll always have a special place in my heart and fond memories of those four days in the hospital when the three of us were tucked inside a comfortable and snuggly cocoon with no distractions, and love that poured from every angle. It was kind of like the way we feel when it’s 12:01 a.m. on January 1st and we just had a kiss and Champagne and the rest of the year is ours to own. A new beginning.
Like one that the white flannel blanket with the blue and magenta stripes knows.
The Name Game
Before we knew what we were having — other than a, you know, baby — I thought “oh my goodness! What if I have to have a c-section (I did) and I have a hard time recovering (I did) and I have to plan a bris for a boy? (I didn’t.).” At around 20 weeks, when we saw the ultrasound that showcased a hamburger and not a hot dog, I admit I let out a sigh of relief that I would not have to have a mohel on standby or put in a deli platter order at Brent’s seven days after I/Dr. Fiiiiine delivered a baby. Instead, Bryan and I knew right away that we would love to honor our baby girl with a naming ceremony.
Shortly after, we joined a reform temple in town and fell in love with the musical influences that reminded us of our Sunday school experiences and my summers away at camp. It was important to us that we raise our kids with a Jewish identity. We are not planning to force feed the Torah down our kids’ throats, but we thought giving them the foundation and allowing them to choose how they celebrate would be a good idea, especially since we took it upon ourselves as young ones to bring our Jewish heritage to our lives. Of course it’s only fitting that the only two pre-teens I know who actually ASK their parents to go to Hebrew school would marry each other. That’s us!
So instead of going to sleep at 6:30 p.m., Madelyn got gussied up and we did our best to keep her awake and seemingly pleasant way past her bed time for her March 30th baby naming ceremony. It was a wonderful and special evening. Our closest family and friends schlepped and gathered on a Friday night for Shabbat services with the rest of the congregation. Midway through the service, Rabbi Riter called us to the bimah and blessed us as parents and blessed our daughter as a newcomer to the Jewish people. We then said some words about Madelyn and her namesake and shared why we adore her so and how her name has so much meaning.
Up on the bimah with Rabbi Riter and Cantor Shukiar. When I was younger, I thought the bimah was for performing tap dances.
Madelyn's thinking, "In 12.5 years, that Torah is ALLL MIIIINE."
Madelyn’s Hebrew name is Shana Meira (Shay-nuh May-eer-uh) which means Beautiful Light. The Meira is the feminine translation of Meir, which is Hebrew for the name Robert. Robert was Bryan’s maternal grandfather and the only grandfather he knew. He had a wonderful relationship with him that revolved around jokes, food, and their beloved boys in blue, the Dodgers. Bryan remembers enjoying the company of his grandpa Bobby for as long as he could remember, and continues to miss him since he passed away in 2005, shortly after Bryan and I met. I only got to meet Grandpa Bobby just once when we visited Bryan’s grandparents in Las Vegas a few months after we started dating. I, too, remember him as a very kind and warm person. I’m looking for pictures to share of our visit with them, but unfortunately, I don’t think I took any, which is a rare and bad move on my part.
Shana is also Madelyn’s middle name, but we incorporated it into her Hebrew name as well. The “S” in Shana is for my dad’s father, Sidney, who passed away when I was a senior in high school. It’s difficult to admit, but I realized in the past few years that I was starting to forget him. The many photos of us help to freeze him in time, but his voice, his funny antics — I know they happened — but they can’t really find a place in my current mind. That makes me mad because, really, at 17, I was old enough when he left us that I should have these memories going strong and I don’t, but it’s also somewhat comforting to know that his memory lives in Madelyn’s name. I do, remember, though, that my Poppa Sid and my Granny, who is still alive and going struh-ooooong, used to call me their Shana Maidela (Shay-nuh May-duh-luh) when I was little, which means “beautiful girl.” So now, Shana also describes Madelyn, and, oh look, Maidela kind of sounds like Madelyn. We didn’t really do this on purpose, but when Bryan and I were solidifying our daughter’s name and then her Hebrew name, we saw this link and knew it was meant to be, b’shert.
I love that two men, Sid and Bobby, who never knew each other or the fact that their granddaughter and grandson got married to each other, are linked in their great-granddaughter’s name and the legacy she’s beginning for her own future and the generations that come from it.
But then also the meaning of Shana Meira is so delightful. She’s our beautiful light, literally. Blame the mommy goggles, but this girl blows me away with her beautiful long eyelashes, her rosebud lips, her silky skin, her deep and cavernous eyes, her silly putty cheeks, and her delicate fingers that tug at my heart all day long. And she is the light of our lives. Bryan and I feel more in love than ever and we know it’s because of Madelyn and the light she brings to our marriage and our home. And when I think of light, I think of brightness, and anyone who ever meets and falls in love with Madelyn always comments on her bright eyes that are so aware and thirsty to see everything around her.
After the naming ceremony, Shabbat services finished up and a lovely oneg with refreshments and mingling followed. Whenever there are big parties for special occasions, it always seems impossible to really chat with everyone at length (ahem!wedding!ahem!) and I wish I could have slowed down the minutes of the evening so I could have spent more time with some of Madelyn’s biggest fans! I realized now that Bryan and I didn’t even get a family photo of us with our mini guest of honor. Re-do please?
Madelyn's cake!!!! that.she.can't.eat.
Madelyn yawns through the oneg. It may be all about her, but we're ignoring her needs! Oops.
Madelyn always loves hanging out with her Auntie Phis! Tonight: Naming Ceremony. In 18 years: Pinning Ceremony!
Uncle Brian holds Madelyn, who is hanging on for dear awake.
You know you're an aunt when: you hold your wailing niece and you still enjoy it.
A quick smile for Grandma and Mimi and then it's lights out, people!
By the late hour of the oneg, Madelyn was turning into our little baby zombie. She was just oh-so tired, but did a great job during the service. Perhaps it was the constant milk, Mum Mums, and walks around the sanctuary that helped keep her content.
It was special evening that we’ll always remember. We are so glad that we worked with our amazing Rabbi Riter and Cantor Shukiar to learn about how to choose a Hebrew name for our daughter that would provide depth and meaning for her parents and grandparents, salute her ancestors, and build a foundation for her future descendants.