Mama's Couch

There is a therapist in every great mama and a mama in every great therapist.

The birth of my third son brought with it the rebirth of my desire to do therapy. That's not to say the desire hasn't always been there, because it surely has but sometimes it rises to the surface more intensely, much like the baby bug. For as long as I've known myself I've known my longing to be a mother. Although my desire to be a therapist is slightly younger it has also been with me for the better part of my thirty one years.  I can't think of a time in my life when someone has asked me if I wanted to have a child or another child and my answer has been "no."  In fact I'm sure that has never been my answer.  My husband often worries it never will be my answer.  The same is true with therapy.  I get asked from time to time if I want to be doing therapy again or if I miss having a private practice.  The answer is always "yes" at some level I always want to be practicing therapy, the intensity of the desire ebbs and flows but it is always, always there.  

This season of three little ones four and under is one of sweetness and chaos and one in which I have chosen not to re-open a private practice or do any type of formal work outside of the home.  However, my therapist brain is one I delight in and certainly a part of me that is very much alive and longing to be nurtured.  I get such satisfaction out of slowing down and really thinking through things from a psychological perspective.  I love it when a friend calls and asks me to "put on my therapy hat" or I read something online that stirs the therapist within me.  So I decided in this beautiful (and sometimes crazy) age of blogging that if cooks can post about whats going on in their kitchen, designers can post their new designs and crafters can post about their crafts... I can post about my couch.

The couch is so often a symbol of the introspective world of psychology and mine holds an extra dose of symbolism for me.  The very couch that once sat in my office as a resting place for the many lovable souls that trusted me and poured themselves out in order to be healed has now become the landing pad for goldfish, spit up and the bare bouncing feet that belong to my boys.  I can't think of any better illustration of myself and the shift my life has made in recent years.  The couch and I are both still here, steadfast, messy and happy as we nurture the wild ones and also very much aware that there is a whole different type of support we thrive by offering.

So come on over, feel free to stretch out and close your eyes or bounce from cushion to cushion in delight...all are welcome on Mama's Couch.




Let me introduce myself

I've been blogging for five years now in the private realm and will continue to do so both for the privacy of my boys and because the whole world doesn't want to read a post about the baby's four month well visit.  I need those kinds of things recorded somewhere but I'm well aware that the only people who care that the baby is in the 50% for weight and the 75th for height are the closest of blood relatives...and that might be stretching it.  However, on occasion I've posted something on my private blog that tells the story of who I am in a way I couldn't if I just introduced myself in a paragraph or two.  Some of those posts are included below so if you are curious about who this mama with a couch is get to scrollin'...

On Three

I get the questions all the time:

"What's it like having three?"

"What's it like having three so close together?"

"What's it like having three BOYS so close together?"

I'll start by free associating all the words that come to mind when I'm asked these questions:

wonderful, busy, fun, crazy, normal, hilarious, messy, hectic, loud, full, happy, great, wild, worry, entertaining, constant, right, and good.

Really, that sums it all up pretty well and you probably don't even need the details but I'm going to ramble a bit for my own memory's sake.

I really, really, really love this stage of life.  I love having the boys this close together and I wouldn't do it any other way.  I love how they adore their "baby."  I love that they have each other and I love feeling surrounded by little ones.  I'm pretty sure I smile every time I glance in the rear view mirror and see that almost every seat is full.  This is the life I dreamed of, I'm so thankful to have a house (not quite) full of children.  This is my dream, I'm living it.

That doesn't mean there isn't a large dose of chaos that comes with every day.  Nearly every time I nurse Sam I have one or both of the "big" boys sitting with me as well.  Which would be sweet if they actually sat.  However, what they do is bounce and jump and climb: on me, on the chair, off of the chair, back on the chair, on my shoulders, onto the baby etc etc.  If Sam isn't sleeping or perched on the highest counter in our house he has boys in his face, making him smile, pulling his toes, feeding him goldfish and generally overstimulating him.  He is bound to be a very patient man.  If Charlie isn't on me he is on a counter or the dining room table.  If Jack isn't leaping from the chair where I nurse onto the couch and back again he is finding some way to pester Charlie or "be like curious george" (who I'm beginning to think is evil).

I worry less and more with three.  I don't have time to let every tiny fear creep up like I did when I just had Jack, I can't micromanage anyone's world and for me (and them) that is a GOOD thing.  I would not be a good parent to just one child.  My temperament bends toward over involved and it is good for me to be so busy I can't obsess about the details.  I do however find myself worrying about the same things over and over again.  Right now my main worry is their roles (again, it is a blessing and a curse to be a therapist).  I worry about the "middle child" thing for my sweet C.  It is true that he is either being hauled around to Jack's swim lesson or Jack's summer camp or being trapped somewhere so I can tend to Sam without worrying about him hurting himself.  He is, for now, very much stuck in the middle and it can be hard.  Troy reminds me that this is temporary for Charlie, he has an older brother that can do much more than him and a younger brother that is completely helpless and that won't be the case for long.  Soon he will have his pick of playmates in our house and his middle man status might just be the most desirable one.  So when I'm not worrying about Charlie's role I'm worrying about Jack.  Having just turned four and already being the older brother of two is quite a lot for his age.  When the chaos sets in and everyone is screaming the easiest one for me to correct, or banish to another room, or attempt to control is Jack.  I get afraid that we are too hard on him or that our expectations of him are too high or that we take out the tension we feel when the little two are screaming on him.  Being the oldest myself, I think I'll always have a tender spot in my heart for him.  So when I'm not worried about my middle man or my parentafied eldest son I'm worrying that the baby doesn't get enough eye contact or stimulation or physical touch.  He certainly spends more time sleeping or more time in a car seat than his brothers did at his age and I often feel a tug at my heart when I'm putting him down because I'd love to hold him and just delight in his littleness all day long.  It is an amazing and overwhelming thing to love people so much and I have to make a conscious effort to remind myself to "do my best, reflect on my successes as well as my mistakes, make changes, and let it go!"

My face is still red

Yesterday the boys and I attended our regular story time at the library activity. Mrs. Val, the sweet 70ish year old librarian, leads the children in all sorts of songs, stories and crafts. It is a fabulous, free activity for us and I've been especially enjoying it lately because I can see the skills Jack is learning in preschool first hand. Anyway, yesterday Mrs. Val read Five Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed. The version in this particular book concludes with the Mama jumping on the bed after she has gotten all of her monkeys to sleep. Jack, who is never at a loss for comments, wanted to talk to Mrs. Val about why the Mama was jumping since that isn't the typical ending to the song we sing.

So, sweet Mrs. Val says: "Do you think your mama jumps on the bed after you go to sleep?"

To which Jack responds: "No, she just wrestles with Daddy."

My face turns pink while I'm quickly trying to convince myself that nobody else is going to go where my mind immediately goes after all these years living with Troy. Before I can feel any sort of false hope another mom quickly chimes in with:

"Well that explains three children in less than four years."

and that, my friends, is why my face has yet to return to it's typical shade of pale.

Gender?

Something that comes with the territory when you have 2 boys (or 2 girls, I imagine) is an especially intense interest in the gender of baby #3. Along with that interest comes lots of questions from both friends and strangers usually fired in rapid sequence such as...

1. Do you think it is a boy or a girl?
2. What does Troy think?
3. Has this pregnancy been different?
4. What in the world are you going to do if you have 3 boys?
5. Oh my gosh would you just die if you found out you were having a girl?
6. When do you find out the gender? Can't you find out earlier than that?
7. Why don't you take one of those intelligender tests from Walgreen's?
8. If you have a girl are you done having babies?
9. If you have a boy will you have more babies?

As well as some very confident proclamations:

"You are so having all boys!!" (only said by moms of girls)

"This baby is a girl, I just know it. She is going to have two big protective brothers and Troy is going to melt."

etc..etc..

So, to humor you (and myself) here are my answers:

1. I think it is a boy or a girl. If you twisted my arm and really pressed me for a guess I'd guess "boy." I'm honestly working really, really hard at just keeping an open mind. I do NOT sit in the unknown very well and I like to think my all powerful maternal instincts will lead me definitively in the right direction regarding the gender of my babies (and your babies, too). This combo usually causes me to draw a very firm conclusion about the gender of our child by around 6 weeks gestation. That process is fine when I'm right but, as I'm sure my loyal blog readers recall, my powerful maternal instinct has only been right 50% of the time. So this go round I'm protecting my heart and my ego from any firm guesses. That is not to say I'm successfully blocking out all wondering about the gender of this little one, I assure you the gender question runs through my mind every hour, I'm just not allowing myself to nurture thoughts of three story bunk beds or bishop dresses if you know what I mean : )
2. Troy thinks it is a girl "because a girl would be most disruptive to the family and so it just makes sense we would have one." It is also worth mentioning that Troy wore a pink shirt to Jack's ultrasound and was equally sure Charlie was a girl.
3. This pregnancy is different than both of my pregnancies so that doesn't really tell us anything. Embryo Jack and Embryo Charlie were strikingly different little creatures with the same gender so I don't buy into that thing. (at least not anymore)
4. If I have 3 boys I will delight in my little brood and think of all the fun things that come along with a band of brothers. I think I will also invest in something really girly and get regular pedicures just to assert my femininity a little. Honestly, there is something about this baby being so close to Charlie's age that makes the whole boy thing sound pretty fun.
5. I would not die if we found out we were having a girl. I probably would cry. I would also firmly request, beg, and/or throw money at anyone who would show me a 4D shot of her bottom because I think I'd be pretty hard to convince. Troy keeps asking me how much money I'm going to spend at Tiny Town if we find out this baby is a girl and I keep telling him he needs to worry more about how many ultrasounds I'm going to require us to pay for before I really believe there is a pink wearing type in my belly.
6. There is a 5 week span in which we can find out the gender. Not exactly sure what route we will take...would it be fun to find out the gender early? YES. would it be awful if they were wrong? YES.
7. I think the intelligender tests are about as accurate as my maternal instincts have been so no since in wasting 30 bucks.
8. I certainly hope not.
9. I certainly hope so.

In a perfect world I think everyone would get to experience the joy of raising both boys and girls. Far more importantly, in a perfect world all of the TRUE heartache that can accompany trying to have children would be wiped away. The preference of gender feels so minor, petty, and even selfish when I think of my many dear friends who have struggled to have children at all. If we never have a daughter I will certainly always wish that we did, I think I'd feel the same way if we never had a son. However, all of those feelings are nothing compared to thetremendous thankfulness we feel that the privilege of having children has been given to us so freely and easily. We know we aren't deserving of any of our precious children. There is nothing in our lives for which we are more grateful. Any child of either gender will bless us beyond measure and within seconds of meeting them we will want them to be exactly who they are forever.

Of course I still think the guessing game is really fun so I've put a poll to the right. : ) I'd love for you to play even though your guesses are on the list with my instincts and the intelligendertest.

All before 8am

6:30 - wake to the startling sound of Charlie's shrill cries. Leap from the bed quickly (too quickly) to get him because he never wakes up that way.

6:31 - scurry past Jack's room where he begins screaming "MAMA helllllpppppp meeeee" Realize as I'm scurrying that I feel as if I could vomit.

6:32 - try to comfort still screaming Charlie while opening the door to investigate Jack's screams.

6:33 - Troy comes in trying to help. Both boys ONLY WANT MAMA. Mama is trying not to vomit.

6:34 - Usher the screaming people downstairs.

6:35 - Change Charlie's diaper, discover angry looking rash, attempt to push through his screams,tears and surprisingly powerful turns to finish up the diaper change while feeling very sad for him. Meanwhile Jack stands next to me saying "Charlie doesn't like that! Mama, Charlie doesn't like that! MAMA CHARLIE DOESN'T LIKE THAT!!!" followed by "where is my gray racing car? could you find it for me? find it for me please. find it for me now please. Charlie REALLY doesn't like that. Where is my racing car Mama? Mama I need you to find it right now!"

6:36 - Troy turns on The Incredibles to distract Jack, I fix Charlie a bottle.

6:45 - Charlie finishes his bottle and I try to lay on the couch for a minute to keep myself from hugging the toilet.

6:50 - Troy goes upstairs to shower

6:51 - Mama races to the bathroom and begins throwing up for the first of three times this morning.

6:55 - Jack enters the bathroom and says "Mama you are making really funny faces."

7am - Begin to worry about Charlie who is currently crawling freely through the house. Ask Jack to check on him.

7:01 - Vomit #2

7:02 - Jack returns and reports "He's fine, he is just eating a feast."

7:03- Pull myself off of the floor and race from the bathroom to see what exactly my 9 month old is feasting upon. Discover he has pulled a bag of cookies Jack took out of the pantry off of the side table, managed to open them and pour all of them into his lap. Laugh as he looks up at me with a cookie in each hand and one in his mouth...a feast indeed.

7:05 - Run back to the bathroom

7:15 - Realize I'm not going to get better until I eat something which, of course, is the very LAST thing I want to do. The only thing I can think of that sounds remotely decent is a glass of orange juice and a blueberry muffin, neither of which we have, of course.

7:20 - Decide it is worth it to drive to Starbucks around the corner to purchase said craved items. Troy and I load the kids up, he heads to work, we head to Starbucks.

7:25 - Discover Starbucks only carries bottled OJ for $3.45. Decide it is worth it to pay this insane price rather than lug both of the children into Winn Dixie across the street - oh and Jack is only wearing underpants and I'm missing an essential article of clothing myself so that helped eliminate that consideration.

7:28 - Pick up my juice and muffin and begrudgingly hand over the card to be swiped for $8+ dollars.

7:29 - Jack says he wants OJ too. I tell him I will share. He erupts into hysterics "I do not want to share with you! I want my OWN orange juice." Sorry buddy, only pregnant people get their own orange juice when it costs more than alcohol.

7:30 - Realize I'm not currently on the brink of vomiting and that both of my children are confined and somewhat entertained. Decide it might be worth killing some time driving to McDonald's to buy Jack a cheap orange juice if he can ask nicely. He complies.

7:40 - McDonald's is OUT of Orange Juice??? Jack hears the news over the drive thru speaker and erupts once again. I declare that we will pursue the juice further if he can ask nicely...again.

7:55 - Arrive at McDonald's across town, purchase orange juice, hand it to Jack who takes two sips and spills the rest all over himself.

Three kids? Bring it.

Potty Mouth

** warning **

you may not want to read this post if you would like to continue comfortably allowing your child to play with my child, especially under my supervision. if you continue to read please note that you may experience concern about my parenting, hesitations about exposing your children to Schwants, and a general sense of discomfort.

A few weeks ago on Troy's and my 4th anniversary Jack and I broke out the wedding videos. I thought it would be fun to see what he thought and I was (as I always am on Dec 10th) in a sentimental mood so it was a win-win. Jack LOVED the videos which made the whole thing even more exciting to me. We were totally into them, I was narrating all kinds of things, Jack was screaming every time he saw a loved one on tv, it was great...until the damn thing froze. Of course, I immediately said "damn it" and went about trying to clean my beloved dvd. I thought I had made some progress so I turned it on again, we got completely hooked once again and then...you guessed it, the damn thing froze. That's when Jack's new favorite phrase graced his beautiful, tiny, innocent little lips "DAMN IT!" he exclaimed. I erupted in laughter. (*moms-to-be now is the time to start taking notes). As I held back tears I looked up and saw a glimmer of delight in Jack's eyes that assured me I'd be hearing those words again.

Troy came home for lunch and the four of us went about trying to watch the dvd again. Once again, everyone was into it (except maybe troy, he gets all shy and queasy when we watch it) and the damn thing froze.

"DAMN IT" says Jack.

"HAAAAAAAA HAAAAAAAAA oh my gosh did you see him pump his fist and stomp his foot when he said that? HAAAAAAAAA i can't breathe" I say as I roll about on the floor.

"DAMN IT! DAMN IT! DAMN IT!" says Jack as he delights in my laughter.

"Erin this is going to bite you in the butt says Troy through stifled laughter. He is going to say that at play group or something and you aren't going to think it is funny."

I reply "Oh yes I will, they all know us and love us in spite of how crazy we are."

"I'm telling you it is not going to be funny" is Troy's final warning - delivered with a smirk.

Fast forward a few days to the holiday party at the watermelon patch. I'm there with both of the boys and a ton of other mamas and small children that we don't know. We were in the midst of making reindeer food, listening to happy little Christmas songs and talking about how Dasher needed a scoop of food, Donner needed a scoop of food etc etc. when Charlie started wailing. So I'm standing there bouncing the bjorn up and down trying to calm him while Jack is eating the raw oatmeal that was to be for Ruldpoh. I suppose Jack felt frustrated with Charlie for screaming or disappointed that in addition to the raw oats, he had eaten all of the cookies he was supposed to be glazing. Whatever the reason he got furious and stood up on the bench of the table where all of the sweet holiday clothed children were sitting and started screaming "DAMN IT" while stomping his foot over and over and over again.

So here I am bouncing up and down with Charlie, still strapped to me in the sling doing the frantic red faced breathless newborn scream and Jack pounding the table and cussing at the top of his lungs. To say that all eyes were on us is a bit of an understatement. I could almost hear the Christmas carols come to a shrieking halt, it felt like the whole room was silent with the exception of my LOUD child shouting profanity.

Knowing that it would be really hypocritical to immediately discipline him since I had laughed hysterically just days before I bent down and whispered in his ear

"Jack, that is a word you can say at home, you may not scream it here. If you need to say it you can either whisper it to me or you can wait until we get home, you pick."

Something about those new set of rules intrigued Jack and he resumed eating icing and dry oatmeal while occasionally cutting his eyes and whispering "damn it" to me.

"Great job buddy, I like how you listened to me" I say with pride.

As you can imagine Troy was thrilled with this story, the man loves to be proven right. I had to admit that I had not foreseen Jack screaming his phrase at a holiday party full of moms and children I didn't know. Pretty sure Troy put him up to it just to prove his point but truth be told I really did think it was hysterically funny so the slight embarrassment I felt was worth it.

For the next few days Jack occasionally just screamed "Damn It" and happily declared that he was at home. "I can say damn it! We are at Jack's house!"

It would be great if this were the end of the story but of course it isn't. Jack loves to come to the doctor with us when he gets lots of assurance that Charlie will be the one getting the shots and he will be the one getting a sucker (talk about the wrong end of the deal, poor C). So the three of us were at Charlie's two month check up when the next outburst occurred. We had been waiting TWO hours before we had even been called back to see the doctor. Two hours with two boys ages two years and two months has the very strong potential to be awful. However, against all odds, Jack was a SAINT in the Dr's office the entire time. He sat in the stroller for 2+ hours without so much as a request to get out. Even Charlie miraculously slept through the whole affair until he got weighed.

I was so pleased things were going so smoothly I said to Jack "buddy we've been waiting a long time and you've been so patient, I'm really proud of you."

To which he responded "WE'VE BEEN WAITING A LONG TIME DAMN IT!"

Pretty much the best use of the word in context I'd heard yet so of course, I laughed. HARD. I gathered my composure just in time to remind him that we say "damn it" at home or in "jack's car" (an amendment he added to our agreement, jack's car is our van btw, everything is jack's). Just as the nurse walked in to the tiny little exam room to get things started Jack said:

"Mama, I really want to say damn it right now!"

The nurse laughed out loud and then immediately looked at me in a panic and started apologizing for reinforcing his behavior. I of course told her that's how we got here in the fist place and she resumed her laughter guilt free.

Since then he has said it in perfect context on numerous occasions:

The waitress at Abba's (nice restaurant) asked him if he wanted some crayons. Of course he said yes. She came back later empty handed and said she was sorry they didn't have any crayons. "They don't have any crayons! Damn it!"

Amanda and her mom, Lynn, came to visit (post coming soon, i'm way behind) and Jack wanted to go with them back to their hotel but they didn't have a car seat in their car. I told him I was sorry he couldn't go but they didn't have a special seat for him.

"They don't have a special seat for me damn it!"

You get the idea. Does it trouble you that I still think this is hilarious and have made no real attempts to stop it? Words are only as powerful as we let them be and I'm letting these words give me some serious belly aching laughter!

Papa Bear

My beloved husband can in many ways be compared to a male grizzly when it comes to his fearless love for his family. I have no doubt he'd do a great job of protecting us if we were ever in danger, he is big, strong, brave and quick to defend his loved ones. With one hilarious exception. Animals...nearly all of them.

He'd never consider picking up a frog, he shrieks and jumps like a middle school girl when a minnow nibbles his toe and he seriously has to gear himself up for the petting zoo. Add that hilarious trait to the fact that I've had every type of animal you can imagine as a pet - flying squirrels, ducks, ferrets and guinea pigs, along with all of the more typical domestic pets and you have one really funny combo. All of this delights me, I can't tell you the number of times I have laughed to the point of tears at one of his encounters with the animal kind.

Being the selfless father that he is, Troy has attempted to warm up to zoos on behalf of our animal obsessed son. We have an annual membership to the local zoo and we've used it countless times, much to Troy's credit. He knows Jack loves it and so he goes but there are quite a few things that aren't easy for him about the trip.

Such as...this "trouble maker" who "tries to impose his will and shit" and is "all up in Troy's grill every time we go to the zoo." He gets "too personal if you aren't paying attention and would surely attack if the gate wasn't in place." "Oh and he brags too; look at me, I'm so tall, I'm the tallest goat out here." So yeah, they don't get along.

But Jack LOVES him and wants to feed him every time we go to the zoo. Troy grits and bears it with all sorts of fabulous comments and facial expressions.

Troy isn't a huge fan of the little guys either. He is always certain they are going to bite Jack's finger off.

Jack does like to stick his fingers in their mouths and inspect their teeth and tongues while shoving food down their throats. Troy finally couldn't take it anymore and taught him to throw the food at the animals.

Jack loved this new game so Troy was breathing easy and feeling pleased with the lesson he taught his son, "any time you can get a little throwing practice in you should take advantage of it, especially when it means avoiding animals."
Papa Bear even had a little bounce in his step which I've never seen at the zoo.

And then we ran into this guy.

and I thought my husband might need a change of pants.

It really took everything in him not to take off running through the tiny zoo leaving Jack and I to fend for ourselves. A useless pair we would have been too, i was in tears from laughing at troy and jack was saying "oh big cat! here kitty kitty. i love that lion!"

We left shortly thereafter and did not quickly hear the end of Troy's concerns about the tiny zoo, "that huge animal was behind a CHAIN LENGTH fence. A CHAIN LENGTH fence."

So we made it home safe and sound and Jack and I took naps while Troy regrouped from his traumatic encounter. When we woke up Troy decided he was going to take Jack swimming off the dock.

He got him all geared up...swim diaper, bathing suit, swim coat, crocs, sunscreen...the whole thing.

and the two of them set out ready to enjoy the beautiful afternoon.I was tagging along in shorts and a t-shirt planning to take some good pictures when I spotted these two fellows.who I foolishly pointed out to my husbandby the time I took my eyes off of the pretty rays this is what I saw:No amount of talking about how stingrays aren't aggressive and they wouldn't come near them because they'd be scared would do. He just kept on walking saying something about the crocodile hunter and "no way in hell..."

Should we meet

Reflections from a day of running errands with an angry infant

The following are based on actual experiences

If we should meet in a crowded store and my son looks something like this:

Please DON'T

• Stare at me as if you just can't imagine bringing a child out of the house in this state - trust me if this was at all foreseeable we wouldn't be here
• Look at me as if you just heard my dog died, I don't need your pity, I'm a mom and he is a baby, we do this.
• Ask me to hurry up and sign my name on the credit card machine - again, trust me I'm moving as fast as I can and you don't want that binkie to fall out any more than I do.
• Look at me as if I just committed a hate crime against the elderly when I leave my cart next to the three others in the empty parking place rather than returning it to its proper place across the parking lot while my screaming infant sits in the 100 degree car.
• Tell me you are happy to take him home with you if I don't want him. As a general rule I prefer not having to shout my response to your witty remark over the voice of my screaming infant.
• Ask if you can hold him because he might be comforted by you (I really couldn't believe this one) I PROMISE he likes me best..it's the whole 9 months in my belly/breast milk power I posses. He does not want you.
• If after you ask to hold him I politely tell you that "he is really in a mama phase these days" please do not persist in asking me and repeatedly state your child care credentials...no matter how experienced you are MAMA wins.

Please DO

• Ignore us, I won't be offended and neither will Jack.
• Let me and my two items go ahead of you and your 30+ items in line, I'm certain that everyone within earshot would appreciate your kindness.
• Offer to return my cart to the cart holder in the parking lot (as opposed to glaring - see above)
• If you simply MUST say something a simple "I've been there" feels best.