When you're pregnant you run through all kinds of scenarios in your head. You ask your partner if you'd keep the baby if it had Downs Syndrome. (Yep.) You wonder if they’ll go to college. (Damn well better.) And you spend a lot, a lot of time daydreaming about the amazing lives they're going to lead. So of course you consider their future mate.
I understand a man wanting his son to be like him, especially in this particularly masculine way. The thing is, when my husband was circumcised it was because of an actual, honest-to-goodness medical necessity. The foreskin was too small. It was painful. The surgery had to be done. If it were medically necessary, I would do the same thing. But otherwise, why put my son through elective surgery?
While I understand and respect that many women proudly wear their stretch marks as badges of honor or battle scars, I don’t feel the same way about mine. I am not ashamed of them, but if they don’t fade by next summer they won’t be seeing the light of day. I think of it this way: If I have a blemish, I conceal it. If I pack on a few pounds over the holidays, I conceal those too. For me, stretch marks aren’t any different, even if they are a result of my beautiful journey to motherhood.
Two seasoned dating coaches, Julianne Cantarella, MSW, The Courtship Coach, and Elisabeth Lamotte, a licensed psychotherapist and relationship expert, pinpoint the biggest dating mistakes single moms make and share tips on how to avoid them.
If my husband and I aren’t careful, kid-centric talk hijacks our conversations. We talk about things they did that day. (Hilarious. Or frustrating. Usually both.) We talk about dreams for their futures. (Please let them marry non-felons.) And then usually we’re too tired to do much other than watch a re-run of The Rachel Zoe Project. I mean Mad Men.
After three months of being a tattooed mom, I have felt those judging eyes as I walk away. In all likelihood, any opinion they formed about me has morphed into something else. Which just makes me want to tattoo the following down my arm: I’m a breastfeeding, baby-wearing, co-sleeping, cloth diapering mom. I’m married. I own a home and a late model car. I have never received a speeding ticket, let alone been convicted of a crime. Too long?
My husband and I seem to parent our children differently based on their genders, a tendency I never expected, being the enlightened and empowered woman I am. (“Roar” and all that.) Once we had both a boy and a girl, though, this tendency became obvious.
I could read about, talk about and dream about baby names all day long. Some people might call me obsessed. I get incredibly upset each time I hear a miserable name... a bad name in my opinion, at least. However when it comes to awesomely horrendous names bestowed on the babes of celebrities, they made me stop caring.
As it became clear that Caylee probably wouldn't come home safely, the nation learned more about her mother, Casey. A young single mom with an irresponsible streak, it was obvious that she wasn't ready to be a parent. And as I held my own child, it wasn't only Caylee's story that scared me, it was Casey's. Just as Caylee brought to mind my daughter, Casey reminded me of myself when she was first born.
Here's what I know for sure about parenting: That after 17 years, I don't know as much as I think I do, as much as I'd like. And, that the mental list I keep of my parenting failures continues to grow. Sometimes daily. Failing occasionally is not an option with parenting, it's a given. I'd guess that any parent without a mental "FAIL!" list is basically delusional. Here's a look at what's on my own parenting FAIL list. As of today, that is.