Never Say Never

Before I became a Mom, I wasn't much to judge those who had already taken the plunge. I know the self-righteousness of the not-yet-parents is legendary, but I was wary of it. Must have been the whole pride comes before a fall thing. I was pretty sure parenting would be hard enough on its own, without the falling bit.

Still, as I watched my friends and family members navigate the gauntlet of new parenthood, I quietly maintained a list of things I swore I'd never do. It wasn't haughty; it wasn't overly long; and it wasn't unrealistic (or so I thought). Just a simple list of principles and commitments to the type of mother I was going to be and the sort of household I'd run.

And then I actually had a child.

Suddenly, everything was different. The nights were a lot shorter than I hoped (when you get to actually sleep that is) and the days were much, much longer than I'd anticipated. Things I'd thought would come easily, like breastfeeding and getting my baby on a schedule, were damn near impossible...despite all the books I'd read.

I was more tired, grumpy, and lost than I cared to admit. And desperate times call for desperate measures. Like breaking all the rules you set for yourself.

One by one these babies fell by the wayside. Shall we take a trip down memory lane and see what they were?

Putting up with a picky eater

I loathe the diet of the American kiddo. I hate the omnipresent sugar and preservatives, and I can't stand the dependence on ketchup to make everything from oatmeal to carrots palatable. Despite my own picky eating past, I swore I'd never have a kid subsisting on just PB&J, chicken nuggets, and quesadillas.

For a while, I was doing pretty well. MJ ate quinoa and gobbled broccoli and cheese bites with the best of them. But when I became pregnant again, I no longer had the energy to whip up homemade spinach and basil turkey patties. Frozen chicken nuggets were so much easier. At least they were organic, I told myself.

By the time I was nearing my due date, MJ had descended into a steady diet of applesauce, raspberries, frozen waffles, peanut butter, and grilled cheese. He turned his nose up at things he used to eat, from peas to pot stickers, and I was too exhausted and too uncomfortable to care.

And you know what? So what if my kid only gets vegetables hidden in a smoothie and leaves the crust behind on all his sandwiches? We've managed to scoot through toddlerhood without touching a Capri Sun or developing an addiction to fruit snacks. I'll gladly take that victory. Now pass the PB&J, will you?

All binky, all the time

It's always been a pet peeve of mine when toilet trained, talking children spend all day with a pacifier in their mouths. So if you had told me that at three years old, my son would still be fully attached to his binky, I'd have thought you were crazy. Yet, here we are, staring down the barrel of four years old and we haven't ditched the dummy yet.

I'd promised myself I'd get rid of it at two. But with a new baby making an entrance, I was wary of the jealousy it could create if I took away MJ's favorite comfort object and allowed his baby brother to have it. The adjustment would be tough enough, without added drama.

Surely, by three we'd have it gone. Yet when that milestone rolled around, my husband had just started night law school. MJ's world was turned upside down and bedtime was a nightly battle. I just wanted him to sleep anyway possible, binky or not.

MJ will be four this fall. And his pacifier won't be crossing that bridge with him. How do I know? Because we've told him we're not buying any more, and we haven't. One by one, he loses them or bites a hole in them. Each binky down is step toward none at all.

As for baby brother, thank God he never took to it. This is one battle I don't want to fight twice.

Frumpy Mom Syndrome 

As a younger, child-free woman, I was pretty vain. I loved to get dolled up, never left the house without makeup, and I had a wardrobe the size of a small boutique. I promised myself I wouldn't leave it all behind when I became a mother. I never wanted to be the mom in yoga pants, ponytail, and chipping pedicure at the grocery store. These days, I'm pretty sure the cashier wouldn't recognize me if I came in wearing anything but that.

I now realize that I misunderstood the frumpy Mom. I thought her laid back look came from a lack of motivation. I thought she didn't care about herself or value what her poor husband must think. I soon learned that she was just really damn tired, and given the chance between 20 minutes of extra sleep and blow drying her hair, sleep wins every time. I came to understand that flats and flip flops aren't lazy, they're self-preservation. Because running after a wayward toddler in Tory Burch wedges is pretty much suicide.

As a part time working Mom, I manage to dress up a few days a week and it's enough for now. I do daydream of a future when I can wear heels and dangly earrings again, but not enough to push my luck. That's how I nearly tore a hole in my earlobe when Evan was nine months old.

Oh, and the husband? If you're doing things right, he could care less what you're wearing all day. Turns out it's what you don't wear that matters. Which is lucky for me, because keeping up with the laundry  - pjs included - isn't my speciality.

Using the TV as a babysitter

Now, I was never one of those crazy parents who got rid of their TV and burned all their DVDs when they had a baby. (If you are, I don't actually think you're crazy - I'm just really, really envious of your mad parenting skills. Because I have no clue how you get a thing done, or how you're keeping sane.) Still, we vowed to keep MJ away from television until at least age two, with the secret hope of being "TV free until three".

I'll never forget the first time I broke out the iPhone and desperately searched on YouTube for some distraction. MJ was 22 months old and we'd gone out to a nice dinner with my inlaws at a fairly fancy restaurant....the kind that doesn't  have a children's menu. I'd come armed with snacks, crayons, and toys, but after the 43rd time he threw his bread on the floor and once we all grew weary of walking him around the patio, I gave in.

I turned on a video called "Trains for Toddlers". It was nothing but a long clip of steam trains, diesel trains, and other locomotives rolling down the rails. MJ froze. He stared at those three inches of pixels like it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

As I ate my dessert in peace, I wondered what the hell took me so long. Don't be fooled ladies, diamonds aren't your best friends - Netflix for Kids is. But here's the kicker, overuse the boob tube and it will lose its power. Now, we limit shows not out of some principled parenting stance, but to preserve the magic for the times when it really counts...like when I need to pee.

Going with an audience 

Speaking of using the restroom, I never understood why Moms always complained that they just wanted to pee alone. So shut the door, I naively thought. Don't these women have locks in their homes?

Do you know what happens when you close the bathroom door? Small devils crawl out of the bowels of the earth and possess your children to do evil, evil things. If you're lucky, they'll just rearrange your kitchen and bust a few dishes in the process. But if you have a particularly crafty child, you may find they've used those 60 seconds to invent a new DIY organic beauty treatment and tested it on themselves (Mayo-Cinnamon scrub anyone?) And before you think child locks will be your saving grace, think again. There is always a wayward crayon lurking somewhere, and your child is just waiting to create a mural on the wall with it while you attempt to reclaim some privacy.

Now that I have two children, the stakes are even higher. Most days I can leave them alone for approximately 6.7 seconds before someone is bleeding, bruised, or at least emotionally battered. They don't mean to be so rough, but those little tousles over Melissa and Doug bricks can get real in a hurry on a stone tiled playroom floor.

So, it's Three's a Company when it comes to the toilet these days. But there is an upside to it all. MJ self-potty trained at a little over age two. Evan is just over a year and a half and he's already been trying to go in the potty for months. Perhaps group peeing is the secret to successful potty training? I'll let you know.


I guess I should mention that not all of my pre-parenting plans went awry. My kids still don't sport clothing with licensed characters on them (my disdain is irrational, I know); they don't have a clue who Dora the Explorer is (yet); and we've never bought Gogurt, gummy bears, or Handi-snacks (secretly a little bummed about the last one. I loved that fake cheese as a kid!). They have yet to see a full length movie; they still have a bedtime; and they don't need me to lay down with them for hours in order to fall asleep every night.

It might not be perfect, and it's a lot more humbling than I imagined, but I still think I'm doing alright. Yet, out of respect for the Mommy I Thought I'd Be, would you please join me in a moment of silence for my long lost list of never-evers?

And with that, I can finally put my nevers to bed and be at peace. Except for the Dora thing. Over my dashed dreams and dead body does that crime against children's television come into our house. After all, you gotta stand for something.