On Super Moms
I've noticed a bit of a disturbing phenomenon. It seems that for some women, the fact that they have raised children of their own - and are now Super Moms, really - grants them certain inalienable rights regarding others' babies. Maybe it's a latent personality trait triggered by the presence of those chubby thighs and toothless grins. Included are the rights to:
1. Hold any baby by way of ripp- I mean, taking said baby from the parent's arms as soon as Super Mom has entered the room.
2. Lose all ability to focus on anything but baby until baby is in her arms. This also coincides with a marked loss in any pre-existing sense of humour.
3. Ignore mother's and father's existence except as bringers of baby into her presence.
4. Diagnose and treat baby's issues. "Oh she's not balling her tiny eyes out because she's tried. She just needs me to play with her and stimulate her beyond belief." Never mind that baby has not slept a wink for over ten hours.
5. Assume that whatever soothed her baby will work magic on all babies. As we sit outside in the 26 degree weather to escape the 30 degree heat of our pressure cooker of a house, "Let's wrap her up tighter than an Inuit baby. All babies love that." Never mind that my baby actually hates being warm, let alone hot. She loves cool air, wind in her hair. But Super Mom's baby loved heat, so of course that will do the trick. What do I know? I just brought this little ice cube into the world and have spent a grand total of five hours away from her for the last three months.
6. Dole out very thinly-veiled advice in this manner:
Super Mom: "Do you think she needs a blanket?"
Me (obviously not so super or Super Mom would not need to be asking the question): "No, her neck and belly feel fine. It's okay."
SM: "Hmm, do you think? I wonder if she does though. Do her hands feel a little cool to you?"
Me: "Every nurse and doctor at the hospital said to never tell a baby's temperature by their hands and feet. They're often cold even if the baby's core temperature is fine. Besides, she actually prefers to be a little cool."
SM: "Does she have a blanket here just in case it gets a little cooler later?"
Me: "They're inside. But, really, she's fine for now."
Precisely one minute later I spot Super Mom with my daughter wrapped in her softest, fluffiest luxury crib blanket, cheeks flushed, starting to "fuss". Super Mom immediately engages in an intense cuddle. Her son loved it. Always did the trick. Except that my poor daughter's fussing is rising in direct correlation to the intensity of the cuddle. As I turn around to count to ten before I implode, I spot my husband out of the corner of my eye heading to rescue our daughter from her impending meltdown (literally and figuratively). Oh how I love that man.
The moral of this story?
To the Super Moms out there (and certainly not all moms are Super Moms, in fact in my experience only a small minority are, but squeaky wheel gets the grease, right?):
Please treat me (and my husband, although all of this bothers him much less than me) like a human being. Usually, a simple "Hi, how are you?" before zeroing in on baby and becoming oblivious to all else will do. To be really wild and crazy, why not try asking if you can hold her too? Just something to consider.
Please accept the possibility that my husband and I may know our daughter a little better than you do. We by no means know everything there is to know about parenting a newborn, or everything about our daughter, but the fact of the matter is we spend the most time with her and are the most familiar with her.
Please stop trying to assert your opinions regarding child rearing in the form of a question. This is not Jeopardy folks. I honestly believe that every Super Mom is the best mom she can be to her children. All I ask is you let me try to be the same to my daughter. If anyone has advice, let's hear it straight up and we can discuss.
Lastly, one more tidbit. My daughter is a baby. This means that sometimes she cries. True story. I certainly don't like to hear my daughter cry. Neither do Super Moms. No matter who is holding her, if my daughter starts to cry, without fail I see Super Mom's eyes shoot to the holder. I say shoot because, well, that's what happens. The eyes do not languidly make their way over to my daughter and end with a soft, sympathetic smile directed at the holder. No, they shoot over in accusation, wanting to know what this person has done to make this baby cry. At the same time the silent but obvious countdown to "Okay, she needs to see me" starts. It is especially entertaining when this happens when my husband, a.k.a. my daughter's father, is holding her. When that death stare lands on my husband, I have to shake my head. Time to relax Super Mom. We would appreciate it if we could just be parents to our daughter. We're figuring it out as we go, just as you did with your kids. Fret not.
1. Hold any baby by way of ripp- I mean, taking said baby from the parent's arms as soon as Super Mom has entered the room.
2. Lose all ability to focus on anything but baby until baby is in her arms. This also coincides with a marked loss in any pre-existing sense of humour.
3. Ignore mother's and father's existence except as bringers of baby into her presence.
4. Diagnose and treat baby's issues. "Oh she's not balling her tiny eyes out because she's tried. She just needs me to play with her and stimulate her beyond belief." Never mind that baby has not slept a wink for over ten hours.
5. Assume that whatever soothed her baby will work magic on all babies. As we sit outside in the 26 degree weather to escape the 30 degree heat of our pressure cooker of a house, "Let's wrap her up tighter than an Inuit baby. All babies love that." Never mind that my baby actually hates being warm, let alone hot. She loves cool air, wind in her hair. But Super Mom's baby loved heat, so of course that will do the trick. What do I know? I just brought this little ice cube into the world and have spent a grand total of five hours away from her for the last three months.
6. Dole out very thinly-veiled advice in this manner:
Super Mom: "Do you think she needs a blanket?"
Me (obviously not so super or Super Mom would not need to be asking the question): "No, her neck and belly feel fine. It's okay."
SM: "Hmm, do you think? I wonder if she does though. Do her hands feel a little cool to you?"
Me: "Every nurse and doctor at the hospital said to never tell a baby's temperature by their hands and feet. They're often cold even if the baby's core temperature is fine. Besides, she actually prefers to be a little cool."
SM: "Does she have a blanket here just in case it gets a little cooler later?"
Me: "They're inside. But, really, she's fine for now."
Precisely one minute later I spot Super Mom with my daughter wrapped in her softest, fluffiest luxury crib blanket, cheeks flushed, starting to "fuss". Super Mom immediately engages in an intense cuddle. Her son loved it. Always did the trick. Except that my poor daughter's fussing is rising in direct correlation to the intensity of the cuddle. As I turn around to count to ten before I implode, I spot my husband out of the corner of my eye heading to rescue our daughter from her impending meltdown (literally and figuratively). Oh how I love that man.
The moral of this story?
To the Super Moms out there (and certainly not all moms are Super Moms, in fact in my experience only a small minority are, but squeaky wheel gets the grease, right?):
Please treat me (and my husband, although all of this bothers him much less than me) like a human being. Usually, a simple "Hi, how are you?" before zeroing in on baby and becoming oblivious to all else will do. To be really wild and crazy, why not try asking if you can hold her too? Just something to consider.
Please accept the possibility that my husband and I may know our daughter a little better than you do. We by no means know everything there is to know about parenting a newborn, or everything about our daughter, but the fact of the matter is we spend the most time with her and are the most familiar with her.
Please stop trying to assert your opinions regarding child rearing in the form of a question. This is not Jeopardy folks. I honestly believe that every Super Mom is the best mom she can be to her children. All I ask is you let me try to be the same to my daughter. If anyone has advice, let's hear it straight up and we can discuss.
Lastly, one more tidbit. My daughter is a baby. This means that sometimes she cries. True story. I certainly don't like to hear my daughter cry. Neither do Super Moms. No matter who is holding her, if my daughter starts to cry, without fail I see Super Mom's eyes shoot to the holder. I say shoot because, well, that's what happens. The eyes do not languidly make their way over to my daughter and end with a soft, sympathetic smile directed at the holder. No, they shoot over in accusation, wanting to know what this person has done to make this baby cry. At the same time the silent but obvious countdown to "Okay, she needs to see me" starts. It is especially entertaining when this happens when my husband, a.k.a. my daughter's father, is holding her. When that death stare lands on my husband, I have to shake my head. Time to relax Super Mom. We would appreciate it if we could just be parents to our daughter. We're figuring it out as we go, just as you did with your kids. Fret not.
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