Finding mom(me) x3

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party of 5Well, I did it. I popped out baby #3. (Okay, it was more than a “pop,” but I figure I’ll spare you the details.)

At any rate, last week I became a new mom for the 3rd time. Yes, I’ve been through this stuff before with my two older girls. Experience says I’m not “new” at this mom thing. And in many ways that’s true. For example, the constant fear that I’m going to drop the baby has mostly subsided by the third kid. And I check to make sure she’s breathing slightly less frequently than I did with our first and second kids. But having a new baby, whether for the first time or third, still brings the same simultaneous bliss and uncertainty.

The bliss is obvious. Blessed with a beautiful, healthy baby girl with ten little fingers and ten little toes, I spend a good part of my day staring at her – marveling at how this little being was just inside of me and now she’s not. She coos and cries, smiles as she passes gas and startles when she changes positions. The joys in each singular moment with a newborn baby are innumerable.

But having a baby is also hard… really hard. And in these first few days home, it’s all a little disorienting. Days and nights are interchangeable, simple tasks (like showering and brushing your teeth) become insurmountable obstacles, and the reality of sleep deprivation rears its ugly head. No matter how prepared or experienced you might think you are, newborns are as unpredictable as the birth experience itself and no amount of planning can prepare anyone for the moments of confusion, frustration and utter exhaustion that lay ahead.

3 sistersSince returning home with our new baby, I continue to also be reminded of how intense and intertwined nature and nurture are. Our older two kids need me from a nurture perspective – they need hugs and attention from mommy. Things that would normally roll off their backs are creating fodder for a full meltdown. On the other side, the baby needs me from a nature (namely nursing) perspective. The juxtaposition of this is taxing and trying, and in these early days is hard to navigate. I want to be everything to everyone, but it’s nearly impossible no matter how hard I try.

On top of that, there’s the reality of my own health – the need to take it easy, rest and recover from birth and that singular moment when everything changed and we were propelled back into baby world. For me, I also tend to navigate toward a bit of “radio silence” in the beginning – not returning phone calls, not having visitors (sorry to those who have reached out!). Just a week or two of a bubble-enclosed world where I can get my bearings again. All of this combined – the need to care for myself and to give each of my three beautiful girls attention in ways that are right for each of them – is tough.

Being a mom is a huge challenge, but it’s also crazy rewarding. It’s a constant struggle of giving our kids everything they need, and saving a little morsel for ourselves. It’s an ever-changing balance of putting ourselves in the trenches every day and navigating uncharted territory, all while falling madly, deeply in love over and over again. It’s a wild ride where we aim to keep the difficulties in perspective and the joys overflowing, where we aim to let the tough moments pass by us quickly and the tender memories linger forever. Because, in all honesty, what else is there?

Finding fairness

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baby with frozen dollsProud to share another post published by Kveller!

As the sun set outside and bedtime encroached inside, I found myself sitting on the carpet in our living room, hugging a singing Elsa doll (when will “Let It Go” just go away?!). I was playing referee between my daughters, who were arguing–again–about whose turn it was to play with her.

Never mind that an identical Elsa doll (minus her clothes and crown) had been discarded in their bedroom minutes earlier. At this point, the Elsa doll in question sat in my lap–neutral territory–while my 2-year-old cried and my 4-year-old claimed that if her sister had the doll, it just wouldn’t be fair. And there I sat, reasoning with my girls about taking turns, sharing, and understanding each other’s feelings.

umbrellas“That’s not fair to me,” is a phrase I hear a lot from my older daughter. Whether it’s about how many toys she has versus how many her friend has, or how much one-on-one time she is getting with mommy versus her sister, my 4-year-old daughter has developed a keen sense of fairness. When she perceives something to be unfair, her eyes fill with tears, her little chin quivers, and her already squeaky voice goes up an octave or two as she exclaims, “But that’s not fair to me!”

Want to read the rest of this post? Click here.

Finding milestone moments

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cold morningThe exact text message I sent to my husband this morning read, “Holy *#%@! Our baby is going to elementary school!” That’s because this morning I registered our oldest child to start on her journey of public education beginning next August. The required precision of paperwork and orderly fashion of lines in the registration process were overshadowed by the sheer magnitude of today’s notable milestone. And in just a few short months, today will be overshadowed by the first day of school.

In truth, most days have some sort of milestone. While the “big” ones are easily noted and just as easily remembered – first giggle, first time rolling over, first tooth, first steps, and so on – I’m finding that there are milestones even in the most mundane moments. Whether it’s the first time she dressed herself, or first time she cleaned up her toys without being asked, or the first time she spelled her name, each of these moments got flagged in my head as an important “first” in her maturation and in the development of her independence.

One of the mantras that I remind myself of daily is that parenthood is fleeting – as soon as you adjust to one thing, that changes and something else reveals itself. While I thought that would end during the infant stage, it has continued to prove true. After all, if life is a journey and not a destination, it’s inevitable that there will be milestones every step of the way.

Even so, today was a big one. Signing up for elementary school was both invigorating and terrifying. How did time already go by so quickly? And how much faster is it about to go? When I told my daughter I’d signed her up for school today, she said to me, “First I go to school, then I go to college, then I get a job, get married and become a mommy just like you.” While her overly simplified view of the journey is absent of an actual understanding of the timeframe associated with it, the summary of the next 20 years stopped me in my tracks. She’s right – time is about to fly by even faster than it already has and if we don’t appreciate each of the moments and each of the milestones, they’ll pass us by just as quickly as they arrived.

I wish I could say I was good about tracking them. When I found out I was pregnant with our oldest, I kept a detailed journal of my entire pregnancy and her first year of life. With my second, I started a journal half way through the pregnancy and kept it through most of her first year, more or less. And now, with less than 4 weeks to go before my due date for baby number three, I figure that tomorrow is as good a day as any to start writing in the journal. (Insert birth order joke here.)

It’s a challenging balance – how do you find time to honor the important moments and actually live them? And as life gets busier and the moments multiply, how do we ensure they don’t just pass us by? What do you do to honor, celebrate and remember milestone moments?

Finding my vulnerabilities

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girls snuggling

Morning snuggles

There’s nothing like yelling at your child at 4:30am for wanting to snuggle with you to make you take a cold, hard look in the parenting mirror. That’s what happened to me last night.

I don’t yell much as a mom. I use a stern voice when necessary and I set boundaries and carry through on consequences that we set. But, it’s very rare for me to raise my voice to the point of a yell. So when this monster emerged from my throat last night, I think it equally startled my four year-old daughter and myself.

Yes, I was exhausted. Yes, I am nearly nine months pregnant. Yes, I have an unrelenting cold and sore throat. All those factors, though, do not take away the guilt and sadness I felt when I saw my daughter’s face last night after I yelled at her. She wouldn’t cooperate after I explained to her why her baby sister couldn’t sleep on the edge of the bed to make space for my first born to snuggle closer to me. And somehow, apparently, this gave me license to yell.

What happened after the yelling, though, was wonderful. At 4:30am, while the my younger daughter snored in the middle of the bed, my four year-old and I had a mature heart to heart. I apologized to her and explained why I had gotten so upset, and took full responsibility for my actions that didn’t match the situation. And she listened, processed, and explained why she hadn’t cooperated in the first place. Like, really explained… in a way that a mature child, not a little girl, would. Together we discussed and came to a clearer understanding of where the other was coming from, and then together came up with a solution to the snuggle issue that worked better for both of us, which included setting up some pillow buffers for the baby and me sleeping between the girls.

This morning, out of our sleepy haze, we talked about it again. Where I worried that I’d either scarred her for life or that she wouldn’t remember the teachable moment we had together, she surprised me and articulated a summary of our discussion. In that moment, I realized that showing some humanness is okay. It’s okay for my daughters to know that I have vulnerabilities and breaking points. And while that doesn’t mean I intend to yell at my kids again any time soon, I will take this experience as an opportunity to show them that just because I’m mommy, doesn’t mean I’m not me. It doesn’t mean I don’t cry or make mistakes. Seeing my vulnerabilities from time to time actually helps them, and me, to be stronger.

Have you had an experience that made you take a cold, hard look in the parenting mirror recently?

Finding that less is more

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Happy New Year!

Happy New Year!

Can I be brutally honest? I hate New Year’s resolutions. There, I said it. I really despise them. In theory resolutions are great – they’re built around self-improvement and, in ideal cases, toward the betterment of humanity. However, the problem with traditional New Year’s resolutions is that they’re fleeting. We set them at the start of a new calendar year and by February have all but abandoned our new gym membership, healthy diet and organizational systems. I am just as guilty of being a “bandwagon resolution-maker” as the rest.

If my experience going out to lunch in the first fifteen days of January was any indication, New Year’s resolutions are a passing fad. Each day at noon, I walk past two restaurants competing for business with very different cuisines. One specializes in high-end made-to-order salads and the other specializes in burgers, fries and milkshakes. During most of December the line at the burger joint was out the door and down the block, while the salad locale had a much shorter line. However, based on the flip-flop of the line lengths over these last few weeks, it has become abundantly clear that most people on my block have chosen to “eat well, lose weight” as a resolution.

So, here we are, halfway through January, and I’ve decided to skip the resolutions that make most people feel hangry (that’s angry from hunger, just in case you’re not up on the lingo). Instead, I am taking a new pass at resolutions and am attempting to find places where less really is more:

I resolve to worry less about the number on the scale and instead focus on how I feel (which, of course, is currently SUPER pregnant, but that’s only for a few more weeks).

I resolve to check Facebook less (and my phone, while we’re at it) and look up more.

I resolve to spend less time watching my kids play and more time playing with them.

I resolve to worry less about the future, the bills, and the unfolded laundry and spend more time living in the moment.

Are these different from traditional resolutions? No. But they also give me the space to find the right balance in life. Rather than always striving for the “more” in a given situation, I can try my hand at a more holistic approach. Ultimately I want to seek out the opportunities where less is more and seize them with arms wide open. I want to spend less time worrying about what isn’t happening and instead enjoy the moment in front of me. Wouldn’t that make for a great year?

fam picAnd, if those resolutions don’t feel fitting anymore, I’m not going to wait until December 31 to make new ones. Life is about inventing and reinventing yourself, rolling with the punches and adapting as needed. So why do we wait all year just to reset our goals? Perhaps my biggest resolution for this year is not to have New Year’s resolutions, but instead to have resolutions monthly, weekly, daily if necessary. Because if I can help make today better than yesterday then who knows what tomorrow may hold!

Finding number three

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It seems like now is as good a time as any to talk about my pregnancy with baby #3 on my blog. I’ve mentioned it once before but hadn’t been sure what more to say… until now.

Telling people you’re pregnant with your first child is constantly joyous. People’s eyes light up with excitement when they hear you’re bringing a new life into the world. They dote on your entrance to the land of parenting. They express emotions like happiness and show genuine excitement for the journey that’s unfolding.

Telling people you’re pregnant with your second child is still mostly joyous. People’s eyes light up with excitement when they hear you’re giving your first child a sibling. They express emotions like happiness and show genuine excitement for the journey that’s unfolding. Those that have more than one child, and some who don’t, give you a knowing look that is some combination of “It’s great” and “Just wait… you’ll see how hard it is.”

Telling people you’re pregnant with your third child is like telling them you have leprosy. On the outside they might appear happy (okay, no one would seem happy if you told them you have leprosy but it seemed like a good line. I digress.) but simultaneously they say things like “You’re crazy!” “You’re brave!” and “Good luck!” (And it’s not the kind of luck like they hope you win the lottery. It’s the luck that is loaded with the “You’re crazy” and “You’re brave” sentiments behind it). They show concern about the journey that’s unfolding and ask you questions like “can you afford it?” and “how are you going to handle three kids under 5?”

Just ask this guy – my favorite comedian Jim Gaffigan – what it’s like telling people you’re pregnant…again:

Since finding out we were pregnant with number three I’ve poured over every article and blog post I’ve seen about what it’s like to have three kids. I’ve questioned (maybe a bit aggressively) anyone I meet who has three kids, asking them questions like “How hard is it? Are we crazy? What should I know?” And, as I’ve gotten farther in the pregnancy I’ve found myself front loading the announcement to others by saying it all in one breath: “Yes, I’m pregnant. No, it’s not my first, it’s my third. We’re crazy,  I know.”

here comes number 3Now, with 10 weeks to go, I’m both overwhelmingly excited and terrified about having three kids. Our four and two year-olds are already so mommy-centric, what will happen when there’s a baby needing my attention, too? How long will it take these three, each two years apart from the next, to realize that they outnumber us? How will the growing pains of moving from two to three affect us (aside from the already inevitable purchases of a minivan and a king bed)?

Just like anything else, we all have to do what feels right for us. And this, having a third baby, no matter how crazy we might seem (or might be) feels right for us. And just because it’s not our first rodeo doesn’t mean we still aren’t experiencing pregnancy in a unique way independent of the other two. Each pregnancy has been different – from the way I’ve carried to the way I’ve felt (definitely most exhausted with this one!).

Last week, after quietly tracking my “kick counts” to ensure that the baby was moving enough each day, I felt unsure… my once karate chopping internal subletter had become quiet and calm. Something didn’t feel right. So we went to the hospital to get checked out. Everything is fine (thankfully!) and we were released after a few hours of monitoring. But it got me to thinking about this whole journey. Regardless of how many times you’ve been through it before, whether it’s your first baby or your third (or your 47th if you’re a Duggar), it’s all a journey with joy and excitement combined with foreign obstacles and concerns. Being pregnant with a third baby is really like being pregnant with a first baby for the third time. Yes, I know more than I did the first (and second) times around, but the magnitude of pregnancy and bringing a new life into the world isn’t at all diminished by prior experience… even if we are crazy!

Finding vacation mode

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watching the oceanIt has been a while since I last posted (sorry!), but the absence has been for a good reason. My family and I went on an eight day vacation to Mexico for a wedding with our entire immediate and extended family. Since returning home I’ve been recovering from vacation! After all, as a good friend once told me, vacationing with kids is not vacationing. It’s “parenting elsewhere”…parenting elsewhere without your normal creature comforts, routines, or anything else familiar. Of course, it was great spending time with family, seeing my kids digging in the sand and getting time away from normal life. But it took me the first 4 days of “vacation” to adjust and relax into vacation mode, which included:

  1. “Vacation” sleep: Four of us in one room is not much of a vacation. At home we are fortunate enough to put each child to sleep in her own room and attend to each of their needs separately and as we so choose. With all of us in one room, one child could see what the other was “getting,” like being rocked by daddy or snuggled by mommy, immediately inciting the “that’s not fair” complex and demanding equity. But really, nothing is equitable about sharing a room all together. After all, “vacation” sleep includes the inevitable moment where you get up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, only to have one of the kids pop up and say “Is it morning, Mommy? I want to come in your bed!” Of course, the alternative is crawling low along the floor so the kids don’t see you while you make your way to pee… and don’t think I haven’t done it!
  1. “Vacation” diets: It’s one thing to go on vacation as an adult and make an educated and calculated choice to break whatever “diet” you keep at home to adapt to whatever food is available on your vacation, including the potentially more frequent ice cream cone. But taking kids on vacation brings an entirely new meaning to vacation diet. It doesn’t help that we were staying at an all-inclusive where the choices were simultaneously plentiful and limited, especially when my kids are used to particular foods and choices. So it came as a bit of a surprise when we found ourselves forcing our kids to eat yogurt or eggs for breakfast before they could have a daily dose of Fruit Loops, convincing the beachside cafe to throw a slice of American cheese on a bun and then to grill it for our kids to eat their favorite sandwich for lunch with a “healthy” helping of French fries, and then encountering our dinner free for all of finding whatever we could get them to eat… usually boiling down to chicken nuggets. Any of these items at home once a week would be fine, but once a day for a week was rough. And the ice cream… oh the ice cream! Let’s just say we went on a “treat hiatus” after we got home to try to flush their systems (and memories) of the frequent sweets and to remind them of what a regular meal should actually consist of (hint: it did not include fruit loops or French fries).snuggled at the beach
  1. Vacation rules: Rules? What rules? Of course we were conscious of trying to maintain consistency from home to vacation, but whereas at home we have rules about how much TV the kids are watching, that rule went out the window the second we stepped on the plane and found the easiest way to keep our kids quiet and in their seats was watching cartoons on the iPad. Whereas at home we have strict guidelines about our bedtime routines, that rule went out the window the minute we realized that any sleep while on vacation is precious (see #1). Whereas at home we are consistent about schedules, expectations, and most aspects of life, on vacation there are too many unknowns and variables to maintain consistency. Like I said, rules? What rules?

All that aside, we had a great time. However, this experience lies in stark contrast to this past weekend… one in which my husband and I went away to Vegas with other adults while the kids stayed home. Did we miss them? Yes! Did we have an actual, by definition, vacation? YES! It took me about 30 seconds to settle into vacation mode on this trip, which included:

  1. Vacation sleep: We slept. A lot. In one night we got almost 11 hours of sleep… I couldn’t tell you when the last time was that we’ve done that but I know it hasn’t been in the last 4 years!
  1. Vacation diets: I can’t say we ate healthier on this trip than on the other, but we did get to enjoy a nice meal that did not include any chicken nuggets. Ironically, it still included French fries… the universal crowd pleaser, I suppose.
  1. Vacation rules: Rules? What rules? In Vegas there are no rules.

with the hubsThese contrasting experiences don’t deter me more from one or attract me more toward another type of vacation, but the acknowledgment of the differences between the two help to set up expectations from the get go. And these differences definitely remind me that having a vacation from the “vacation” doesn’t hurt either!

Finding the humor in bedtime negotiations

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with girlsAnyone who has ever said that bedtime should not involve a negotiation has clearly never tried to put a four or two year-old to bed. I always imagined bedtime with my kids would be a serene time when we would reflect on our days, read books and sing songs… and then they’d drift peacefully to sleep. But then reality set in.

Truth be told, evenings in our house can be chaotic. Because my husband and I both work, our nights are a jumbled mess of picking up the kids from daycare, scrambling to make dinner while Peppa Pig keeps the kids entertained, and playing for a few minutes before we eat together as a family and start the delicate (or clunky) bedtime dance.

No matter how successfully the dance goes, though, the stalling that begins soon thereafter is an entirely different story. Last night was one of those nights. Actually, most nights are “one of those nights.” Between our two year-old learning that “no” is her favorite, and a somewhat effective, word, and our four year-old getting out of bed every five minutes or so in hopes that one of her many excuses would stick, bedtime has become a comedy routine.

Here’s how last night’s litany of excuses shook out (each with a five minute interval in between where our four year old went back to bed, presumably to think of her next attempt at delaying bedtime)… and my internal dialogue at each twist and turn:

I need a hug. (How can I resist that?)
I’m lonely. (Alright, one more snuggle.)
I heard something outside. (There’s nothing outside.)
There’s a bear in my room. (There’s not.)
There are two bears in my room. (We don’t live in the forest. There are no bears in our house.)
I just feel sad. (She’s tugging at the heart strings again.)
I want a hug. (Fine, last one.)
I need a Band-Aid for this boo-boo I got two weeks ago. (See my previous post about the healing power of Band-Aids.)
Not the Dora Band-Aid! The Doc McStuffins Band-Aid! (Ugh, whatever works.)
This Band-Aid is hurting me. (Okay, so take it off!)
I need a tissue for my boogers. (Done.)
I need more baby dolls in my bed. (Any more baby dolls and we’d be running an orphanage.)
Ten babies will make me feel not lonely anymore. With only five babies I still feel lonely. (Ah, rational thinking by a four year old.)
It’s hot in here so I took my blanket off. (Okay.)
It’s cold in here. Will you put my blanket on? (Ugh. Okay.)
I need to go pee. (So go!)
I need to go poop. (Okay, now I have to come wipe your tushy.)
I have to take off all my clothes while I poop. (Again, there’s that rational thinking.)
I need help putting my clothes back on. (Of course you do.)
I need my blanket on. (Right.)
Not that blanket! The other blanket. (And one more time with the rational thought.)

And so it goes. We negotiate back and forth – sometimes giving in, sometimes staying strong, and always just trying to get to the end result of her tiring herself out enough to fall asleep. I’m sure someone is reading this thinking “stop giving in to her!” Clearly, you’ve never met my strong willed daughter who will not let up. Trust me, I’ve tried.

Now, when I get particularly frustrated with her and become a mom I like less (the one who has lost all her patience and is flabbergasted by the ridiculousness of it all), I try to remind myself that this is actually precious time where my daughter is stalling because she wants my attention and my snuggles. In the blink of an eye, these negotiations will stop being about getting back in bed and putting a blanket on, but will instead be about whether she can borrow the car to stay out past curfew or have another $20 for some material object that everyone else has.

So I put my foot down now but also give in slightly. I figure for now I’ll give her that hug, I’ll tuck her back in and I’ll make her feel safe so that in the future, when she doesn’t want to be hugged or tucked in, she’ll still feel safe and assured knowing that she is loved and that we are there for her. And hopefully, no matter how old she gets, the negotiations will keep us laughing.

Finding my inner mama bear

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My inner mama bear came out at the new park playground near my house last weekend. With claws out and teeth snarled, I was a sight to be seen. It’s incredible how quickly and naturally a mother’s instinct to protect her young springs into action.

Just before the "incident"

Just before the “incident”

While climbing the stairs to the new toddler slide, a little girl blocked the way so my nearly two year-old couldn’t pass. When my sweet baby tried to get around her, the girl put her flattened hand straight on my daughter’s chest and shoved, pushing my daughter backwards off the steps, causing her to fall onto her back and head on the turf below.

Completely rattled, I grabbed my baby and looked around for the pusher’s parents who were nowhere to be seen. Not wanting to leave the scene of the crime without making sure that this kid had proper supervision, I told the little girl “sweetie, we don’t use our hands to push.” Suddenly a woman was in my face, harshly telling me she saw the whole thing and that her daughter didn’t push mine. I begged to differ and told her so, to which she yelled at me and started to walk away. I wished her luck raising her daughter with such a skewed value set (okay, I might not have said it quite like that). Meanwhile, as my daughter cried on my shoulder I found my husband and older daughter by the swings and breathlessly recounted the entire story, holding back tears myself.

Luckily, my daughter is fine aside from the emotional scar she is carrying with her as she continually repeats, “girl pushed me.” And, though I really wanted to give that mother a taste of her daughter’s own medicine, I took the high road and instead talked to my little one about being kind, even when others aren’t kind to us. She understands, as best as a two year-old can, that hands are not for hitting and that it’s important to treat people the way we want to be treated.

As I’ve reflected on that moment over and over again for the last 48 hours, I’ve grappled with what else I could have done. Should I have been standing closer to my daughter on the steps and caught her before she fell? Probably. But, at the same time, I believe a little independence in a safe setting is an important stepping-stone in growing up. And, the three feet distance that I stood away from the stairs was enough for my daughter to feel accomplished in getting to the slide “all by myself!” while still keeping me engaged in her exploration. Should I have said nothing to the child instead of trying to use her action as a collective teachable moment? Probably. But, at the same time, don’t we all want our kids to grow up in a world where they are taught right from wrong, even if the lesson is coming from a source other than a parent? I do, but I guess that other mom would disagree.

friendsThat moment on the playground shows me how important having a “village” is. My husband and I are blessed to have made a connection with a few other parents from our daycare, allowing us to spend time with the eight adults and seven kids with some interchangeable parenting. The kids listen to each of us. We are all comfortable with each other’s parenting style and trust each other to right one of our children’s wrongs. I took this for granted on the playground, assuming that this other mother would be appreciative of me using the altercation between our girls as a teachable moment. Or that she would have had the grace to apologize, or make her daughter apologize because it was the right thing to do. Or, would have even showed a shred of compassion to see if my daughter was okay. Even if her daughter hadn’t pushed her, she was still a culprit in the fall and could have been taught about empathy, grace and apologies. But this mother and daughter duo are not a part of my village, and apparently the parenting code of decency stopped there.

As parents, it is our responsibility to equip our children with the tools and instill in our children the lessons necessary for making the world a better place. We need to teach our children to be kind people who will grow up to make a positive difference. A spat on the playground as toddlers evolves to bullying later on, and how we respond to it sets the tone now and in the future. There is nothing I can do to help that other mother see how deeply she missed the opportunity to role model good behavior to her daughter. But, I can teach my daughters to be caring individuals, and I can continue to role model what I believe to be the appropriate way to treat others, whether on the playground or otherwise. That’s my promise to them.

Finding a healthy separation

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ballerinaWith her wild, curly hair pulled back in a neat bun, and her pink tights, leotard, and ballet shoes in place, my little girl tapped her toes and lifted her arms in rhythm to the music of her first ballet recital. At least, that’s how it appeared from the video that my sister-in-law sent me and I watched on my iPhone while I attended a wedding two hours away.

For four weeks I sat on a hard, cold bench in a stale waiting room listening to classical music coming from my 3-year-old’s closed-door ballet class, longing to get a glimpse of what she was learning. But her ballet school has a strict student-only policy until the day of the recital, which left me in the dark about her pliés and pointed toes. Even when she emerges from her class with a smile stretching from ear to ear, she won’t show me what she’s learned, insisting that I have to wait until “it’s my turn to watch.”

When my opportunity to see my daughter show off what she’d learned finally came, I realized that the date not so conveniently coincided with a close friend’s wedding. I had no choice but to send my little one’s aunt in my place.

Want to read the rest? Check it out on national parenting blog Kveller.com!