Melissa Anne Cohen

and ridiculously pleased about being able to post – I’ve got so much to write about! But it’s bedtime for my cherubs, Julie is sucking on my arm as I type – so it’ll have to wait until tomorrow…

I don’t know – I just know that all day, Julianna has only slept while she’s in my arms nursing. Normally she takes one serious nap for a couple of hours, sometimes two – and today, she’s only napped sporadically. She dozes off nursing, and then jolts awake when I lay her down. It’s five forty seven now, and my arms ache from holding her all day, and I’m exhausted because she was up most of the night. I’ve had four cups of coffee, trying to stay awake, and could go to bed right now and sleep all night. In fact, I think I’m going to go try and catch a little sleep before Marc gets here. Thank goodness for co-sleeping, because I know it would be a million times worse if I had to keep getting her up out of the crib to feed her, but she was really restless all night, so I didn’t sleep all that well to begin with, and then a full day of no napping – I’m totally wiped out.

Oops – she just woke up. Again. No nap for Mama.

I feel like it’s winding down… now that I can see, just by glancing at the calendar how much time I have left before school starts. I’ve got another week with Harrison, another two and a half weeks with Jordyn. Then my babies, the two children I started watching when they were babies are going off to preschool. I’ll still have Harrison two days a week, and probably Jordyn will still pop over periodically, but a period in my life is ending, in a real sense at the end of this month. In September, I’ll start having to ferry the kids to after school activities, and constantly be doing something.

Mondays and Wednesdays – I’ll drop Jess off at school at eight twenty, and then drop Marc off at work. Then I’ll drop Sam off at preschool at noontime. Pick up Jess, Sarah, Lilli at Flagg Street at two thirty, pick up Sam at his school at ten of three, drop the three girls at Hebrew school at four, pick up Marc at six and back to get the girls by six fifteen. Tuesdays and Thursdays will sort of be my off days – Sam will be home here with Harrison, and Lisa said that she’ll take care of getting Jess to dance on Thursdays. Fridays, I’ll be repeating the M/W routine, with the only difference being that I’ll probably pick Marc up before getting the kids from school and have all five of them home here for Shabbat dinner Friday night.

I hope Julie learns to like the car seat more than she does right now.

In other news… I have been adopted by a cat. He followed us home from Elm Park Community School on Saturday night, was lonely and crying and seemed to be very hungry. So I gave him a turkey burger and some water, but he stayed outside all night crying to come in. My downstairs neighbor gave me a litter box and some cat food so we let him inside, and he’s moved right in.

We haven’t officially named him – because he might still have an owner out there somewhere. I put up signs everywhere yesterday, posted ads all over the internet. And Harrison’s Mom, Joy, is really allergic to some cats, and it might push her over the edge. And if it comes down to choosing between having Harrison or the cat, I’d have to get rid of the cat. But I’m really hoping I don’t have to – I’m really, really liking him. My kids have never had a pet, and I’ve had a nagging feeling of guilt about it forever. And this kitty is adorable, super friendly, very affectionate. He likes to curl up against me while I nurse the baby 🙂

Jessie is officially washing her own laundry these days. She threw in her first unsupervised load today – and is very proud of herself. I’m also proud – she’s the youngest girl in our group – Lilli, Sarah, and Glennys are all older, and the first to assume responsibility of washing her own clothes. At this point, she’s only washing it – she’s not tall enough to reach into the machine to scoop the clothes out, so I’m still drying and folding – but we’ll get there. Very proud of my big girl…

Jessica is huge, all long legs, big eyes and pretty hair. Suddenly, I’ve got a little tweener on my hands, she’s obsessed with making sure that she showers daily, goes thru three or four different hairstyles and outfits a day and has recently redone her room so that it looks “grown up.” She’s even singing Selena Gomez songs. When did she stop singing the Dora song? We packed up stuffed animals and baby dolls, keeping only one lone cradle for Rebecca Rubin (or as I think of her Webecca Wubin, because that’s what Sam calls her). She’s got little dustcatchers all over the place, is suddenly reading on her own, and is just so grown up so fast. I don’t know when it happened, but I still can’t stop seeing a baby when I look at her.

Sam is also suddenly much bigger. Literally, he was always a few inches shorter than his buddy Jordyn, but today I realized that they were the same height. He’s into taking pictures, and working out with Daddy. They’re going camping this weekend, just the boys, and it was only last year that he was too little to go. He’s off to school in a month, and I’m dreading it like you wouldn’t believe. Bad enough I had to send Jessie, but now I have to ship my tiny boy off to school? If he wasn’t so absolutely thrilled about it, I’d keep him home in a heartbeat.

And my Julie – my little tiny baby girl – she’s almost too big for the lay down part of my pram. I’ve got one of those old fashioned carriages, and it’s got two parts, the infant bed and then the bigger kid part with the seat. And she’s got another four or five inches before she’s too big to fit in the bed. She’s given up the pacifier completely and is chewing her fists and loving her baby doll and little teether toys. She’s cooing and loving her big brother and sister – I can set her down in her bouncy seat in Jessie’s room and she’s perfectly content to watch Jess flutter around the room singing. My baby is growing up.

All my babies are growing up – and I know this is the goal, I know that it’s inevitable, I even, when I’m logical, want this. But just now, just today – all I can think is that it’s too fast, it’s too much. I need more time, more time when Jessie’s problems are all solved by a hug and some attention, when Sam still thinks that Marc and I are infallable, and when Julie is still my teeny tiny baby.

http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/blogs/sfmoms/detail?entry_id=69173

I just read this fascinating blog post – and it really, really resonated with me. Jessie went up to Maine this summer with my sister, and had the most incredible time. Everyone up there kept telling me how happy she was, how independent and confident and self assured she was. She was roaming all over the island, doing her own thing, having fun and trusting herself. But here at home, I don’t give her nearly as much freedom. I know where she is, every step of the way. I watch her like a hawk, because I love her and want her safe. But how much am I stifling her? I let her play outside yesterday afternoon for an hour or two, and didn’t check on her once. Not that I didn’t think about her, because I did, but I didn’t check on her, because I trusted her. She knows the rules, she knows not to go into anyone’s house without checking with me, she knows to stay on our road. She knows this – and is old enough to follow the rules. I just need to be able to let her do it.

Letting them grow up is so freaking hard. It’s so hard to give them a bit of control, to allow them the chance to screw up and take risks. Because I want to shelter and protect and above all, keep them safe. All the time. I want no boo boos, no sunburns, I want them safe and sound every single second. But I also want them to be brave and to take chances, to be adults who really trust themselves and know that they are capable of handling their lives. I can see, all around me, kids who are so protected that they are afraid of doing anything that’s not strictly supervised. I don’t want that for my kids – I want strong, healthy adults.

So I’m going to push them to take risks. I’m going to push them to be out and about, playing without me hovering. I’m going to treat my seven year old like a seven year old, not like a four year old. I’m going to give her a chance to grow up, even if it’s super hard.

It’s been a crazy couple of days lately, and I’m still trying to catch up with the housework. Marc’s great uncle passed away last week and we had the funeral and shiva calls over the weekend. Friday was the funeral, and that was the first Jewish funeral I had ever attended. While the funeral wasn’t all that different, at the cemetary, things were VERY different and I was sort of taken aback by it. After the ceremony at the gravesite, everyone drops a little dirt into the grave, with the men in the family working afterwards to cover the casket with dirt. It was hard to watch – and made me realize how far removed we are from the realities of death.

Friday night, we went to the Worcester Ecotarium for their Jazz at Sunset finale. Which was lovely, really. We brought blankets and chairs and a picnic dinner, and sat out under the stars. Well, under the sun, because it was from 6:30-8:30, and the sun doesn’t set until close to nine. But it was a really nice night, and I’m sad that it was the last one of the summer.

Saturday morning, we had a yard sale at my mother’s house. The kids (with the exception of my little packrat Sam, who insisted that he loved ALL of his toys, and in fact, bought two of Jessica’s before I got them into the car) brought down toys that they had outgrown, and we set them up with a lemonade stand. A good time was had by all, and we made enough money for lunch and ice cream, so everyone wins there.

Saturday and Sunday night, we went to Marc’s cousin’s house in Framingham to pay a shiva call. Marc is extremely literate in Hebrew, and led the prayer services both nights. I thought it was a beautiful tradition, I’m still learning so much about Judaism and it was really nice to be able to be with his family and mourn together. Marc’s uncle had diabetes and had suffered so much before his death, it was almost a relief in many ways that his suffering had ended.

Sunday morning, we had gone down to my stepfather’s father’s house. He had passed away at the end of April and they were cleaning out the house. We found an awesome rowing machine that nobody else wanted and brought it home.

With our new rowing machine in place, we are embarking on a family fitness routine. Last night, we set it up and rowed our little way into oblivion. I’m a little sore this morning, but not too bad, and am now feeling pretty good about this. I’m even considering taking up jogging – now that Julie is almost big enough to sit in the single jogger carriage. Also considering selling the super nice double jogger – it’s too heavy for me to easily take out, Sam is way too big for it, and the single jogger works fine.

In other news – Jess is in the shower, Sam is dressed and watching television and Julie is napping. I’m going out this morning with them, either to the park or the library, before it gets too sticky hot out there.

There was this moment, after Jessica was born. She was an emergency c-section, and my pressure bottomed out, post-op. I remember that I couldn’t hold her, because I couldn’t stop the shaking and it was so awful, not being able to hold my baby that I just closed my eyes. In a very real sense, I sort of gave up for a few minutes. I don’t mean that I lost the will to live or anything, but that I was so disoriented and felt so powerless without her that I pretty much consciously passed out. The doctors and nurses gave me some nice drugs – and most important, Marc brought Jessie over right beside me and I calmed down, the blood pressure came back up and all was well. The point of my story is that right from the very beginning – I had this colossal NEED for my baby. I didn’t much see the point in breathing without having her.

They say that the bond isn’t immediate with everyone, and I can attest to that. With Jessica it was. It just was – from the instant she was in the world, I needed her more than anything else. With Sam and with Julie, it took a little bit longer, but the need (because it’s not just love – it’s a visceral need) for them – it’s just as strong.

I worried with each of them, the two children I had after Jessica, that I wouldn’t love them enough. Sure, I’d like them and stuff, but love them? The way I did with Jessie? And even after having Sam, even after knowing that it was just as strong – I loved and needed him just the same way, I still worried when I had Julie. How could I possibly love her the way I loved my other two? How would it be possible to love that much, again?

I think with Julie – with the nursing strike on the fourth day – I really, really freaked out about it. I was so afraid that I wouldn’t be able to nurse her, that we wouldn’t have that bond, that it wouldn’t be the same. I was afraid not so much that I wouldn’t love her – I knew by then that I would die for her, but that she wouldn’t be as attached to me as the other kids were. That if I couldn’t nurse her, if I could be replaced by anyone holding a bottle of formula – how would she even know that she was mine?

And I was wrong. Just flat out, totally, totally wrong. I love her, adore her, just as much as I do with Jessica and Sam and she is just as firmly attached to me. We were at a funeral today – and of course, everyone wanted to hold her. So I’d pass her to this cousin or that aunt, and she’d start to cry. They’d hand her back, she’d stop immediately. Someone else would ask for her, I’d give them a shot, but my girl wanted nothing to do with anyone. She was overwhelmed, confused and the only place she wanted to be was in my arms. Because she’s my baby – and my babies don’t like playing “pass the baby,” my babies are legendary on both sides of our family for being incredibly bonded to me – and Julie is just as strongly attached, just as bonded as her brother and sister. And I couldn’t be happier about it.

I love these three children. I don’t know what I did in a past life, or what price I paid earlier in this life to earn these particular children, this particular man, this particular life, but I am so profoundly grateful, every day.

We’ve been joking since Julianna was born that she has four basic expressions – confusion, indignation, indignant confusion and confused indignance. But I’m very happy to report that we can add another to the list – flat out delight. She’s got a grin that just lights up her whole face and I laugh every time I see it, because it’s so incredibly thrilled. I sit her up on my lap and she’ll look around and around from side to side and then finally stop and lift her eyes up to meet mine and then she’ll just smile with this look of utter delight and joy. It’s amazing.

I love my sisters. All of them. Mandi, my baby sister, who could not possibly be more different from me – and yet if I don’t talk to her daily, I feel just a little bit off. My cousin Becky, my big sister. We grew up together, have seen each other thru everything and the person I think of when I hear the phrase “best friend.” My stepsisters, Aimee and Karen. We didn’t grow up together, I was so much older than they were, but as adults – we’ve found this closeness that I love and value more and more all the time.

And I can’t tell you how incredibly happy I am to have two daughters – to be able to give each of them a sister. For Jessie to have a baby sister, for Julie to have her big sister. Jess is in the tub, singing to herself, as is her habit. And I’m tired and touched out and ready to sit and have a tall glass of iced tea, and have nobody on my lap. Sam’s been asleep for a few hours again, and Julie has been nursing non-stop for the past three hours. I may exaggerate slightly, but it really does feel like she’s been nursing constantly.

So I went in to wash Jessie’s hair, and brought Julie’s bouncy seat. I plopped it on the floor in the door way to the bathroom and washed her hair. Then I went to go get towels for her, and realized that my two girls were perfectly happy together. Jessie is singing to Julie, and Julie is cooing back at her. They already have that bond – and I couldn’t be happier about it. Now I’m going to sit, sip my tea, and enjoy the silence 🙂

I was accidentally watching Caillou this morning (actually, it was on the television because I was letting the boys watch tv longer than I normally do for a variety of reasons) and that little boy makes me insane. Putting that experience together with a couple of awesome essays I read earlier on babble (http://www.stumbleupon.com/su/1HTrXR/www.babble.com/kid/school-and-learning/preparing-kids-for-disappointment//r:f and http://babble.com/CS/blogs/holding-down-the-fort/archive/2010/07/26/accommodation-vs-overindulgence.aspx) made me think about my own theories on parenting, what I’ve learned over the past seven and a half years. My beloved Jessica is exceptionally dramatic. This is fabulous, mostly. But not so much when she stubs her toe and screams like it’s been sawed off with a knife. Not so much when she can’t fold the towel to fit in her beach bag and has to throw herself on the bed and sob like someone has died. My son is very easy going, almost all the time, but exceptionally stubborn when he does have a tantrum – to the point where I mostly give in if he’s really, really upset.

Caillou bugs me because he whines and complains and acts younger than he is, just because he’s lazy and a wuss. Okay, I’ve said it. I like kids who try to do stuff, who don’t pretend that they can’t because it’s fun to be babied. I like children who can play independently, “using their brains” is the phrase I use when I flick off the television and insist that they play. I never played baby dolls or cars with my kids – because they are perfectly capable of creating their own games. I encourage my seven year old to get her own clothes together, my four year old to get his own drinks. I want them to grow up. I love this stage, with little kids and babies but have no real desire to keep them this way (other than the wistful little moments when I want to freeze time and keep them like this forever).

But I also really hate making my kids unhappy. I hate it when I have to draw a line in the sand, have a battle of wills and win just because I’m bigger and I’m the parent. I know it’s a necessary part of parenting, and hands down, it’s the area I struggle with the most. How much am I accomodating their needs and how much am I letting them get away with stuff they shouldn’t?

Does every parent always feel a least a little bit inadequate? I think I’m pretty good at this job, and the basic mechanics of it, those I’ve got down cold. I know how often to feed them, how much sleep they require. I know how to give a bath, how to entice a child to eat veggies. How to set limits, teach manners, and how to balance out free time versus structured time. But the other stuff… that’s where I’m constantly questioning myself. Should I let Jess and Sam bicker or do I intercede? Should I try harder to get Julie on a routine, or continue to just let her day sort of flow according to her needs and mine? Where do you draw the line between protecting your kids and encouraging them to take risks and try new things?