An Open Letter to MAM

Dear MAM,

I've been doing this whole mom thing for almost a year now, and amongst the plethora of parenting knowledge I've gained over the last year, one thing has rang especially true for me: MAM binkies are the best. I constantly hear from friends that they are the only binkies their children will take. This has certainly been true for my little boy from day one. 

Dayen, one week old, with his favorite bunny binky.

Now please don't get me wrong here: I am grateful for your binkies. They have saved me from a lot of sleepless nights, a lot of tantrums, and I'm not ashamed to admit that they seem to work as a literal plug when he starts crying. It's incredible. 

It's just that, and call me cynical, but I can't help but wonder: Why only MAM? Why are children everywhere in agreement that MAM binkies are far superior to other binkies? How do they know?

I don't mean to sound ungrateful here, but I do feel like I was tricked into using your product in the first place. Dayen's favorite bunny binky actually came free in our bag of stuff from registering at Target. I figured hey, free binky. It's a little girly, but whatever. I actually threw it in the bottom of our bassinet in case the binkies I was planning on using got lost. But somehow, it ended up being the only binky he would use! 

And let's not forget the time this binky appeared on How I Met Your Mother! 

We were excited for it to make a cameo, sure, but I was also starting to feel like it was haunting me.

And you know what? That much would be ok. I could handle the MAM company big-brothering me for whatever reason because in the end, I have a happy baby. But there is an undeniable flaw in your product design, something unnoticed by babies but surely I can't be the first mother to notice that nearly all your binkies are white or clear. 

I get it: it's like what shampoo companies do when they try to get us to lather, rinse, and repeat. Only suckers repeat. And only suckers buy binkies that go missing so easily!

Let me tell you, we took care of that thing almost as good as we took care of our kid. I actually dropped him off at my brothers once with the instructions, "if something happens to Dayen, I will be upset. But if you lose this binky, we are going to have some major problems."

And of course, inevitably, it happened anyway. Christmas Eve at the new Star Wars movie, Dayen dropped it and it must have dissolved or transferred to another dimension or something cause I'm telling you, that thing was gone. We had half the theater looking for it before we decided we'd better cut our losses and make it to the store for a new binky before it closed.

(When I gave him his new binky, he took it hesitantly, then smiled like, "oh good. It's a MAM.")

And even once I had a backup binky, they seemed to disappear in pairs. Dayen wakes up in the middle of the night screaming and all I have to do is give him his binky, and we can both fall right back asleep. But somehow it always goes missing. I tear his crib apart, shaking out blankets and tossing out stuffed animals, crawling on my hands and knees feeling every corner of the room for that stupid, invisible binky.

And that's what I'm really writing about. Because it's 2016. If you guys are going to be the best and somehow convince infants nationwide that those weird circle binkies that let you see inside their mouth while they suck, or the funny binkies with fake moustaches glued to the outsides pale in comparison to your binkies, then I need you to make them light up! I need them to have a homing device, and an alarm. I need them to sprout wheels and drive themselves into his mouth at the sound of his cry. I need them to be a color easily seen in my half-asleep state at 2:00 am. We've invented reflectors for bicycles and safety vests for hunters: it's irresponsible that this hasn't happened yet. 

Sincerely,

Anndee Fonnesbeck, the mom

and Dayen Fonnesbeck, who is probably going to secretly pack this binky when he goes to college.

If he can find it. 

Baking Cupcakes for the Dog

When Caleb started his new job, I planned to find another nanny job and keep working. I am lucky to be able to bring Dayen with me, and there didn't seem to be any reason not to work. So, I started a new job and after the first day I realized: this isn't what I want anymore. I was so attached to the last little girl I nannied, and she just got me. She knew what to expect from me, and vice versa. As the little boy was throwing a tantrum about not wanting the sandwich he had just begged me for, I just felt myself totally deflate. I just thought: I don't want to start over with another one. 

So, despite how much I've always loved being a nanny, I decided to try this stay at home mom thing, while focusing on my photography business. 

I was a little nervous because I've never just stayed home before. But I decided, if I'm going to do this thing, I'm going to to it right. 

And let me tell you, that first week was magical. 

I woke up early every day. I took Dega for a walk all while feeding Dayen in the stroller. I came home, exercised, and was totally ready for the day by 9 am. So I did the dishes, vacuumed, watered flowers, played with Dayen, edited pictures, vacuumed again... After awhile that Tangled song started to get stuck in my head... "7 am the usual morning lineup..."

I'm not complaining about any of that. I might be single handedly setting feminism back about 50 years with this statement, but I genuinely enjoy taking care of my house and family. I get enough satisfaction from that to feel accomplished every day. 

But the whole supermom thing is bound to fall apart sometime, and for me it didn't take nearly as long as it should have. 

Saturday I spent the whole day cleaning and baking for Dayens birthday party. I made these beautiful cupcakes, arranged them on a platter, then rushed off to do two back to back photoshoots. And I wasn't complaining. I felt like I was juggling everything like a pro.

Then it happened: while I was in the shower that night, our dog Dega ate the cupcakes. 

Like, almost all of them. 

At least 2 dozen cupcakes, and the wrappers. He didn't even make a big mess of the tray, almost like he was daintily picking them up one after one... "Ok, I'll just have ONE more."

I don't think anyone out there would be surprised to hear that I was upset. Even though it was inconvenient and Dega was sick for the next two days (and our backyard is now spotted with shreds of colorful papers) it wasn't that hard to make more cupcakes. It was an easily solvable problem. What really bothered me was that I realized it was a perfect metaphor for what I had been feeling lately: like everything I do is basically just making cupcakes for the dog. 

I spend hours planning and preparing dinner, and it's gone within minutes and I'm left with a dirty kitchen that I spent an hour that morning cleaning. 

I am patient and kind and loving to Dayen day after day, but then in one moment I get upset with him and feel like I undo everything else I've ever done. 

I hop out of bed in the morning, do 10,000 things, then look around at the end of the night and it all looks pretty much the same. Because that's what I signed up for: the behind the scenes stuff. The closets and drawers are always full of clean clothes. The muddy paw prints on the floor disappear like magic. The fridge and pantry refill to keep us well fed. And like any good director, I'm never actually seen in the final product. 

Don't get me wrong, its not a thankless job. My sweet husband always makes a point to acknowledge me for what I do. It's just that sometimes, all I'm doing is baking cupcakes for the dog.

But it's helped me to learn to step back and just enjoy the fruits of my labors. Stop trying to find distractions for Dayen so I can work, and instead spend some time enjoying his cute laugh while we play with the same old toys and read his favorite book for the thousandth time. Not everything I do is going to be monumental and life-changing, but I am still building a really beautiful life.

Cosleeping

I've been getting in trouble a lot this week for not letting a lot of our friends and family know that after 7 years, Caleb quit Maddox and just started a new job this week! I will forever be grateful for Maddox because that is where we met, but boy am I glad that we are both done with that place. His new job is at a software company called Spillman Technologies. He has really loved it so far and we are both really excited! 

The hours are a big change from the late nights he worked as a server, so we have all been adjusting to him getting up at 6:00. Dayen, who is the lightest sleeper known to man, hears him getting ready in the mornings and usually wakes up. This morning, I had a genius idea: why not bring him into bed with me? Cosleeping is all the rage these days. Our pediatrician begged us not to and I never saw the appeal (my personal bubble grows ten times its normal size while I'm asleep, so adding another person to our bed never sounded fun.) plus Dayen is such a light sleeper that any time we moved he would wake up. He started sleeping in his own crib in his own room pretty early on, and even now when we put him down he usually looks at us like, "great, now get out of here so I can get some sleep".

STILL, my friends rage about it (or are upset that they have to now that their kids are used to it) and in my minds eye I could wake up in a couple hours with this little cutie snoozing next to me. 

So I figured, why not?

The following is an account of my tragic, short experience with Cosleeping.

He picked my nose.

He tried to see if my nose was removable. (Almost, buddy. Almost.)

He scratched my face repeatedly, and when I tried to tell him not to he laughed maniacally. (I've never seen such a diabolical look in a man's eyes.)

He stuck his gross, dirty stuffed elephant on my face while I tried to fall asleep. Although to be fair, that's what I do to him, so I guess the sentiment was sweet.

He took up more than half the bed. How does such a tiny human need that much room?

He tore through my carefully constructed pillow walls then tried rolling his way to freedom.

He laughed loudly every time I closed my eyes to try to sleep. You're so funny, mom. That's not what we're here to do. 

He pulled the blanket over his head and then just sat there, waiting to see how long until I'd save him from asphyxiation.

He poked me in the eye. On purpose. When I opened my eyes he had one little finger out, poised to do it again.

He used me like his human jungle gym. 

He wanted the left side of the bed. Just kidding, the right. Ok definitely the left was better. Nope, right again. This was a good object lesson to me about how the grass is always greener...

He had a nice, loud chat with his binky. And his hand.

And finally, he went back to his own bed, where he quickly fell fast asleep. 

Cell phones

I hate phones. Hate, hate, hate them. And I say that despite the thousand ways having a cell phone has benefitted me. I say that despite the bajillion pictures I've taken of my cute baby with my cell phone. I say that even as I write this blog post from my cell phone. That is how much I hate them.

Sometimes I think I was just born into the wrong generation. Sometimes I feel like maybe I should have been born in the 1800's so I could wear big foofy dresses and Oreos wouldn't exist (and therefore couldn't tempt me, so I'd be more likely to fit into my corset) and cell phones wouldn't even be thought about. It sounds perfect until I remember sewage also ran freely through the streets, and then I'm like, ok no thanks.

But it's almost worth it. I almost hate cell phones that much. 

The problem, I guess, isn't the phones. It's the fact that everyone from my 10 year old neighbor to my grandma is addicted to them. (No offense, grandma. I'm just assuming. You always text back right away, so I know your phone is nearby. I hope I'm still the favorite after this.) 

I was one of the few in High School who didn't get a cell phone for a really long time. My parents made me pay my own cell phone bill, so even though I always had a job, I wasn't willing to spend my meager pay checks on a phone bill that, back then, was pretty ridiculous considering you could only talk on nights and weekends and every time you accidently clicked the "internet" button you'd have to frantically click end because that was a luxury you couldn't afford.

Back then, when I was one of few of my friends that didn't have a phone, it was always annoying when everyone would be texting instead of paying attention to everyone we were with. (Although I have to admit, when I finally got a phone, I texted a LOT, and I'm sure I did my fair share of ignoring friends.)

But now, it's so much more than just texting. There are endless, completely mindless things we can do on our phones to distract us from reality. That's part of the reason I gave up Instagram and Snapchat a year ago, and even though I still have my fair share of distractions, I have been SO glad to be rid of those. I can't tell you how annoying it is when I'm hanging out with someone and they obsessively take pictures of themselves, themselves with the food they ordered, with my dog, with my baby, etc. (that's right... You know who you are!)

I know I'm not a genius here for discovering this first. We are all aware what a problem it can be, and yet few seem to care. I am not exaggerating when I say it is rare these days for me to have even a short conversation with someone that isn't, in some way, interrupted by a phone. I can't stand it when I'm trying to talk to someone and they are mindlessly scrolling through Facebook. I've started saying random things when I know they aren't listening: "so I'm hoping my unicorn will be back from the shop tomorrow so I can ride it to school." Most people just nod and smile and pretend to listen. 

Are you starting to see why I hate, hate cell phones?

Because usually, usually whatever you're doing on there can wait. Because if you need to make a phone call or send a text, I understand. When you are carrying on another conversation with someone who is not in the room with us, I don't understand. And frankly, let's just say it: it's rude.

But what really gets me about it is that it seems to get worse with every generation: Dayen is already so surrounded with it that even at 9 months old, he is fascinated with phones. (And I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that I'm constantly sticking my phone in his face trying to get him to smile.) He already reaches for our phones and sobs when we wont give it to him, even though we've never let him play with them before. 

Sure, right now he just wants to eat them. But really, what message is he getting when everyone he knows and loves is constantly glued to those little devices he doesn't understand? What is he going to think when he gets older and it's hard to get moms attention when he does a cool trick because she's staring at that tiny screen?

I accept that our phones connect us to friends and loved ones, people we haven't seen for years and people we'd otherwise never talk to again. I know that the Internet connects us to nearly all the knowledge ever known to man, and that we can do worthwhile and incredible things with the tiny phone we carry in our pockets. 

But, speaking for myself at least, MOST of what we do our phones is time wasting and meaningless. The games we spend hours progressing on we will soon give up. The pictures we scroll through will be forgotten. Even the pins we pin and intend to bring to life, we generally don't. 

That's why I finally got so fed up with my phone, and really with everyone else and their phones, that I decided to give it up. At least, as much as possible. Id like to "downgrade" my phone and have nothing but calls and texts, but Caleb (who thinks im slightly crazy) reminds me to not make any rash decisions. Because I want to focus my time and attention on things that last, things that matter. 

And of course, I'm not telling you what to do. But just know the next time we're hanging out and you are pretending to listen to me while you play FarmVille (is that still a thing?) I am kicking you in my mind.

Sins and Sinners

I've hesitated writing on this topic for a long time, because no matter when I write it, I'm afraid it will look like it's directed at someone in my life. So let me just preface this by saying: this is directed at no one in particular. It's just something I've seen a lot, all over, in myself and in others, and it's something I wanted to address. 

A few years ago, I had been in a big fight with one of my best friends about the boy she was going to marry. We ended up not talking for 2 years. At the same time, I also had a family member I hadn't talked to for years, as well as other friends who I hadn't just fallen out of touch with, but who I purposefully chose to cut out of my life for one reason or another. 

Finally one day it hit me: I had all these people in my life that I was afraid to bump into, that caused me anxiety and stress to worry about hanging onto my anger. I was certainly not faultless in any of the situations, no matter how justified I felt in my anger. It was exhausting.

It seems like the older I get, the harder the situations become. Where silly spats used to cause temporary rifts between friends, I am now dealing with friends going through bitter divorces, angry fights and situations where one or both parties have definitely been wronged. And even when I am not the person directly involved, I find it very hard to just let go of my anger.

I am very quick to jump to conclusions and choose sides. Caleb, who doesn't have any of those tendencies and couldn't if he tried, has helped me a lot in this regard.

But the thing that has hit me the most lately is realizing that we are not our sins. 

We are all going to make mistakes. You will never find a friend or spouse who doesn't upset you sometimes, or hurt your feelings, or even occasionally upset you so much that you want to cut off all ties and never speak to them again.

But it's rarely ever worth it. Because despite how severe we may deem the sin, it is not ever impossible to overcome. Christ taught, "And unto him that smiteth thee on the one cheek offer also the other; and him that taketh away thy cloak forbid not to take thy coat also" (Luke 6:29)

I have always struggled with that scripture. Shouldn't I be able to cut people out of my life who have hurt me? Isn't there something to be said for protecting myself against future harm?

But I think I understand that scripture better now. It shows us how much Christ believes in each one of us to be able to change. He knows that those we love will often hurt us more than our enemies ever could. He knows that we will probably hurt those we love in return.

But he also knows that he provided us all a way to return to our Father in Heaven completely clean. He didn't just do that for those with the minor, no-big-deal sins. The atonement is for each and every one of us. 

I don't say this to judge anyone's choices. There are definitely abusive relationships which should be left behind and forgotten.

But for the most part, I think we all need to remember that we are not our biggest sins. Sometimes we have to swallow our pride and let time heal us, and somehow come to separate the sin from the sinner. Because people aren't replaceable. Because when it comes to our marriages especially, I believe we have to fight. These days marriage isn't looked at as something that will last forever, but it should be. That is how we should always think of it, and only in the most dire circumstances should we even consider letting go. Because those we love are worth fighting for. Because we come out of those trials with stronger relationships and determination to be better, to do better. 

But mostly, because if today you are the one being hurt by another's actions, tomorrow you will likely be the one hurting someone else. And I hope that when I am on that end, my family and friends will still be there, willing to forgive, willing to believe that I can change, and that I am worth loving again.

And They Still Bring It Up

Most of you know, because of my hardened self-esteem and ability to take a beating, that I grew up with 3 older brothers. I could tell a lot of stories about those years. Being pinned down and forced to eat sour candies that I hated. The time they let me eat that silica powder pack with my frozen pretzel that specifically says "do not eat". (I couldn't read, and it looked like a powdery topping. When my mom figured it out she lost it and called poison control and I thought I was dying.) All of my dolls being bald because Cody would rip out their hair to torment me.

When you hear this next story, please bear in mind the years of psychological torment that led to this moment. 

I was five. We had just pulled into camp in Oregon where we were staying for a family reunion. It had been a long road trip, and it was starting to get late. As my dad started to park the trailer, I complained that I had to go to the bathroom. Since the trailer wasn't set up yet, my mom told my brothers to walk me over to the public bathrooms across the campsite. 

When we got there, there was a sign on the door for Women, only it looked like this. 

Now, to me, it is still pretty obvious that this woman, while also bald, handless, and all around unfortunately-shaped, also only had one leg.

As my brothers tried to convince me to go inside, I told them nice try, but I was smart enough to know that this was a handicapped bathroom.

They got a good laugh out of it at first. Ha ha, our little sister is so dumb, now go to the bathroom.

But after a few minutes, it wasn't so funny. I mean, I was only five, and I really had to go. This was no time for their mean pranks. But I also couldn't understand why the handicapped women's restroom was right next to the men's room, with no regular restroom in sight.

Luckily, after what felt like an eternity of my brothers trying to convince me that the bathroom wasn't handicapped, my mom came over to figure out what was going on. She, of course, laughed too and then had to escort me into the bathroom, where I was still sure a cop would burst in at any moment and arrest us. 

And now, the point:

Lately, I see a lot of people posting pictures and stories about their kids that may seem cute or funny to us, but are generally really embarrassing for the kid. Granted, I post a lot of pictures of my kid. Like, a lot. But I try to keep in mind what he might not appreciate being posted all over the World Wide Web twenty years from now.  

Not only that, but it's mortifying for them now. Kids aren't just emotionless little robots. They understand and remember a lot younger and a lot more than we give them credit for. Just because they are little doesn't mean they don't deserve basic human respect, especially from their parents. 

All I can do is be grateful there was no one around to film me that day while I stood there doing the pee-pee dance and crying about my lack of bathroom accommodations. Id prefer to blog about them myself twenty years later, thanks!

I am not broken

A few weeks after I found out I was pregnant, I woke up in the middle of the night in a panic and remember thinking, "There is a human growing inside me, and it has to come out at some point." Honestly, the thought completely terrified me. Everything I've ever seen about birth portrayed it as the most painful thing a person can experience. It was horrible counting down the days to what I was sure was going to be a horrific event.

But at the same time, that knowledge kind of went against common sense for me. Why would birth be so terrible for us, yet not so for animals? Why would anyone in their right mind have more than one child after going through trauma like that? And WHY would anyone ever go without an epidural?

Luckily, the mother of the cute little girl I nanny had her natural and we talked about her birth experience a lot. I remember her telling me she had a friend who got an epidural and right before she had to push she was just sitting on her phone on Facebook, and that wasn't what she thought birth should be like. At first when I heard that, I thought, "That sounds great! Sign me up for that birth!"

But, being the person that I am, I decided to research it to death. I am so glad that I did, because by the time I went into labor I had no fear of birth, and was actually really excited about it. Even after having the somewhat traumatic birth experience that I had (two weeks post date, 28 hours of labor, 2 hours of pushing and finally a forcep delivery of my almost 10 lb child) I still have good, calm feelings about Dayens birth & I am actually excited to have more kids! (Go figure.)

But now that Dayen is all good & born, I have this head full of knowledge that is of no use to me until I have another child. And what's worse is having to deal with the amount of people who tell me, "Well just make SURE you don't go past your due date next time!" Or "I can't believe your doctor let you go that far past!" Because I have a huge rant built up in my head, but I don't get to say any of it or I sound completely crazy.

So, here comes the rant & the crazy!

First and foremost... You are NOT broken because you go past your due date. Calling it your "due date" definitely makes it feel like if the baby is not here by that date, something is wrong. I was surprised what an emotional blow it was to me when I didn't have him early, let alone "on time". It was a really disappointing and frustrating couple of weeks, and I wish I'd had less people texting me saying, "he's STILL not here?" and more people reminding me that all babies were born eventually! 

The truth that I didn't know at the time is that MOST first time moms, if left without any interventions, actually go to 41 weeks+ 5 days, which is exactly when I had Dayen. If I had known that, I could have relaxed a little more there at the end.

Usually when I explain that, people like to remind me that going past my due date was probably the reason I had such a huge baby. BUT, Dayen was 9 lbs 6 oz at birth, and over 11 lbs at his 2 week appointment. He has consistently been in the top 97th percentile for his height and weight. 

Yes, him being a bigger baby definitely made birth harder. But I really believe our bodies don't make babies that we can't birth. Dayen was posterior (meaning face up- picture trying to put a tshirt on a toddler from their forehead rather than the back of their head... It works, but takes a lot more effort!) and he had the cord wrapped around his neck so getting him to turn was difficult. I'm very grateful for modern medicine and for the OB who came to use the forceps, but I do believe I could have had him on my own.

Finally, everyone keeps telling me to just get induced next time. And I have to admit, that was a pretty appealing option. I like to have a plan, and it would have been great to know an exact date my baby would be here so everyone could plan on it. But, the truth is that induction makes you 50% more likely to have a csection. We already live in a csection happy country, where nearly 33% of births are now csections, usually not because of medical emergencies but just because birth can take awhile, and it's easier for doctors if they can schedule an exact time for delivery. Don't get me wrong, csections have their place. We are lucky to live in a world where babies and mothers can be saved in emergencies because of csections. But it is definitely not ideal! You don't want to be recovering from a major abdominal surgery while also being sleep deprived and trying to take care of a newborn. It's also very hard to find a doctor who will let you attempt a vbac (vaginal birth after cesarean) so usually once you have a csection, that's how the rest of your births will go too.

The comedian Jim Gaffigan has an awesome commentary on natural birth. His wife had all 5 of their children at home with a midwife. My favorite is when he says "the reaction we usually get is, 'oh we were going to do that too, but we wanted our baby to live!'" It really is crazy to me how many people thought I was completely insane for using a midwife instead of an OB, even though I gave birth in a hospital. I think the term "midwife" gives the image of a woman in a shawl covered with cats & moons who chants over your belly to make sure the baby will be born with 10 fingers and toes. And, there probably are midwives like that. But for me, having a midwife meant that I had support there with me the entire time. I didn't have to "wait to push" until a doctor got there, I didn't have to be checked constantly to make sure the doctor could be there on time. And again, I'm so glad I had a relationship with a great OB who was at home watching Dayens heart rate drop and was awake ready to come in at 2:45 am when they called him. But I can't imagine what that experience would have been like without my midwife! And she still texts me wanting updated pictures or just to say Hi. Show me an OB who will do that.

Ultimately, I realize every birth experience is different. But the fact is, you have a right to choose what your birth will look like. It doesn't have to be where you just walk in and get directed by doctors how to have your baby. You aren't sick, you aren't dying. You are doing what your body was built to do. 

Hopefully, this will stop me from going off on a rant to the next person who tells me I better induce next time. 😁