Daddy's Little Man

I am completely and utterly shattered, I am in the center of disappointment and shadowed in darkness. I am completely destroyed.


Darren's definitely said Dada before Mama.

All you mothers out there should understand why I feel distressed.

I should have seen it coming though.

I started noticing last week that Darren always wanted the hubby. Not for anything special, just to play. I just attributed it to that he liked being twirled around and tossed up in the air several times. I didn’t see it for the disguise it was. His baby giggles held me captive and pulled the wool over my eyes. I actually took it as a relief.  Then I came home the other day and all I heard was.

“Dadadadadadadadadadadadadadadadadadada.”

“That’s my little Lingle. Dada.” The hubby said.

Then I discovered they had a secret language.

“Hey Lingle. “Dddddddddddsssssssssssst.” The hubby’s tongue is a pressed against the roof of his mouth and the backs of his top front teeth. I can see little flick of spit spray out as he does it.

Darren responds in turn, but he had more drool and bubbles coming out of his mouth. “Ddddddddddsssssssst. Dddddddsssssssssssst.”

Then the other night I had to witness the head shaking routine. The hubby would shake his head back and forth and Darren would watch him intently. Because this looked like ridiculous fun Darren would copy him.  For about five minutes they sat there just shaking their heads back and forth thinking it was hilarious.

You have got to be kidding me.

Ok, I am not destitute. I don’t feel like a failure as a mother, and I am nowhere near depressed about the situation. I am just determined to have baby number two say Mama first when she comes.

But Darren has definitely become daddy’s little man. When the hubby walks in the room it all eyes on Daddy and if daddy doesn’t notice, he is going to scream his head off until he does.

Then they proceed to have serious conversations about meatloaf, the Cowboys, why daycare is the coolest, and how to con mommy into changing all the dirty diapers.

And then I can’t find the backbone to really be upset with the hubby.

All of the baby books talk about how the dad will be feeling left out in the early stages of a child’s life because of the bond that he/she will have with their mother.

But none of them talk about how the mommy will feel once they do start bonding. It’s wonderful. Beautiful really. Amazing.

Until we find that we do have a bit of parental jealous streak running through our veins. Because we are by nature nurtures and it could not be possible that our babies could need anything other than us right? Wrong.

So, I hold my peace and refrain from unsportsmanlike conduct. Because to be completely honest, I could never explain they hubby’s mysterious fascination with the word meatloaf, or run an accurate man to man zone cover defense or call a pick six the second before it happens. I will never master the art of ‘running game,’ or talking to girls.

But what I do know is revenge is sweet.

So I send a little prayer up to God and ask for a little pink package for when the next child comes around.

Because what little boys learn from becoming Daddy’s Little Man, little girls can learn from mommy about becoming women and most importantly getting daddy wrapped around her little finger.

I’ll play fair, but I do plan to even the scoreboard.

At War with the Chicken Pox Vaccine

I am on a mission to avoid the chicken pox vaccine.

I know, I know. Darren is only seven months old, but I want to be well informed. Without stuttering and stammering, I want to tell his future teachers and doctors why he shouldn’t have the vaccine.

Call me crazy, but I have my reasons.

 

This post was created in response to a blog post  from  The Mommy Chronicles: Vaccinate or Face Jail...Say What!?

I OBJECT! 

Why?

Because of all the vaccines our children are ‘required’ to receive, the chicken pox vaccine is most useless one.

Why?

Common knowledge is, when chicken pox is contracted as a child it is ‘in general’ harmless. Yes, our children will suffer form itchy raise bumps, maybe a slight fever, and miss some school, but really, they are none the worse for wear.

Common knowledge (again in general) is that the chicken pox virus has been proven to be deadlier (twenty times deadlier) when contracted as an adult. This is my biggest problem with the chicken pox vaccine issue.

The chicken pox vaccine has been being administered since around 1995. Since then, over ten million doses of the vaccine have been issued. Another fact: the chicken pox vaccine does not always prevent chicken pox. In the event that the virus is contracted by someone who had the vaccine, the symptoms are present in a milder form.

So explain to me again, why should I give my child a vaccination for a virus he could get anyway?

Here’s another tidbit of information. All children in Minnesota are required to receive the vaccine (if they have not yet contracted the virus) before they are allow to enroll in kindergarten.

Let me recap. I am required to give my son the chicken vaccine as a child. Which, one, does not necessarily prevent the virus and which two, is a virus known to be deadlier as an adult than as a child. And now the suggestion is that I should go to jail if I don’t comply.

I OBJECT!

Oh, by the way. Fifteen years later, after the first vaccine was given (which was over ten million vaccines ago) they still are still trying to do research to find if adults should be re-vaccinated.

This is killing me. The fact that I will be forced to go through the hub-bub of getting this live ‘weakened’ virus for Darren, is a bit ridiculous. The rational is that it can prevent “serious” medical conditions and reduce costs related to the virus. This argument is weak at best.

Why?

Here are the stats.

An estimated 9,000 people in the U.S. are hospitalized each year because of chicken pox.  Of that 9,000 and estimated 90 (1%) die.

Why do I feel like some keeps throwing rocks at my head and calling me stupid?

1% is not a death rate of epic proportions. 

What happened to a vaccinating because virus was of life-threatening epidemic proportions? 

The chicken pox virus is a virus that can be contracted and treated as easily as the common cold, or more accurately the common flu; which, I would like to point out, is an optional vaccine.

 

My second biggest issue with this vaccine. I DON’T HAVE A CHOICE!

As a parent I feel like pulling my hair out and screaming. PLEASE STOP WASTING MY TIME!

For the same reason I’ll let my kids eat dirt and pick their noses on the sly; I will also let them play with a friend who has the deadly chicken pox. It builds character and more importantly, their immune system. I would rather deal with it now that worrying that my child might die from it later.

In short, the chicken pox vaccine is a vaccine of convenience. This vaccine makes life easier for teachers, easier for parents, and easier for a dysfunctional health care system (you can debate that last point).

From what I have seen, nothing about life is easy. Throwing a child with chicken pox into the mix can’t put that much of a wrench in your life.

What to know where I got my information? Check out:

http://www.cdc.gov/vaccines/pubs/vis/downloads/vis-varicella.pdf

http://www.aap.org/advocacy/releases/chickenpox.pdf

http://www.health.state.mn.us/divs/idepc/immunize/laws/childcareimzrec.pdf

I Can’t Compete with Daycare

Darren is bored.

The Hubby and I finally have a day off together on a weekday so daycare was not necessary today.

Pretty sure Darren would beg to differ.

He love’s daycare. There is constant action, little ladies loving him up and cater to his every whim, and of course, the coolest toys ever. Sounds like a baby rap video right? All of these things are lacking in our home environment.

I never knew it until today. Ok. Lying. I knew that home and daycare were two different environments. But when your child is at daycare for eight plus hours a day five days a week, the hubby and I thought that tons of toys, little girls who weren’t sisters (any other type of girls, in my opinion, are banned until he moves out) weren’t necessary. 

How wrong were we? Daycare is stiff competition.

By six this morning Darren was taking his fist nap of the day. By seven-thirty he's awake and wily.  By nine he’s screeching to keep himself amused. Ten-thirty he’s settled down for his second nap (his choice not mine). Twenty minutes later he’s bright and bushy-eyed for the hubby who is just officially waking up for the morning.

By this time I realize it might be a long day for all of us. 

Three hours and a twenty minute outside excursion later, I have a pounding tension headache and I am more than ready for Darren to take nap number three. 

Then he starts nodding off while eating his bananas.

Insult and relief are at war within me. I know we are a low key when we are at home, but seriously?  He never falls asleep if food is present. I am relieved as I lay down with him, but spend ten minutes critically questioning my parenting priorities.

Priority #1: purchase more toys. When you have to resort to using the TV to keep a six month old amused you are definitely lacking in the toy department.

Priority #2: Have more children. I will admit that my son appreciates the little ladies at daycare and would pick them to play with over me any day. I refuse to duel with them. My solution is to provide him with build in playmates. Mama trumps all when it comes to these kinds of decisions.

Some Parents Give Us All a Bad Name

I have a story to tell about parents who don’t set boundaries and follow through on consequences.

At work this morning a kid around the age of four was having a tantrum. You would be surprised how often this happens at a gas station. Honestly, the thought of walking out without a bug juice or donut is just too much for most children under three, especially for this kid. 

He was flat out screaming and kicking on the floor. I was super amused. I know I shouldn’t because my day will come, but it was probably the highlight of my day.

The mom had the right idea. When he started his tantrum she left him there and picked up the rest of her purchases and bought them. All the while her child is screaming bloody murder withering and howling on. Can you see why I was amused? I was rooting her on too.

Then the unthinkable happened.

He stopped.

And she rewarded him.

Then there they were standing at the bakery case, where he happily picked out a cake donut.

I was shocked. Correction. I wasn’t shocked at all. This happens all the time. Whether it is over the coveted bug juice, or a slushy, or a donut, or any of the tempting goodies we display at the registers right in the reach of children, it happens all the time.

People shake their heads and wonder what’s wrong with the children of America. I have the answer for you.

Their parents.

End of story.

Why am I doing this again?

The hip-hop life? I must be insane. I am scouring my brain for why I am deciding do this blog ‘thing.’ I mean spewing my guts to hopefully sympathetic readers is really the ‘in thing’ right now. But either way I want to be heard, and not by my husband who gets this distant look in his eyes when I talk about most things. He’s so supportive. 

As for the title, it’s fitting and very tongue-in-cheek. I am undoubtedly the whitest black girl you will ever find. Being raised in southern Minnesota it’s to be expected and as my husband likes to point out, (all too often) ‘Baby you’re still learning how to be black.’ I am sure the look on my face what he can do with that comment.

To push the contradiction further, we live smack dab in the middle of nowhere. The nearest town is ten minutes away and has a population of around 200. If I need groceries, there’s a half an hour drive into town. I love it. My husband, the city-slicker, is learning to love it. He has his moments of uncertainty though.

“Baby, we need to get a dog.” (This said on our third night at our farm place.)

“Why?”  Not that I am opposed, but the comment came out of nowhere.

“It’s so dark and so quiet. Anyone could just walk up on a nigga with no warning. At least with a dog it’ll warn us or something.” 

A few nights later it was, “Baby, its pitch black out there. You can’t see anything. It makes a nigga not want to watch Signs anymore.”

Sometimes I am sooo in love with his blackness.

Obviously, my husband and I come from completely different backgrounds. This makes raising our son Darren interesting, exciting, and frustrating at times, but definitely a laughable experience. Our rearing conversations are always marked with ‘My mama never did that and I survived,’ or ‘those are girl jeans, they don’t have pockets on the butt," and random quotes popular black movies.  All of which (and many more) were punctuated with me rolling my eyes and insisting ‘it will be ok.’

So maybe I am insane, but I am in the process of raising a family that is culturally aware. I figure if I can shape some identity for them out of the confusion of my own existence so be it. So stay tuned for the not-so-politically correct moments in my life and be prepared to laugh. This is bound to be hilarious.