My family was never really suburban in the traditional sense of the word. We went downtown often, attended lots of theatre and ate in interesting restaurants. But it was always a long schlep to get anywhere. We needed to leave the house an hour before any dinner reservation. And I always had to make sure to catch the last TTC ride home, curbing late-night teenage adventures. I hated walking across the deserted parking lot of Finch subway station to retrieve the family car and drive the rest of the way home. It was too quiet. I always preferred the noise and bustle of downtown to the eery silence of deserted suburbia.
This is Offbeat Families's archive of It worked for me posts.
Parenting issues: We've all got 'em, now we can all help solve 'em. Chime in with what works for you and your family.
We had a wildly successful show this past weekend, the club was packed and the crowd was very enthusiastic and responsive, which was fantastic. I'd spent the last month wavering between being very excited about my two solos, and being very scared about how exposed I was going to be up there. Normally when I perform, I leave a waist cincher on because body issues.
The upside of this situation is that we found out that my husband IS the better stay at home parent. This could be because he really didn't enjoy his "on call" job very much, or it could be that he hasn't spent the last 10 months 24/7 with a little baby happily suckling his nipples, but he is happier at home, gets more done than I ever did, and our baby is happier camper for him. Instead of me waiting for him to get home at question mark o'clock from his crummy job, he knows I will be back at lunch time for breastfeeding, then at 4:30 on the dot for more breastfeeding. We get supper on the table together, take a walk as a family, then both tackle bedtime together. Sometimes we even have time for sex.
One Saturday night I was just suddenly extremely sore in my lower abdomen — because of some historical gastrointestinal issues I assumed it was just a really bad case of bloat. Then it went on for the entire week. I made some drastic diet choices. I cut out dairy and anything with bubbles or that's known to cause gas at all. I consulted Dr. Google and tried every ridiculous thing I found in forum posts or on Web MD. Meanwhile my husband got more worried by the day and gently urged (read: tried to load me in the car while I was sleeping) me to go to the doctor or the emergency room. I was so sure it was something benign that I refused to listen to reason.
As a child of immigrants I ended up bilingual pretty much by default. My parents are from Taiwan and China, so I grew up speaking Mandarin Chinese with them and speaking English with my older sister and at school. Although I dreaded going to Chinese School on Sundays as a child, by the time I left for college I recognized the benefits of being bilingual and I knew even then that I would want my future children to be the same.
I am mourning what I thought would happen, how I thought things would work. I am finally accepting our new relationship, and trying to not feel guilty about it. It's ok that my baby has formula, and I know breastmilk is best, but I'm doing my very best too. She is a happy, beautiful, healthy baby. I get to cuddle and snuggle her all day since I'm on maternity leave, and we have a wonderful relationship. I miss the closeness that nursing brought, but I'm glad she's comfortable, and fed.
Our habitual pleasure-seeking keeps us from being able to be truly and deeply committed to our endeavors in life. Our idea that we deserve to feel good all the time, and that anything that isn't actively making us feel good is bad and wrong and scary, makes it so we inevitably begin to resist the things we have committed to.