True story. I won’t call you names or criticize you for who you support. I won’t march in the streets with #NotMyPresident signs. And I won’t spread hatred and divide our country even more. What’s done is done and we must unite and organize in this scary, unpredictable time. And the best thing I can do for my country right now, is to educate my son, not just in math and reading and writing, but by setting an example, how to be fair, how to have compassion, how to treat women with respect, how to help people in need, how to view everyone as equal, how not to judge and condemn, how not to be ignorant, egotistical, and superior, but above all, how to be kind. Because it’s not just up to the president to make America great again. It’s up to us.
I met a new friend recently and when I told her about my education background, she said, “That is so brave of you, to just up and leave everything and everyone you know and move half way around the world.”
But she’s wrong. There’s a difference between being brave and being fearless. Being brave is to overcome something you’re afraid of and forging ahead. Being fearless is to not even realize you’re afraid. I was the latter. I was 22 and I was fearless.
Now I’m in my 30s, mother of a young child, and I. Am. Afraid. Of. Everything.
20s and turbulence: Woohoo! This is like a roller coaster!
30s and turbulence: If something happens to the plane, I won’t be able to protect my son.
20s and health: Eh, whatever I have will most likely resolve itself.
30s and health: OMG, WhatIsThisAmIGoingToDie, what if Dragon loses his mother.
20s and safety: Fast driving, fast talking, fast drinking, fast fast fast.
30s and safety: We’re almost at the speed limit, can you slow down? There’s a child in the car.
You get the picture.
Now I’m looking to retire my role as a full-time Mommy and sniffing around for positions in the workforce again, and I realize this fearless/fearful situation is even revealing itself in something as simple as sitting in front of the computer and searching LinkedIn.
Straight out of grad school, I only applied for jobs that I was waaaaay under qualified for. “What have I got to lose?” was the mentality and my ego was gigantic. And looking back, I’m seeing that ego can be cleverly disguised as confidence, and confidence (along with skills obviously) wins over interviewers.
This go around, I find myself mostly applying for jobs I am over qualified for. The nagging voice in my head constantly undermines myself. “How are you going to explain the gap between employment?” “Will being a SAHM for awhile make me less desirable?” “What if I lost my touch?”
What ifs plaque my mind.
Is this an age thing? Maybe something that comes with the territory of becoming a parent? Or is it just me? Have I just gotten soft?
Dragon (in bed in the dark) to Georgie: Don’t be a messy messy messy boy. Just clean up with a napkin.
Dragon: Why are our heads hard?
Me: Cause we’re really smart.
Me to Husband: Hey baby, (blah blah blah)
Dragon: Why you call him a baby. He’s not a baby, he’s Daddy.
Me: He’s your Daddy, but he’s not my Daddy.
Dragon: Yeah, he’s your brother.
So I just noticed that my blog was linked to this site: http://www.mumsnet.com/Talk/_chat/a1828126-Rules-for-dating-my-son
and my last post on Rules for dating my son got quite some feedback by…get this…anonymous people!
While I am deeply flattered that anything I post would garner any attention (only popular blogs get negative responses!!), I would like to clarify a few things:
1. I didn’t write this list. I saw it on Pinterest and found it sarcastic and funny and fit my type of inner humor. If you don’t find it funny, that’s fine…everyone is entitled to their own opinions, and their own way of raising their children. No judgement here. Except you. I judge you. And you. And yes, definitely you.
2. My son is not named Dragon. He was born in the year of the Dragon, and I, as an Asian woman, referred to him as Dragon Baby when I was pregnant, cause we didn’t have an actual name for him til he was born. My goly, boys’ names are hard! Rest assured littlewhitebag, he is not an actual fire-breathing reptile (thank god, that would have been a painful L &D), there is nothing to be skeptical about…
3. Am I overprotective? Probably. Will I care about the types of people he will eventually hang out with? Most likely. Will he rebel and hang out with whoever the f*ck he wants to when he grows up? Absolutely. This list? All in fun. I am not so disillusioned that I think I will be able to control a grown man. But right now, he’s my 10 month old baby and he’ll do as I say 🙂
4. “A girl in the big city, searching for her place, her heart, and ultimately, her destiny.” That was written 5 years ago when I started this blog. I WAS a girl in a big city, lost and desperately searching for something solid, something “good.” If that sounds like a cliche, it’s because it is. EVERY girl I knew was the same way, and my journey wasn’t anything special. But my journey is mine, and though I don’t live in New York anymore, I will always be searching for my place, with or without a husband, with or without a baby, and with or without you negative nellies.
5. Mumsnet? Mum’s Net implies it’s a site where mom’s go and network and support other moms. Being a mom can sometimes feel like a lonely and isolating job, so I guess if by banning together with strangers to bash on something another stranger posted, it can bring you a sense of “belonging,” then by all means. Good luck with your own children.
This is hilarious. And frighteningly, that is likely the kind of mother I will be. Dragon is only 10 months old and I already am concerned about what kinds of babies he has play dates with. Well, not so much the babies than the parents of said babies, but you get the picture. Too much too soon?
We celebrated Dragon Boy’s 4 month birthday yesterday, and while so many people keep telling me how time flies this first year, I beg to differ. I feel like I’ve had him forever.
Here’s some advice to women (or men) out there. Don’t have kids if you’re not ready, financially, but more importantly, emotionally.
I was ready. I was excited about expanding our family and loving someone more than words can explain, and I was looking forward to this experience helping me grow into a woman and out of my Peter Pan mentality. But Jesus Almighty, becoming a mother didn’t just help me grow up, it basically catapulted me into a world that confuses and scares me on a daily basis, and forced me to face responsibilities unbeknownst to me. No amount of mental preparing for motherhood geared me up for this, and every day I question myself, guilt trip myself, and work myself up in a tizzy til I collapse in exhaustion for some unsettling sleep on the couch.
I love my son. I love my son more than I love my cat, and that is saying a lot. I often feel like my insides are gonna explode and leek out of my body in the form of tears over this love that I cannot cope with. But as I devote everything to him, I wonder how much of myself I’ve lost, and merely wondering this makes me feel like a selfish, horrible mother.
Deep down I know I’m not a selfish, horrible mother (well, at least not horrible). I’ve put my career on hold to focus on his needs and wants while simultaneously trying to balance giving him everything, and knowing when to say a firm “no” when needed. But sometimes, I can’t help but want to focus on my needs and wants, do stuff that I took for granted before I became a mother, like write for an evening in a coffee shop, or go to the gym, or meet a girlfriend for a drink or two, or take a bubble bath complete with candles, wine and a good book.
I need to add here that I have a wonderful husband who is a wonderful dad to Dragon Boy. If I told him I wanted to do any of the above things, he’d no doubt take the baby off my hands and tell me to go enjoy myself. But it’s not the same. I would inevitably feel guilty that I dumped the baby on my husband, who works long stressful hours, and worry that his parenting would throw our son off the schedule I worked so hard to establish. In the end, I would think the guilt and worry is not worth it, and I don’t attempt that leisure activity again.
I want myself back. I just haven’t figured out how yet.