Author

Gemma Gaudette

Yep, I did that! #MOMFAIL

 

My youngest, Joe, turned 3 almost three weeks ago. One would think I would remember his age well. I vividly remember my pregnancy, and his birth. Who could forget getting themselves cut open and a doctor pulling another human out of your stomach? Yeah, I remember it well. Well, I apparently couldn’t remember that it all happened three years ago. Take a look:

1274998_10205139863238995_1995893396252343376_o-768x1024

 

Yep! I told the baker Joe was turning 2. The best part of this whole thing? I didn’t even notice the error. I was too enthralled with how great the cake looked to notice there was anything wrong. It took the husband one second. He looked at the cake and instead of getting excited like I was (okay, he wouldn’t get that excited over a cute cake no matter what) he said, “Why does it say he’s 2?” I said, “What?” The husband then pointed out the number 2 on the cake. God bless the husband, he assumed the baker made the mistake. Nope, it was me. I checked the emails to the baker and right there in bold letters I said Joe was turning 2. It was all Mama’s fault. In fact, the baker offered to change it to a 3, but I told her no way, it will make for a great story someday, either around the dinner table or in the therapist’s office!

Reposted with permission from Boisenewsmom.com

Give Yourself a High Five If Your Kid Says This…

boy yellingThere is one sentence I believe every mother should own and wear as a badge of honor. In fact, maybe we need actual badges with the sentence printed on it, maybe bedazzled on, or in big bold letters… whatever works for you. When you hear that sentence, I think every mom should wear it with pride.

I heard it for the first time when Ben was 4 years old. I remember the day well. I’d just picked him up from preschool, and he wasn’t getting in the car as I’d asked him to do. After what felt like the 100th time  telling him to get in the car, I finally said, “I guess we’re doing this the hard way.” That’s when I picked him up and put him in the car myself. At 4 years old this was not okay with Ben. He always wanted to get himself into the car, so when I took that privilege away from him, my sweet, blond haired, blue eyed angel looked me in the eye and with all the loathing a 4 year old can muster he said, “I wish you weren’t my mommy.” There it was. Four years of parenting and I finally got hit with that zinger.

When I told my girlfriends about it, every single one of them said the same thing: “I’m so sorry” and “ I’m glad I haven’t had to hear that yet.”

As much as I appreciated the kind words, there is no need to feel bad for me. Here’s why: I believe that little sentence means I’m doing my job as a mom.

I wear that sentence as a badge of honor. That’s right, a badge of honor.

To me that sentence is simple: it means I’m the mommy and I’m doing what a mommy is supposed to be doing. I’m setting boundaries for your 4 year old self, and I’m sure I’m going to be hearing it when you’re 14 when I’m setting boundaries for your teenage self (God help me when that time comes.)

I don’t feel bad he said it, because I said it too. I said it to my mom when I was little. I always said it when I didn’t get what I wanted, or she said no, or she didn’t do something I wanted her to do. Basically I said that one sentence when my mom was putting boundaries up, or when she was teaching me life lessons. Life lessons that at 5 years old I didn’t much appreciate. Okay, okay, I said that one sentence A LOT as a teenager, and I didn’t much appreciate what she was trying to teach me then either.

I know why I said those words: to hurt her, to make her feel bad, to make her think there were better mommies out there.

I know that’s why Ben said it too. So I looked him in the eye and said, “I know you do.” That’s all the acknowledgement I gave that sentence.

What I really wanted to do was raise my arm in the air and high five myself because that sentence acknowledged that in some small way I’m not totally screwing up this parenting thing. Every once in a while, I’m getting it right, and at the end of the day, that’s all I can ask for.

Guess what? Three years have passed since Ben first said those words… Joey turns four this week and I haven’t heard the same sentence, but I think it’s a different version of the exact same sentiment: “Mommy sometimes I don’t love you.”

That’s another badge for me.

Reposted from www.boisenewsmom.com with permission.

Mourning the End of the “Baby Stage”

12010775_10206353885059406_5966553687864573812_oFor more than seven years my life has been full of babies or toddlers and everything that comes with them: diapers, bottles, temper tantrums, more diapers, more temper tantrums, more diapers… you get the picture.

That’s all changing. (At least the diaper part. I’m sure the temper tantrums will stick around). My baby is about to turn 4. It’s a day the hubs and I have been waiting for. No more babies or toddlers means a new kind of freedom for our family! I should be ecstatic! I’ve basically been waiting for this day since my boys were born. Want to know I secret? I’m a little sad. I’m realizing that every new step, every new milestone they make, means they’re taking one more step farther away from me. They are becoming more independent. Each day they need me a little bit less. Even though there is a part of me that is thrilled by that, it breaks my heart a little.

When my 7 year old, Ben, was born, I was fully entrenched in a television news career. I’d met my goal of anchoring in a major market. I’d spent more than a decade focusing on building a career, and my goal was to keep working and fit this new baby into my life. Well, that didn’t happen.

I did keep working, but I changed professions, because after baby #2, I needed a job that would allow me to be a mom first. Over the past almost seven years my life has morphed into something I didn’t expect. I became a mother. Every decision I make about my life always comes back to that: I am a mom.

I am also a friend, a wife, a sister, and a citizen. I’m also outgoing, opinionated, and I think, kind of funny, but at the end of the day I am forever a mother. I didn’t expect this role to define me the way it has, but it has, and I’m still learning to embrace it.

Now that these two little people don’t need me as much, I have to admit, it’s tilting my axis a bit. They’ve become my true north, my compass, if you will, and things are changing, and I’m sad. My life has become consumed in so many ways by them, by their needs, their wants, and let’s be honest: my main goal has been to keep them alive and healthy. So far so good.

I am in a bit of mourning right now. I look at Ben and I can barely remember him as a baby. It’s only been 7 years, but I have a hard time remembering that first year of motherhood and all the insecurity and anxiety and fear I had in this new role. Now I’m pretty good at it, if I do say so myself. I’ve managed to get two kids through babyhood and toddlerhood fairly unscathed (talk to their therapists in 20 years, and they might tell you differently). So I feel good about where I’m at as a mother.

I’m getting ready to go down a new path, an uncharted path of motherhood. I’m entering into the school age phase of motherhood, and I’m scared. I don’t know this world. I don’t know how to mother in this arena.

I’m missing my babies, even the diapers. I don’t know if I’m ready for this next phase of life. I think I know why: the last seven years have gone so quickly I can’t believe they’re ending. I know I’m going to blink, and the next seven years will have gone by, and these two babies of mine will be on the cusp of leaving my home and spreading their wings and flying away. I’m not ready for THAT phase! So for now, I’ll figure out this new phase of motherhood and hopefully I won’t be too much of a hot mess… but the odds aren’t good.

 

THAT Conversation With My Son Took an Unexpected Twist

11940253_10207459097898412_504780345_n

I had THAT conversation with my 7-year-old the other day. You know the one… how do babies get out of their mommies?

Our drive home always takes us past the hospital my youngest son was born at, and some days we shout out, “There’s Joey’s hospital!”

That’s exactly what we did the other day, and then everything changed when Ben, my 7-year-old, said, “Mommy can babies be born any place besides a hospital?”

Innocent enough question… so I thought.

Here’s what happened next:

Me:” Yes, babies can pretty much be born anywhere, they don’t have to be born at a hospital.”

Ben:” But then how do they get out of their mommies tummies, since they have to be cut out.”

(Point of clarity: I had two c-sections, so my boys have always seen my scar and they know that’s how they got out of mommy’s tummy. Apparently Ben assumed, innocently enough, ALL babies get out that way.)

Me: “Not all babies have to but cut out of their mommies.”

 Ben: “They don’t?? Then how do they get out of their mommies?”

Oh God. I started sweating at that question. I wasn’t expecting that zinger. So, do I tell the truth or go down the path of least resistance? Yeah… I decided to tell the truth.

Me: “They come out of their mommy’s vaginas.”

 Ben: “They do?!?” This was said with a look of horror on his face. “What do they look like?!?” Again, the kid looked like he was about to faint.

 Me: “The babies or the vaginas?” (I was hoping he’d say babies.)

 Ben: “The babies.” (Oh thank God he said babies!!!)

 Me: “They look like all other babies who come out of their mommies tummies.”

 Ben: “Aren’t they covered in poop?”

 Me: “No. They come out of the vagina, not their mom’s bottom.”

 Ben: “Well, they’re connected, so wouldn’t they have poop on them?”

 Me: “Ben, vaginas and bottoms are not connected.”

 Ben: “Uh, yes, they are. “

 Me: “You have a penis and a bottom, and they’re not connected. Neither are vaginas and bottoms.”

 Ben: “So babies don’t come out of vaginas covered in poop?”

 Me: “No, honey, they don’t.”

Joey (3 years old): “Why we keep talking about ba-ginas?!”

Yeah, good question.

I had no idea when Ben asked his innocent question it would turn into an anatomy lesson.

I’m sure some of you might think I took the conversation too far, or that I didn’t need to be so detailed in my descriptions, but I want my kids to have the right age appropriate information, and I want to be the person to educate them.

So, this was NOT the conversation I expected to have with my 7-year-old, and let me tell you I was sweating bullets when we were having it.  I really wanted to tell him that other babies come from storks, but I just knew that wouldn’t fly (no pun intended) with Ben.

Hence, the honest conversation about where babies come from.

The conversation wrapped up like this:

Me: “Ben, are you glad you had to be cut out of mommy?”

Ben: “YES!!!”

I bet.

UA-72506357-1