My husband, Adam, left this morning for a conference in Houston, TX.  He's gone to conferences before, but this is the first one since Rowan was born.  I always have had a lot of respect for single parents, when he's gone that respect just grows and grows.  Each conference he's gone to has presented me with new and different challenges as a parent.  The first conference Kara was just a year old and she got her first big illness.  I was unable to get much sleep or food.  All she wanted was to lay on my lap and be held.  Going to the bathroom was an adventure: have you ever tried to hitch your pants up when your child is strapped to you and throwing up at the same time?  Other conferences I've had the joys of explaining to Kara why her dad isn't there and why he wasn't going to be home for x days.   I got quite skilled at keeping her distracted from his absence.  This time though I am presented with 2 new challenges.  The first being that I now have two children, one that is awake frequently during the night and needs much of my attention (and body).  The second is one I had not thought of before.

How do you express emotions around your children?  Prior to Kara when Adam would go to a conference I would have cried a bit, gone home, eaten junk food and watched TV, read some books, done a puzzle and stayed up way past my bedtime.  Now I know better than to spend my time watching TV, staying up late and eating junk food.  I'm sure I'll read plenty of books and may do some puzzles. Granted the books may not be more complicated than naming dinosaurs and the puzzles will have less than 50 pieces.  But what to do about the desire to cry?  Do I show Kara how sad I am that her dad has left?  Do I let her see how worried I am about how our time alone will go and his safety?  Or do I keep a stiff upper lip and keep on going as if nothing has changed?  If I don't express my emotions, in a healthy way that is, am I teaching Kara to not acknowledge her own emotions?  Does that teach her to be a stoic and afraid of emotions?  If I show her the tears does that then lead her to fear and worry when she shouldn't have that burden?  Will she feel she needs to take care of me since I am sad?  This also leads me to examine how we deal with Kara's tantrums and other outbursts of emotion.  Right now we ask her to calm down and say that once she is calm we can talk about what is bothering her. But does that teach her that she shouldn't express the emotion?  Would it be better to say "wow, you are really sad/angry/upset.  Let's take a moment to be that way, then we can calm down and talk about what has made you feel that way"?  We do try to acknowledge the emotion by saying "you sound really sad", but is that enough?  Do we need to give her more space to feel and express the emotion?  I want to raise children that are not afraid of their emotions and can express them in a healthy way.  I don't want them learning to stuff their feelings down or to think that it's not ok to let others know how they are feeling.  Emotions can be powerful and influence our thinking more than we often realize or admit.  To have a healthy relationship with emotions would allow them to recognize, feel, and then move on past the emotions so they do not influence their decisions excessively.  The question is- how to achieve that.

Submitted by Heidi-rose Creuzinger, member of NorthMetroDCMommies.  Heidi-rose blogs at Terror at 3 Feet & Rising.

I was a teenager when my cousin Jordan was born. As Jordan grew from preschool to preadolescence I would observe her to be an endearing but demanding child. Jordan had a host of small idiosyncrasies that individually were minor but collectively made her a handful. It was not uncommon for Jordan to end up in her parents' bed or function on her own eating and sleeping schedule. I quietly wondered why this cantankerous little girl behaved the way she did. And silently I vowed not let my own child shape our days and nights with such command.

Through the years I continued to quietly build my portfolio of child rearing opinions. I wisely concealed my sometimes ignorant views. Nevertheless, I banked my thoughts. Nearly two decades after my cousin Jordan was born, I was blessed to birth my own child. Ten days after my son Watson's delivery, he began to exhibit colicky behavior. Watson's discontent seemed to increase rather than diminish as he turned 10 weeks and then ten months old. Watson never acclimated to a schedule. Feeding regimens were abandoned in pursuit of relief that only a bottle would provide. Attempts to implement sleeping routines failed as Watson awoke often and unhappy. At eighteen months he began vomiting when he became especially upset, which included bed time. My husband and I resorted to less than ideal sleeping arrangements in desperate search of rest. Most of my parenting choices went against any text book instruction. Coping was my goal.

Through Watson's first two years I experienced all the looks I recognized. Friends, especially those who were already parents, sometimes verbalized their body language by offering advice. It wasn't uncommon to receive a well-meaning but poignant email from a friend who had spent time with us and felt "led" to share their opinion on the problems. Parenting books frequently appeared in our mailbox. My feelings of inadequacy and embarrassment mushroomed.

I too had begun my parenting journey with the same goals and ideals as my friends. I read all the books and consulted my pediatrician until he was tired of seeing me. Watson seemed to struggle more than any book or friend could explain. I started avoiding acquaintances and social gatherings and especially if Watson was with me. I tried my best to keep our difficulty under wraps. And when pieces of reality escaped concealment, I would joke "I don't think he'll serve prison time over" and I would fill in the blank with "bottles after age one," "crazy sleeping arrangements," or "his lack of schedule." I smiled through many hard conversations as I listened to unasked for and usually uninformed advice. In the meantime, I felt something must be wrong with my child.

Just as Watson turned two I was nearing an emotional and physical breakdown. During a church small group gathering I candidly shared and cried. I was exhausted. I started my long diatribe with: "Please don't give me advice. There is nothing I haven't already heard or tried." The women listened without judgment and then prayed for me. The next morning one of the ladies from the small group called me to say "you are not crazy." She explained that she was a pediatric occupational therapist and asked if I had ever heard of sensory integration disorder. She recognized Watson's challenges and peculiar habits as possible signs of this neurological disorder.

For the following months we slowly walked a course leading to answers and relief. My occupational therapist friend assisted in obtaining a referral and diagnostic assessment. Watson was soon formally diagnosed with the sensory seeking type of sensory integration disorder. Simultaneously he was diagnosed with sleep apnea as well as being severely lactose intolerant. After a change of diet, intense occupational therapy, a formal sleep study and ensuing tonsillectomy, our lives changed dramatically. Within six months of my occupational therapist friend's phone call, Watson slept in his own bed through the night and lost a whole host of bad habits. His regular daytime behavior changed noticeably. Our life began to feel manageable.

Days after Watson's S.I.D. diagnosis, my aunt, Jordan's mother, called me. She explained Jordan grew up with what today would be recognized as S.I.D. as well as severe allergies. My aunt and I laughed and cried as we compared notes and understood each other in a way we knew few others would. And I felt tremendous hope. Jordan was now an accomplished, college bound freshman who was very possibly one of the most enjoyable people I knew! Indeed, maybe my precious son would avoid prison, as I had joked for the past year!

Now at age four, Watson is a happy and healthy preschooler. He is a different child. And since overcoming over two years of sleepless chaos, I am a different friend! My patience is longer with most people in my life, and especially other moms. Recently while in a mall I observed a mother gingerly handle her preschooler daughter's temper tantrum. I caught myself forming judgment on this mother's parenting. I quickly reminded myself that I didn't know what battles had been fought earlier in the day or what developmental obstacles the child may possess. Not too long ago I passively handled mad-fits in order to prevent Watson from vomiting. I reflected and offered a silent prayer as I watched this mother from afar. If there was one, key learning in my hardship with my son, it was that judgment is fruitless. I now make a point not just to conceal an opinion but not to form one at all! Most parents in my circles are bright, independent, and informed people. They know conventional wisdom and genuinely care for the well-being of their children. What they need most from me are prayers and compassion, not opinions or advice.

Originally posted on AtlantaAreaMommies.com

Ladies, you all know what I am talking about when I utter these two nasty little words: “mommy guilt.” We all may have been prepared with the perfect nurseries, perfect birth plans, perfect diapers, and even perfect ideas of what we thought motherhood would be like. But we could never have prepared ourselves for the tremendous feelings of guilt that come along with the most important job on Earth. It begins almost as soon as we see the infamous two pink lines on the pregnancy test. We start to analyze each bite of food that we put into our mouths, making the right doctor appointments, getting the right baby gear. However, those guilty feelings of slipping a little extra chocolate as we pat our increasingly round bellies does not compare to the guilt after the babies arrive.

It doesn’t set in right away. In the early days, we are focused on the basics of newborn care and recovering from the birth. It starts to lurk as some start to plan for returning to work and leaving that most precious child with someone who doesn’t love them as much as we do. The thought is enough to rip your heart out. We didn’t expect it to be so difficult. Gulp. The guilt doesn’t go away after the baby stage either. In fact, it grows and gets worse. Why didn’t any of the countless parenting books and articles we read prepare us for it?! Then we have toddlers, which sometimes can be very trying to even the patience of Mother Theresa. We yell, and then wonder if we have warped them for life. We actually purposefully put them in front of the TV so that we can get through paying the bills and the house will stay moderately clean. Then we leave them there because we were so productive that we think we can just squeeze in a few more chores before breaking their zoned-out eye lock on the boob tube. Gasp. Just the thing we never, never, never thought we would ever do. We even used to judge those who did. And then we do it again the next week when we have to tackle the laundry. Horror of horrors.

Mommies, we must give ourselves a break. After all, maybe a gluttonous amount of TV now, will help them self regulate their own TV viewing later in life. Maybe that extra pregnancy chocolate helped us get enough calories to help grow those perfect, tiny fingernails. Perhaps there will be a recall on the more expensive car-seat with the better safety review and we will feel victorious for choosing the less pricey model. Did we love those sweet little people, though? Did we hug them and squeeze them? Yes! Today and every day. Isn’t that the most important thing anyway: that they feel loved? After all, helping our children feel loved deeply is the most perfect thing we can do. Even if we do it imperfectly from time to time along the way. Let us tenderly kiss them goodnight tonight and collectively, we will breathe a sigh of relief.

Originally published on ChesapeakeMommies.com