I am a new mom. Yup my little Zana is not yet six months and my Abe is not yet two so I think I still fall under the "new mom" category. However I feel like the "new baby fog" lifted faster the second time around and I am able to function at something akin to a new normal.
I recently talked to a new mom who has her first. She expressed how much work there is with a new baby, "she needs a bath, and I have to clean up when she throws up, and ......" I laughed. I remember the first baths Abe received that took a good hour of my time, and my mom's time and Chad's time (he was videoing!). I was pretty sure Abe would break. Now Zana slips and slides around in a basin with Abe who dumps water with worms and microorganisms on her head with older brother relish. The times have changed.
So has my take on dirt. I live in a country where my kids get monthly house visits for their polio drops. Where one drop of water can kill you. Where visitors from America brush their teeth with bottled water. Where tuberculosis is rampant.... TB of the bone, the brain, just normal TB. And the list goes on, particularly for a hypochondriac like me (remember I'm the one who was sure she was dying when she didn't know she was just pregnant).
My sister had the best advice ever. Her son was touching everything in an airport. You should have seen the build up of grime, grit and grossness and he had to touch it all. I finally asked my usually pretty conscientious sister how she could handle her son touching everything. She said, "I can always wash his hands so I taught him not to put his hands in his mouth." End of story. Great to see it lived out. Great to hear her say, "It IS gross but it beats worrying!" (quotes not verbatim) I need that perspective, that mothering wisdom.
I am still fighting grime in my home. Dusting could happen twice a day and still anyone could write their name on a shelf. Not everyday brings the dust so hot and heavy but in this season almost everyday. I remember my mom talking about having to dust so often where she lived in a hot, desert city. I remember thinking, "so what, it is SO cool to write my name on the piano cover." I even remember writing my name with my finger in the dust on the piano and how I did not want to practice. Now, only now do I understand why that bothered her so!
So I fight dust, fight worry, and enjoy that my son has dirty hands and sometimes, sometimes, I have a house free of dust!
I recently talked to a new mom who has her first. She expressed how much work there is with a new baby, "she needs a bath, and I have to clean up when she throws up, and ......" I laughed. I remember the first baths Abe received that took a good hour of my time, and my mom's time and Chad's time (he was videoing!). I was pretty sure Abe would break. Now Zana slips and slides around in a basin with Abe who dumps water with worms and microorganisms on her head with older brother relish. The times have changed.
So has my take on dirt. I live in a country where my kids get monthly house visits for their polio drops. Where one drop of water can kill you. Where visitors from America brush their teeth with bottled water. Where tuberculosis is rampant.... TB of the bone, the brain, just normal TB. And the list goes on, particularly for a hypochondriac like me (remember I'm the one who was sure she was dying when she didn't know she was just pregnant).
My sister had the best advice ever. Her son was touching everything in an airport. You should have seen the build up of grime, grit and grossness and he had to touch it all. I finally asked my usually pretty conscientious sister how she could handle her son touching everything. She said, "I can always wash his hands so I taught him not to put his hands in his mouth." End of story. Great to see it lived out. Great to hear her say, "It IS gross but it beats worrying!" (quotes not verbatim) I need that perspective, that mothering wisdom.
I am still fighting grime in my home. Dusting could happen twice a day and still anyone could write their name on a shelf. Not everyday brings the dust so hot and heavy but in this season almost everyday. I remember my mom talking about having to dust so often where she lived in a hot, desert city. I remember thinking, "so what, it is SO cool to write my name on the piano cover." I even remember writing my name with my finger in the dust on the piano and how I did not want to practice. Now, only now do I understand why that bothered her so!
So I fight dust, fight worry, and enjoy that my son has dirty hands and sometimes, sometimes, I have a house free of dust!
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