My first had always been a good sleeper. We co-slept through about 18 months or so, and when we moved, Little Man jumped right into his big-boy bed and that’s where he wanted to sleep.

After I had my second child, we went through a phase where Little Man would wander into my bed in the middle of the night. Which was fine for a while. Hey, if he needed some extra security or mommy time or whatever it was, I was happy to oblige. After all, he was adapting to a pretty big change.

After a few months, he would wander into the bedroom in the middle of the night, where the other 3 of us were sleeping, and start asking for trains. Or cookies. Or to go to Zia’s (his aunt’s) house. And when we would say no, a full-throttle tantrum ensued. So, the 3 of us would have to wake fully, get Little Man settled, then try to settle ourselves and the baby to sleep.

He did this every night for about a month. It had gone on long enough that we were all becoming tired, cranky zombies.

I have no problem waking with him for nightmares, for monsters in the closet, or if he’s not feeling well. But to burst in at 2:00 a.m. every night, getting everyone all fired up? It affected everyone, every day. And I didn’t want to start feeling resentful.

Okay, I was already feeling a little resentful.

At a loss, I did something about it. One night, when he came into our room, he made his usual request for something he could be sure we would shoot down. As soon he showed the first signs of tantrum, I picked him up and put him in his bed. I told him he could come back in and talk to us or sleep with us if he could do it quietly, without waking the baby.

Of course, this made him wail. When he came back in, I took him back to his bed, and repeated what I had just said. By the third time, I had almost given up. I felt like I was doing a form of cry-it-out for almost-three-year-olds. But because I was inviting him into our bed and the alternative (sleepy, crabby family) wasn’t good for anyone, I decided to stick to my guns this time.

After one more round, he started to calm down. I asked him, “can you come into the big bed quietly?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

I tucked us all in.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Get trains,” he said.

“No, it’s dark down there and we won’t be able to see them.”

“Okay.” He rolled over and went to sleep.

That was the first and last time I had to do anything like that at night. Now, when he wanders in, he sneaks in quietly and nobody knows until morning. We can all wake refreshed and happy. He has his nighttime security, we have our rest.

Still, as with every parenting move I make, I can’t help but wonder if I did the right thing.

As the parent of a young toddler, the idea of “flirting” has been on my mind for a while. Whenever we’re at a restaurant, my daughter – like many other young children – enjoys catching the eye of new people, and making them smile. Our society likes to call this “flirting.”

Our perceptions of babies tend to be skewed by the cultural beliefs we’ve inherited, and then reinforced by the language we’ve been taught to use, as well. This is why I’m calling out a seemingly innocent – yet omnipresent – word like “flirting.”

Google turned up the following definitions of the verb FLIRT:

1. Behave as though attracted to or trying to attract someone, but without serious intentions: “it amused him to flirt with her”.
2. Experiment with or show a superficial interest in (an idea, activity, or movement) without committing oneself to it seriously.

I have several qualms with the “innocent” idea that babies are flirting.

First, flirting implies a romantic overture. Clearly, this is out of the realm of babies’ developmentally capabilities or interests.

Second, flirting is defined as creating a superficial interest or connection.

Adults know plenty about superficial connections. We’ve been taught to erect walls, and strategically vary the way we present ourselves to increase the likelihood of getting what we want. Some like to say babies are manipulative, but in fact, by the time we’ve reached adulthood, most adults are master manipulators.

Babies, on the other hand, are beautifully untainted. By learning from them, we can regain some of our innocence, some of our original beauty.

When babies create a connection with another person, it is intentional and inspirational. They open themselves entirely to the interaction, smiling widely to elicit joy and establish a connection with the other person. Any one of us can attest – when we’re engaged by a smiling baby, we’re flooded with appreciation and love.

Babies are our teachers. They can help us let go of the superficial layers we’ve collected in the long years of our lives. They can show us how to open up and show the love that lies at our very core. One of the ways they teach this vital lesson is by reaching out and grabbing our hearts with a dazzling smile.

I’d argue that what babies do in restaurants has nothing to do with flirting. It is an intentional act, and it reflects a sincere interest in connecting with the truest self of the person they’ve engaged.

I’d also like to propose that we rename this beautiful act that babies do. Ascribing a more accurate name is another step to reclaim babies’ value in public perception. Some of my thoughts: Connecting. Engaging. Shining. Dazzling.

Please share your thoughts and ideas!

I’ve been exploring the topic of attachment parenting and fathering as part of launching my new Go Fatherhood site and bumped into a thought-provoking article on a mom blog that claims attachment parenting requires the mom to be a supporter of feminism.

I don’t buy it.

The author’s point is that “traditional” attachment parenting is based around the baby being with the mother 24×7 for the first year or two, and it’s easy to then assume the woman’s role is as mother and that anything outside of mothering is irrelevant and should be eschewed. Author “Blue Milk” specifically states:

Attachment parenting needs feminism because without feminism women’s lives have a tendency to be decontextualised and devalued, and that isn’t good for mothering.

I’m torn on this, because on one hand I think that in modern culture a successful woman needs to be able to speak up for herself and establish her own identity outside of her roles as mother and partner. I’m just not sure that the identity requires everything that comes along with the loaded, hard to define concept of feminism. More to the point, are women who don’t care whether there’s true gender equality but follow the tenets of attachment parenting not actually attachment parenting mothers? I certainly don’t think so.

I’m also very conscious that the author hasn’t acknowledged the role and importance of fathers in this situation. I’ve always supported gender equality as a baseline from which men and women can make their own decisions about who they want to be and how they want to live their lives, but that’s not really feminism as I understand it: Feminism is about women not just having the opportunity to be equal but taking the opportunity, not deciding that they are perfectly content with a possibly less equal role both in a relationship and in parenting.

When we had our babies (now 8, 11 and 15) and decided to travel the path of attachment parenting, my now-ex and I also decided together that she’d stay home and nurture them for the first year or two while I worked and brought in what income I could. Was that a feminist-inspired decision, were we unwittingly decontextualizing and devaluing Mom’s role?

I don’t think so, but that’s just me. What do you think, API Speaks reader?

A few of my parent friends have pointed out that as much as their kids enjoy watching the PBS show “Curious George”, George always gets into trouble (makes a mess, does something wrong, doesn’t stay where he’s supposed to, etc…) and nothing ever happens to him for it.  He never gets punished or has a privilege taken away or a consequence imposed for his actions. This may bother some parents about “Curious George,” saying that the show is not setting a good example for kids about what what should happen in the face of misbehavior, but I happen to think it’s a great example for parents.

Curious George does exactly what he’s supposed to do for his age and development (and species)!  By nature and by name, he is curious.  He explores his world fully and completely. This is his job as a young, continually developing little person, er, monkey. This is why my kids love the show–they relate so well to George’s genuinely curious nature and all of the honest mistakes that ensue. But, as a parent, what I find most refreshing about “Curious George” is The Man in the Yellow Hat.

The Man in the Yellow Hat never punishes George for his mistakes. He is more concerned with solving the problem. The man helps George put things away, fix things that broke, apologize to people who were involved in any indiscretions, and generally restore order.

The Man in the Yellow Hat doesn’t force George to apologize. Of course, George can’t talk, so maybe that’s why! But George’s body language and expression, along with his cooperation in fixing the problem, is more meaningful than a forced “Sor-ry,” anyway. People can see his remorse and feel his desire to set things right again. George’s inability to speak provides an unwitting platform for making genuine apologies.

The Man in the Yellow Hat will give a heartfelt apology on George’s behalf.  And when he does, the apologizee says it’s not necessary. The mistake has been fixed, and they enjoyed George’s authenticity–his curious nature–and appreciated his spirit. The characters in this show are understanding of George’s developmental capabilities.

The Man in the Yellow Hat doesn’t put fear into George. George is never afraid of what The Man will do or say to him when he finds out  what happened while he was gone. George is able to present his problem to The Man and know that he will get help in return.

Now, if only The Man in the Yellow Hat would learn not to leave George unsupervised as often as he does…

To be filled with life is something.  To be pregnant with a growing little miracle of science and nature in your belly is beautiful.  To lose a pregnancy is sad.  The feeling is surrounded with so many emotions.  Guilt, loss, nothing, emptiness, aching, breaking, bending into shadows dark.  I had to take a break today and submerge myself in some creative work.  I wanted to shake this feeling of empty.  Shake it loose from the empty box it resides in now.  Like a box with nothing inside.  Just invisible strings connecting back to my heart.  I don’t know how to put it in words so I am not going to worry about using dazzling adverbs or catchy phrases, but they may just happen to come out that way.  I just want to write a post about it.

There are so many women out there feeling this same feeling today, yesterday, tomorrow.  It covers me like a vine nobody can see.  Much like a bean pole vine grasping to anything its tendril can reach.

Photo by memomuse – “Bean Pole Vines in My Garden”

Something sturdy, mounted in dirt, standing upright.  This vine of sadness can’t grasp onto nothing.  So I grasp and curl around words.  Around people I trust.  Around acknowledgement that it happened. That’s its over. That I need to grieve.

As my mind curls and bends in thoughts of what may have been, what was just yesterday, before the bleeding started, before the sadness erupted.  Before yesterday, I was cocooning into a ball of beauty, growing inside, feelings of joy and elation surrounded me.  Flowers and fruits of joy rippled in the sun.

“Layers of Light” – Photo by memomuse Layers of light echoed over me, through me, around me, spinning into thick spidery webs.  Now there is nothing.  Just this box of invisible sadness nobody can see with the naked eye.

Long story short – I went to visit my dying mother in Colorado three weeks ago.  The night before I left, my husband and I made love.  I went home to Wyoming and Colorado where I feel the most alive and vibrant, for it is home and my place on this earth.  I have been transplanted to North Carolina and I am trying to make the most of it.  But back home, where I come from, just as the Kenny Chesney song sings, I love it there.  On this journey where I thought I was going to say goodbye to my mother, I was surrounded by a land that knows me.  That I know.  That I love.  This journey home, this journey to say goodbye, something magical happened.  We conceived a baby.  A miracle.  A seed that sprouted into life.  I found out last week I was pregnant.  I took three home pregnancy tests and was more surprised with each positive test, as I have struggled with infertility in the past.  My son is just thirteen months old.  We were not actively trying to get pregnant.  So it was a surprise to find out we were pregnant without even a blink of the eye, without a blink of the heart.

I took a home pregnancy test on Monday, then Wednesday, and then Saturday.  All positive.  The faint blue line got thicker with each test.  I took a urine test at the doctor on Monday and they told me to come back in a week because it was, not without a doubt, positive, but there was a shadow line.  So I took two more home tests that week, Wednesday and Saturday.  And sure enough, positive.  I started to feel the pregnancy symptoms, fatigue and drop to the floor tired.

I went in to take another urine test at the doctor yesterday,  feeling it wasn’t needed, feeling pregnant, feeling sure a life was growing and thriving inside me.  I didn’t need a doctor or lab technician to tell me I was pregnant.  Something bigger happened - a life bloomed from my journey to say goodbye to my mother.  How serendipitous.  How miraculous.  How joyous. It made the fact that my mother is dying a soft sleeve to rest on.  To rejoice on.  I was sure this baby was a girl and I was going to name her Eleanor Elizabeth and call her Ellie Elizabeth.

Elizabeth, named after my mother. I had visions of her soft curls, her big blue eyes, her big heart.

When I took the test at the doctor just yesterday, I noticed some blood.  Frightened, I told the nurse.  Then the results from the lab technician came in.  The test was negative.   I fumbled with my paperwork to hand to the check out clerk at the doctors.  She gave me a silent nod and a sweet abbreviation of sugar, “You’re all set, Sug.”   I wanted so badly to walk out the back door, nobody to see my sadness or my tears, as they began to gush. I walked past all the ripe bellies, round and plump with life.

Sometimes I wish there was a sign women going through the grief of miscarriage could wear on their back.  “Please treat with kindness - grieving heart – may slumber slowly today and tomorrow and certainly the day after next.”  But it is invisible.  Our eyes are swollen, sad, and watered with tears only time can heal.  There is no clock for this time passage.  It is not an hour, a week, a month, or a year.  It is a hole in our heart.  We go on.  And on. And hopefully you can give a hug to someone in need.  Perhaps, you just don’t know.  And what do you say? There are no words.  Just invisible tendrils trying to clutch at something strong, sturdy.  For it may be the hope of another chance at conceiving.

* This essay was written four months ago.

All my life I have praised myself for my incredible ability to structure my day and activities into neat little categories of time that allow for the accomplishment of tasks and leave ample room for fun and relaxation. I sit down every night and list my to-do’s and see where they can fit in during the week. Usually I only list 4 things per day, and many times I would even add to the side (lay down for ten minutes and nap), or, eat ice-cream and “smile.” Yes I was that detailed. But apparently there are others as crazy as myself since I saw a book at Barnes and Noble called “listography”, wholly dedicated to this habit of mine.

Since the birth of my daughter 8 months ago I have continued to write lists. Now they are even shorter though. Where on day used to be filled with laundry, grocery shopping, a workout and a full house vacuum, now the list simply says “laundry and pay bills”. And that is certainly enough for one day because in between those tasks there’s feeding, diaper changes, naps, etc.  This has worked pretty well for me. I love the feeling of marking off the task on the list and feeling accomplished. It’s great for my self-esteem; it means I’m productive and organized. On the weekends I never make lists and my days are open for anything, but ironically those days have proven to be the most anxiety-ridden for me b/c I get extremely bored and restless.

Recently, I haven’t been able to follow my lists at all. I am unmotivated and feel that everything gets interrupted so if I do make a list, it doesn’t get done and I feel like a failure. Just yesterday I spent 2 hours trying to get my daughter to take just one nap, and after all of that I was just too exhausted to worry about dishes. I just wanted to sit and stare at the TV. Too often I find myself slipping away from organized days. Now when I wake up with my daughter I feel lost. How do we play? What should we do all day? I feel that my daughter grows bored of the same few toys and games we play.  I’ve danced with her, took her on a picnic, took her to library story time, sign language classes, etc. Things just seem to get expensive and many times it feels like I spend more time researching and planning the activity and it doesn’t always even seem worthwhile. It turns into more of a stressor at times.  Seeing that I am a military wife and my husband is only here on the weekends, entertaining my daughter can be an exhausting task all by myself. Perhaps I am just getting really burn out.

All in all I’m still unclear as to what life as a SAHM is for me.  Do I need to let it be unstructured messy fun? What if all my lists are just sucking all the joy and spontaneity out of life with a beautiful baby?

I just can’t decide. I know deep down that I want a clear and focused perspective on my new role and lifestyle. Many days I wonder how other SAHMs feel about their daily life. Do they just wake up and live life without plans? Do they rush around from activity to activity? Where is the balance in this life…I feel that I could slowly become the mom who watches too much TV, drinks too much coffee and eats too many drive-thru meals. I just don’t know.

My daughter, Bella, is almost 22 months. My husband Sam and I still babywear her many times.

To some, this might seem a little crazy. She is perfectly able to walk and we own a stroller she loves. She isn’t as easy to carry anymore, and it requires some maneuvering to get her in an arrangement we’re comfortable with for a while.

But Bella had severe reflux when she was born. Because of this, she threw up for the first 6 months of her life around the clock. We tried every babywearing device we could think of to help; Moby, slings, wraps, Bjorn, Ergo – but nothing helped. I remember clearly the time Sam wrapped her forward facing in the Moby to walk around and she projectile vomited all over it and the floor so much we had to take her out and wash it. I had to use layered burp cloths when I wore her facing me – and each time she’d throw up I’d pull one out, shove it in the diaper bag and keep going.

The reflux ruined our love of wearing her. It was hard for her to enjoy it either. I felt awful that it was so difficult for us to be close. I eventually tucked most of our carriers away because it was frustrating to clean them and only be able to have them on for a few minutes at a time.

When she turned a year old and was no longer throwing up, I decided to try again. I bought a ring sling, got out the Ergo. I don’t know how to explain it, I simply felt a need to be close to her in some way that we had missed before.

It wasn’t easy. She was used to be on her own and while she loved to be carried, she wasn’t keen at first on being snuggled against us. Sam tried different ways to wear her and she came to love the Ergo with him. He was gone for 4 months with the Army, and coming home he carried her around all over in it.

The ring sling was something we both ended up loving – I could wear it for hours without it hurting my back and shoulders, Bella was up high enough she could see and use her hands to point and hold onto things, but when she grew tired it was simple for her to rest against me. I can adjust it, take her in and out of it quickly, and it’s sturdy enough I never wonder if she’s safe.

I feel as if I’ve gained back some of the time we lost with her as a baby. I love having her next to me as we walk through zoos and museums, knowing that she’s seeing what I see and I can easily talk to her about everything. I also love that I probably burn twice as many calories carrying her around but that’s just another benefit.

There are so many benefits of babywearing an older child. For us, it proved to be the bonding experience that most people get in the early months. I’m thankful we were able to do it successfully the second time around, and for the carriers that made it possible and easy.

Last week, my friend said she doesn’t think my son is a vegetarian; he’s a carbivore. He prefers mac-n-cheese, pizza, quesadillas, and penne–either plain and cold or with butter and sometimes parmesan. (To be fair, he also likes tostadas with tomato and avocado, steamed broccoli, cauliflower, and carrots, and will eat all sorts of fruit).

Still it felt like a bit of a miracle when he ate salad last week. He used to eat it but age four brought a level of selective (a.k.a. picky) eating we had never seen the likes of. In keeping with the principle to Feed with Love and Respect, I don’t want to force my child to eat, use sweets as a reward for healthy food, or make him sit at the table until he’s cleaned his plate–all practices I experienced as a child. I do want him to try new things, to have the power to decide what he likes and make his own choices. So, I have instituted a “two bite policy” at our house. The reason for two bites is that he gags on the first bite, possibly before his taste buds have even registered the food, maybe before the food has actually touched his tongue. So the second bite is the actual tasting.

We have had some success. Cucumber sticks were a Yes. Cold cucumber soup, however, was a definite No. Considering many adults I know (myself sometimes included) aren’t fans of a cold soup, his rejection of the soup was fine. But I decided to try an experiment to get salad back on the menu. I took all of the vegetables he happily eats raw and separately and combined them into a salad.

• Romaine lettuce
• Grape tomatoes, quartered
• Diced avocado
• Cucumber, peeled and diced
• Grated carrot

Served in a ramekin with no dressing and with some encouragement from me, my son ate every bite!

One of the parenting tools that I use whether I’m choosing to or not is modeling. This is true with food, how to talk to people, taking care of myself, sharing, manners, expressing feelings, everything. So, one of the ways I’m encouraging healthy eating in him is healthy eating for me. I try not to have food in the house that I wouldn’t want him to eat. If we decide to have ice cream, we go someplace to order a scoop so that there’s not a whole carton in the freezer–which turns dessert from a treat into a power struggle.

“Mama, can I have some ice cream?”

“For breakfast? No.”

This summer, I’m making a conscious effort to eat more salad myself. I would bet that his seeing it on my plate went as far as (if not further than) our two bite policy. To make salads more appealing to me, I’ve been experimenting with new combinations or with recreating favorites from restaurants I love. I used all of the ingredients mentioned above, some green onion, and instead of my avocado in chunks, I made an avocado yogurt dressing a la Mr. Natural. They have not shared their recipe with me so I guessed. I got out my handy dandy mini food processor and combined

• 1/4 cup plain fat free yogurt
• 1 clove garlic
• 1/2 avocado
• salt to taste

It was delicious, if a little thick. One might add some milk to thin the dressing.

After I took the picture and tasted the salad (all gooey from super-thick dressing), I realized some crunch would be nice and added Tamari pumpkin seeds. Sunflower seeds also would have been delicious. So Cavanaugh and I both ate our vegetables.

What do you like in salad? How about your kids?

Many moms and dads have heard of the “Yes” environment before; it’s popular advice for parents of babies and toddlers.  When infants become mobile, we are advised to create an environment for them that is free of “No”s.  We baby proof everything; put small and dangerous objects out of reach, cover up safety hazards, lock the cabinets, install gates, secure furniture to the wall, pad the sharp edges of tables and fireplace mantles, and put any and all valuables and destructive items safely away.  We look for every opportunity to say “No,” to tell our babies that they need to stay away from something or to put something down, and we turn those “No”s into “Yes”es.  This is a Yes Environment.

It is fantastic for our homes, but what about when we’re other places?  We can take the principles of the Yes Environment and apply them to other situations.  Here’s another perspective:

One mom’s 2-year-old son repeatedly throws his toy car on the ground as he rides in the cart at the grocery store, not because he is angry or upset, but simply because he thinks it is great fun.  This mom says, “If I take it away because I need to grocery shop, isn’t that a punishment?”

What she is doing by holding onto the car is creating a yes environment while she shops.   That is the best thing she can do to help her son succeed in not throwing his car.

When she is getting annoyed at constantly stopping to get the car (which is very valid), she can simply pick it up and put it in her bag without a word.  If the toddler notices that she doesn’t give it back to him and he asks about it, she can tell him, “The car keeps falling down, so I’m going to hold it for now.”  She’s not blaming or shaming him by telling him it’s his own fault he doesn’t have the car, or that “this is what happens when you act this way.” Just solving a temporary problem to get the shopping done smoothly.

Creating a yes environment is about setting a child up for success; about removing obstacles to success.  In accompanying his mom through the grocery store, the obstacle to the little boy’s success is the entire combination of: the toy, his age, the setting, his need to experience things (here, the emotional, cognitive, and physical experience of repeatedly throwing the car down), and his complete lack of impulse control. By removing the car from that combination of factors, it’s not that she is “taking the car away”, so much as “eliminating an obstacle.”  She is creating the opportunity for him to be successful.  It’s a yes environment in the grocery cart.

Understanding this principle allows parents to use the yes environment tool in a variety of situations for kids of all ages.   Removing obstacles to success is more effective than expecting children to navigate around obstacles when they are not developmentally capable of doing so.

A mom dashes to meet her preschooler and hold his hand as he nears the street…she’s created a yes environment. (The obstacle is the lack of safe guidance in the street.  He is not capable of making thoughtful decisions about going in the street.)

A teacher rearranges her seating chart to separate talkative students…it’s a yes environment. (The obstacle is the distraction of fun, chatty friends nearby.  They are not capable of controlling their impulse to talk to their friends.)

A dad clears the floor as his daughter launches into a sommersault…yes environment. (The obstacles are, well…the obstacles that are literally in her way.  She’s not capable of maneuvering her body around them.)

A yes environment is a fantastic positive parenting tool at any age because it is proactive.  It tells children, “I’m going to help you be successful with this.”

Today, let’s look for more ways to create yes environments for our kids.  Even if they may not be toddlers anymore and we don’t need to baby proof their physical environment, we can still  remove obstacles to their success.   We can look for ways to turn “No”s into “Yes”es.  We can help our kids be successful until they’re capable of doing it on their own.

This past week of July has been filled with a great darkness. I have finally tried to write from home in a serious way. This was my plan when I left my job at 6 months pregnant. I would relax throughout my pregnancy and then begin my journey in freelance writing once I was comfortable in my new mommy world. But the dream seems to be unreachable almost every day so far.

My daughter is just 6 months old and the past 6 months have been amazing. I managed to find time to finish my master’s degree at night while my little girl and I trekked the city by day. We went to sign language classes, baby yoga, farmers market and numerous trips to Target just to walk around while I splurged on Starbucks and Archer Farm chocolate chip cookies.

After visiting with family for a few weeks though I began to feel a burning desire to write from home. Listening to my twin sister’s plans to teach overseas and my girlfriend’s new position as a screenwriter just left me wondering how exactly I spend my days… and where these days are headed. I began to feel like I was wasting precious time I could be using to further myself. Perhaps what I’m seeking is that SAHM comfort. I still feel quite unsure that I am doing the right thing…still unsure if I really make a difference…and why can’t I do something more than diaper changes and silly faces. Maybe I could be a SAHM that is also a productive member of the workforce.

After making a list of topics and magazines I would query I set out to write. I plopped my daughter next to me in her bouncy seat and typed away. I felt a rush of ambition rush over me. I did some research online to find some freelance writing jobs and applied to a few. Wouldn’t hurt right? Then the fussiness began. I stepped away from my beautiful writing bubble and calmed my baby girl down. This time I put her in a swing and turned on SpongeBob. I sat back down even more excited to begin writing. Again my head was just rushing with ideas and I felt a blissful feeling of self-satisfaction. Even if I only wrote one day a week maybe I could make some extra shopping money and beat those occasional bouts of boredom. Maybe I could wake up every day with a mission on my mind instead of diaper changes and Sesame Street. But, then, 5 minutes later the fussy baby to my left seemed to be very angry about these plans. These failed attempts continued throughout the day and week. Even my plans to write at night while she was zonked out didn’t work out. All I wanted to do by the end of the day was read a book and lay down. All of my creative juices were dried up.

I began to question my worth as a SAHM. Thoughts of putting her in daycare crossed my mind despite the fact I never wanted that for my daughter. I want to be a WAHM (work at home mom) but I don’t see where the balance is. It seems clear that I was beginning to ignore my daughter and she was simply screaming for some attention. Perhaps all I really need right now is a boost of self-confidence as a SAHM. Maybe in a month or two she will be self-reliant enough to entertain herself long enough to do a tad of writing….Here’s hoping.