Not a Diaper Bag

If you’re like me, you hate lugging a traditional diaper bag around in addition to a handbag.

Something about all the pockets and compartments and giant multi-colored polka dot patterns screaming “Look at me! Look at me! I’m a mommy!” just turn me off. Not that there’s anything wrong with motherhood of course, or broadcasting it for that matter, it’s just that the three children trailing behind me at all times are pretty good at screaming that I’m a mom for me.

So, yeah, I’m a mom and I need to carry diapers on my person around the clock. I currently have two children in diapers (although we’re working on changing that with the toddler), so there’s lots and lots of diapers a-changin’ over here.

Over the years, I’ve owned a diaper bag or two or three. Some were very generously given as gifts, others purchased when my first son was born and I was under the assumption that you had to own an actual diaper bag and couldn’t under any circumstances just own a handbag that doubled as a diaper bag. I ended up ditching the diaper bag a couple weeks after my second son was born. They were never big enough or functional enough to hold all the contents of my purse in addition to my baby gear and, as I mentioned, I’ve never liked the idea of having to carry both a handbag and a diaper bag. Plus, their busy, baby-centric patterns always seem to clash with my outfits, unless I live in one solid color and I tend to wear prints.

With my second son, I realized it’s so much easier to streamline the process and pare baby gear down to the essentials. About three years ago, I purchased a giant, slouchy leather handbag with shoulder straps and magnetic closures that I still use daily as a combined handbag and diaper bag. It works perfectly with any outfit, whether the kids are in tow or I’m out solo. If the kids are with me, I just toss in a few toys for the baby, a great oversized cotton, washable clutch I purchased from H&M for like $6.95, which I use for diapers and wipes (it’s so functional, I bought two and use one as a cosmetics bag and you can find similar bags on Etsy) and my trusty nursing cover for feeding on the go. If you’re formula feeding, just use a second cotton clutch to hold bottles (cotton is great because it can be tossed in the washer after any bottle leakage and it’s more eco-friendly than using plastic bags).

I really enjoy the ease of traveling light because — while strapping and unstrapping kids in car seats and strollers a zillion times a day — I just can’t be bogged down by any more stuff. I find that having a large catch-all handbag that can hold both mommy gear and baby gear combined, is essential. In my opinion, there’s really no need to carry two bags.

Here’s my handbag, which I purchased from Banana Republic. It’s still holding up quite well, even after enduring baby spit up, food spatters, spilled juice and an occasional poop explosion over the years:

These are the contents of my diaper bag handbag on a typical day for the baby: diaper clutch to carry wipes and diapers, toys and teethers, a spare outfit, a portable fruit mash which is great on the go, nursing cover and maybe a light weight muslin blanket (I live in Southern California, so it’s rarely cold and even a lightweight blanket is sometimes overkill):

Recently, I stumbled upon a great tote while cruising Marshalls, which I grabbed for $19.99. I thought it was the perfect bag for an overnight with the kids or as an alternate “diaper bag” to change it up a bit, or when I’m not wearing a pattern it might clash with. It’s extra roomy and sturdy and can basically fit the entire nursery in it:

or at the very least, a 20 pound, 7-month-old baby boy.

So there you have it — the non-diaper bag, diaper bag. Proof that you don’t have to spend a fortune on a fancy baby bag to make traveling with baby stylish, functional and affordable.

Like Riding a Bike

So this happened recently:

The photo makes it look pretty effortless, but I’m a firm believer that photos lie and behind many photos, there’s often a narrative completely contradicting what the photo depicts on the surface. Like when smiling, happy couples are captured arm in arm at a party, but nobody knows, just moments before, they had a major argument in the car on the way over.

So, this photo portrays training wheels coming off and the 6-year-old willingly tearing down a path on his bike. Right?

Wrong.

If there were outtakes, they’d go something like this (through tears):

“I CAN’T! I don’t WANT to! I’m not GOOD at this! But, I don’t want to FALL (*crash*).

“You SEE, I told you I would FALL. Why are you making me DO this?! I want to go HOME! Can we PLEASE go home right now? I HATE this! I’m not GOOD at this! Am I DONE now? But I CAN’T do this! I don’t WANT to do this!”

“I HATE this.”

And repeat.

And repeat some more.

He’s had absolutely no interest in riding a bike. He’s never asked for a bike nor has he ever asked to learn to ride one. But it was time. He’s tall for his age — people think he’s eight or nine — and I knew he was coordinated enough to do it. He just looks like he should know how to ride a bike, you know? He’s in first grade and many of his friends can ride a bike and — okay I’ll admit it — I felt some peer pressure to get him on a bike. I  guess I felt like he might be a forty-five-year-old non-bike-riding grown man one day and he’d probably be quite fine with that, unless I initiated the training wheels coming off.

And you know what?

After all the whining and dramatic dialogue and tears and “I CANT’S!” he figured it out in fifteen minutes, flat. He was off, just like that. And then, after one reluctant loop around the park, he was done.

I have the most difficulty navigating this aspect of his personality. He’s extremely cautious about trying anything new and is so afraid of failure, he’d rather not try it in the first place. If, usually after lots of coaxing on my part, he does end up trying something new and he finds he’s decent at it and it wasn’t all that bad, he’ll stop right there, so as not to push his luck.

Truthfully, he has many of the same anxieties I had as a child (and some I still have as an adult) about leaving his comfort zone. As a parent, I never know how much to try to push him out of that safe, familiar world he dwells in without pushing too hard. I mean, at what point do you become that Tiger Mom who’s forcing her child to practice the piano seven days a week against their will so they’ll rebel one day and hate the piano altogether and probably hate you in the process?  At the same time, when are you being too laid back with a child who would really be okay eating the same breakfast, lunch and dinner day in and day out if you let him, watching the Star Wars trilogy ad infinitum, until he’s practically memorized the entire script?

When do you nudge or initiate and when do you just let it go?

I admittedly get impatient with his refusal to just try. This applies to new foods, solving math equations, sounding out complicated words, making his own bed, brushing his own teeth, showering on his own, and so on and so on.

It is this part of parenting that’s most challenging for me, nuanced and ambiguous, not outlined in child-rearing books, without concrete answers, specific to each unique, multi-faceted child with their own quirks and traits. I find parenting infants so much easier, their needs straightforward and readily met. Their cries for food or comfort accommodated with milk and cuddling.

With him, there are times I don’t have the right answers and I’m not even sure there is such a thing as “right answers” and sometimes I feel like I’m making it all up as we go along.  So far, I’ve found parenting to be a long string of dilemmas and decisions and conundrums punctuated with breakthroughs and wonder and joy and love all mixed together.

We make mistakes, we learn from them, we fall down, we get back up on the bike and keep riding, with skinned knees and scabs and hopefully, we don’t end up broken in the process.

Seven Months and Solids

The baby is seven months old today. Seven months!

It always sneaks up on you, this growing up thing they do. I would love to have a pause button for babies (and of course, a fast forward button for terrible two tantrums). Seven months is such a likable stage. Sitting up, standing up, getting around on all fours, babbling, smiling, cuddling, playing, crying less, sleeping more.

He is lighting across wooden floors. I’m sure his physical prowess is really just a result of his need to keep up with his big brothers. When they run into the next room, he speeds up his crawling pace to follow them. “Wait for me guys!” he seems to be saying as his chunky legs scurry across the floor.

He now effortlessly pulls to a stand on anything he can prop himself up on: his brother’s play kitchen, crib rails, the bed, the sofa, a pair of legs hovering over him. He’s cruising now too, letting go of one hand to support himself only with the other as he glides around furniture or his crib. He can balance quite nicely on his gigantic, chubby thighs. I think he’ll be an early walker. He crawled at five months. At seven months, I see him gaining the confidence to let go a little more each day.

I think I’m the one having a more difficult time letting go of him.

I’ve been laid-back about starting solids with him. The toddler was ready to eat solids from what seemed like four months. To this day, he relishes his food like a gourmand. The 6-year-old is still an extremely picky eater and never really cared much for food to begin with. I was by-the-book with that one, starting with rice cereal, followed by green veggies, followed by fruit. He would eat it, but never with any enthusiasm. Not much has changed six years later.

I’ve skipped the rice cereal, purées and spoon-feeding altogether with the baby. A few weeks ago, we let him play around with some mashed banana in the high chair, then some baked sweet potato, a little chunky avocado. He mostly spread it around like finger paint at first, running it through his hands, until he realized he could also stick his fingers in his mouth and taste it. We recently progressed to letting him gnaw on a whole banana, bigger pieces of avocado, a soft chunk of broccoli, or a wedge of cantaloupe. He’s done really well with it all, seeming to love textures, breaking off small bites with his two tiny bottom teeth and sort of gumming the rest. I’m not sure if this is officially considered baby-led weaning, but I find this more casual, intuitive approach better-suited to our style of parenting. I’ve never been big on absolutes or highly structured “plans” to begin with. I find going with the flow and feeling out a baby’s sensibilities and tendencies to be much more stress-free for everyone involved. This could be a sign of third time around parenting. I’m not sure if I was more rigid or structured with my firstborn as a baby — it’s all a little blurry now.

I’ll admit, solid feeding makes me wistful. It means less breastfeeding, those moments when I get to hold him close and give him comfort and sustenance myself. It means he also needs me just a bit less now (sigh). But that’s the point, right? I know it’s all a part of his development and growing sense of autonomy. It all leads to ushering them through the stages: infancy, childhood, adolescence and into adulthood, where they hopefully become self-reliant, responsible human beings.

Feeding himself is just that tiny first step in getting there.

And so my baby grows on.

7 Days

7 Months

Scenes from Easter

The day was magical.

We started out here. It’s a place so stunning, photos don’t do it justice. It’s the type of sanctuary you almost wish was a secret.

There was brunch, al fresco, in afternoon sunshine. There were mimosas and waffles doused with syrup and berries. There were Easter baskets and chocolate peanut butter eggs, plush ducks for the boys and real ducks swimming in a nearby pond. There were dogs running around off-leash because this is a dog and child-friendly restaurant. My type of place.

After brunch, we cruised through the canyons of Malibu and ended up on Carbon Beach, where we plunked down with the kids on a pristine swath of sand dotted with multi-million dollar properties. The beach is actually nicknamed “Billionaire’s Beach” because you obviously have to be one to own property on it. But lucky for us, the coastline is open to the public and you don’t have to be rich to hang out in the sun for the day.

All it takes is a few water guns, bare feet, crashing ocean waves and beach toys to make these boys blissed out.

Saltwater

The 6-year-old is on Spring Break for two weeks, so we decided to take a couple of days to enjoy the beautiful weather by the beach in Orange County. My parents still live in the area, in the same house I grew up in and spent the better years of my childhood in.

It was a fun, sun-soaked two days filled with splashing in the pool, walks by the ocean, purple-gold sunsets on the pier eating chilled shrimp cocktail and creamy clam chowder. The boys got to spend quality time with their grandparents and cousin and I didn’t have to think of a million ways to entertain them. It was a win-win-win all around.

I once again realized it’s an effort to pack for three children and yourself just to take a couple of days away. I don’t really call it a “vacation” because that would imply relaxation, but more an “excursion.” Sure, you’re in a hotel, but the baby is hoisting himself onto furniture that isn’t childproof, the toddler is picking up the phone and dialing the front desk over and over and screaming HELLO? HELLO! until we give up and just unplug it from the wall and the 6-year-old is talking VERY LOUDLY and throwing himself all over the freshly made bed asking repeatedly if he can eat the chips from the mini bar until I have to yell QUIET! which is sort of an oxymoron, isn’t it?

YELL. QUIET.

The pool is really just a test in multi-tasking and seeing how quickly my reflexes can respond as the non-swimming toddler (who has no concept of fear) tries to cannonball into the shallow baby pool and the baby’s cheeks are slowly turning hot pink and he needs sunscreen but I can’t take my eyes off the toddler and the 6-year-old wants me to watch him, look mom, look mom, look what he can do and…and…and…

I remember the days, pre-children, of weekend getaways to Palm Springs with my husband as we sunbathed by the pool ordering citrusy, iced cold margaritas and shared a chaise lounge, tangled up together, drunk off the sun and the love and maybe the tequila and the luxuriousness of it all. Nowhere to be, nobody needing us. I thought I was savoring those moments at the time, but if someone had foreshadowed for me what it would be like three years later, with three children, three wild things to keep track of and fret over and slather sunscreen on and watch out of the corner of my eye, I would have sipped those margaritas more slowly, held my husband’s hand tighter. Being pulled in three (four? five?) directions is both exhausting and wonderful. The chaos is beautiful in its own way, the tending to other souls, fulfilling. But it also makes those rare moments of uninterrupted quiet that much more delicious.

I get nostalgic visiting the area where I grew up as a child, with my own children now. There’s something both exhilarating and melancholy about it. I approach a stretch of beach with my boys and have to take a moment to let the sand run through my bare toes, as if that alone will transport me back in time to my own childhood. The memory is so clear I can smell it in the saltwater, the briny seaweed, the coconut-scented suntan oil rubbed across browned shoulders. I am 12 again, 9 again, 6 again, the age my son is now. I am running freely on the beach, tumbling in crashing waves, my hair thick with sand and foamy seawater. The sun is almost ready to descend behind the ocean, the light is perfect, casting a golden glow on young, unlined skin and I don’t want the day to end.

I don’t want the summer to end.

I don’t want my childhood to end.

I don’t want this life to end.

I look over at my boys and they are antsy and unknowing. They have no idea of my memories here, my memories here, at this strip of beach that represents so much of my youth. I’m not sure why I would expect them to. I’m not sure what I’m looking for or what I’m hoping to find in them.

They are hungry and they want to eat.

I stop and snap a few photos on my phone before joining up with my family, who are all anxious to move on.

The sun does its disappearing act behind the ocean.