…who could ask for anything more?

Isaac, 9, Clara, 6 1/2 weeks

As I tell new moms all the time, the first six weeks postpartum are always the hardest. I wrote about the six-week milestone at WEtv this week:

For one thing, the sixth week is when I can usually expect my milk supply to start getting in synch with my baby’s appetite a little better. Up until then, I never know what to expect: one breast might be twice the size of the other. Or one day the baby might seem to nurse frantically all day and never get enough milk and the next day there’s so much milk that she chokes and gags when she nurses, milk streaming everywhere as though she’d put her mouth around the garden hose and then turned it on full force.

read the rest…

A very relaxing week. I met my biggest deadlines by Monday, freeing up my schedule for sitting outside in the sun, sipping wine with friends and watching the kids play. Jon took Thursday off and we all headed to the Field Museum in Chicago. It was our first big outing with all five kids and it went very well, despite a few lectures from me which sounded something like this:

“Didn’t I ask you to brush your hair this morning? You did? What, did you use a fork? You’re SO getting a haircut. Don’t give me that look!”

“Did I just see you running? How old are you? 9, right? SURELY you know how to behave in a public place by now. Don’t give me that look!”

“Didn’t I tell you to stay with me? If you run off again, you’re going to have to hold my hand the rest of the day. Don’t give me that look!”

“Did you just climb under that rope? That’s there for a reason, you know. Okay, back into the stroller with you. Don’t give me that look!”

Oh well. Nobody’s perfect, certainly not this mom. I figure when postpartum hormones are still raging, you’re on your first outing with a new baby and trying to keep track of five kids in a busy institution of public learning, you’re entitled to a few sweaty, frazzled rants. Overall everyone else was at least as well behaved as I was.

In other news, Miss Clara turned six weeks old yesterday. She only has half a head of hair left and her forehead and chin are covered in zits. Every one of my babies hits the “zitty and balding” phase around this age, but somehow I thought Clara might be exempt. You know, what with her rough start and all, I thought perhaps the universe would allow her to hang on to her soft, silky hair and smooth skin. But, nope.

you can’t see the zits in the picture, but believe me, they are there. you also can’t see her hair, because it’s not.

But even when her red blotchy face makes me cringe, I still think she’s the cutest thing going. That’s what makes moms special, right? We can see past the zits, the cradle cap, the patchy hair and see the sweet, adorable baby we know is underneath.

And when they get older, we can look past the goofy haircuts, the mismatched, rumpled clothes, and the goofy public behavior to see the handsome, well-behaved, intelligent boys underneath.

At least, we try. We try really, really hard.

I’ve got a new post up at 23andMe about the ethics of having kids genetically tested. From the post:

On the one hand, genotyping isn’t treatment, and it’s not diagnosis. And the conditions that genetic testing can indicate risk factors for seem to be mostly adult-onset. Since my children don’t NEED to be genotyped right now, is it really up to me to make the decision for them?

On the other hand, genetic testing could be compared to any other health decision. Do I let my kids decide whether they want to take a needed medication, get a yearly checkup, or have their cavities filled? No. If their doctor suggested they needed to have their blood tested, an ultrasound, or an X-ray, would I let them make the final decision? Nope. Two months ago, when my son Isaac split his forehead open on the granite counter and assured me that he reallyreallyreally didn’t need stitches, that inch-long, half-inch-deep gash would heal just fine with a bandaid…did I go along? Nope, and nope. I’m responsible for my kids’ healthcare, and they aren’t mature enough to really understand the consequences of not following through on testing or treatment.

This is feeling particularly relevant because my husband received his 23andMe results today, and found out that he is a carrier of the H63D mutation. So am I. That means that each of our five kids has a one-in-four chance of carrying two copies of the mutation, which puts them at risk for hemochromatosis, a potentially fatal–but very treatable–disease.

Head over to read the rest, and don’t forget about the 23andMe Pregnancy Community, where you can participate in research, take fun surveys and join a network of other moms interested in pregnancy and genetics. (It’s free!)

Or keep your dining room table clear. Or sweep under your dining-room table regularly. Or make sure your dressers aren’t overstuffed with clothes so they don’t shut all the way. The point is, all of us have that one thing (or half a dozen things) that drives us crazy. Whether yours is crumbs on the counter or rooms where half the lightbulbs are burned out, taking care of your biggest crazy-makers (BEFORE they get to the point of making you crazy) sets the whole mood for the day.

For me, that one thing happens to be making my bed. I used to roll out of bed in the morning, look at the rumpled sheets and blankets and think “eh, what’s the difference? I’m just going to be messing it up again in 15 hours.” But I spend a lot of time in my bedroom, even during the day, and I found that every time I went back in, the sight of that unmade bed made me feel…slumpy. It made the house feel messy even if the house wasn’t particularly messy. It made me feel disorganized. And every time I sat on the bed (like I am now with my laptop) I would feel like crawling under the sheets and going back to sleep.

I’m far from being a neat freak, but I began to realize that I require a certain level of cleanliness in order to function. I spend most of my day in my home, and if it feels too messy or cluttered I just want to retreat and watch bad TV instead of being productive. I also realized that it pays to stay on top of mess by constantly straightening up instead of saving it all for some mythical 2-hour stretch when I’ll be able to do a big clean. So four or five years ago I started making my bed every day, as soon as I could after waking up. What a difference. It took a couple of weeks to really get into the habit, but soon I found myself looking forward to making my bed–it feels like tearing out a fresh sheet of notebook paper, clean and crisp and full of possibility. Now, no matter how the rest of the house looks, my bedroom is a neat and pleasant retreat. When I go to bed, it’s so satisfying to pull back the smooth covers instead of climbing into a tangled mess of sheets. And it really makes a big difference in my mood.

I have other “must do” chores, too. For example, I really like my bathroom to look clean (with four boys this means wiping down toilets at least daily) and it’s important to me to have a clean kitchen sink (which I realized after doing FlyLady many years ago). I also Can. Not. Stand. to have couch pillows and throw blankets all over the living room so I stop a few times a day to toss pillows back on the furniture and fold blankets. I call these things my “triggers”—I’m actually crankier to my kids and anxious when my sink is messy or there are sofa pillows on the floor. So I try to stay on top of it through the day—and it all begins with making the bed.

One note, though: I have my older kids do a lot of chores, but I almost never put them in charge of my “trigger” tasks. It’s too important to me that they’re done right–not to mention promptly.

Do you have housecleaning “triggers” that can make or break your mood? What are they? How long did it take you to figure them out?

A 2007 study in the British Medical Journal explored the reasons why the Danish rank high in life satisfaction, (it’s a funny read) even though they are lower in the factors that are supposed to lead to satisfaction than many of their European neighbors. The conclusion? They’re more easily satisfied because their expectations are low.

I believe you can apply that concept directly to motherhood. Not that I see my expectations for life with children as low, exactly…just realistic. I may not get to shower today. If I do, I almost certainly won’t have time to shave my legs. I may not get much time alone this week. I may not have time to cook gourmet meals. I won’t be an awesome mom most days and some days I won’t even be a good mom. I will almost certainly never get to finish anything uninterrupted. The bathroom door will be knocked upon endlessly, and sometimes small fingers will reach through the crack under the door. I won’t sleep more than a couple hours at a time. I don’t always love it, but if I have clear and realistic expectations, I can go through it and still feel happy with my life in general.

Quite often I’ll be talking to a mom who’s recently had her second child and is having a hard time of it. I can relate. Though I have five kids, the hardest transition for me wasn’t adding the fourth or the fifth, or even the third, when I was officially out of hands. It was going from one to two.

Why? My expectations were out of whack.

I always knew I wanted to have children, and as I was basically bobbing through life before I got pregnant with #1 without any clear sense of purpose or direction, I didn’t give up much in the way of identity or fulfillment or mental stimulation when he was born. Having grown up around other children (my mom ran an in-home daycare for years) I had a pretty good idea of the amount of work involved in caring for an infant, so the sleepless nights and constant neediness weren’t too surprising to me, either. In fact, as I was used to caring for multiple children at a time, I found meeting Jacob’s needs fairly easy by comparison. Jacob was a happy baby and easy toddler, and I eased into the realities of motherhood gently.

We had a wonderful 22 months together before #2 was born. And that’s when Reality gave me a donkey kick to the face.

I learned quickly that not all newborns are content and easily pacified. Some of them scream nonstop when they aren’t eating, in fact. That going out in public with a toddler and a newborn leaves you sweaty and frazzled. That it’s nearly impossible to get a toddler and newborn to synchronize naps. That there’s no way to be as attentive and careful with two children as you can with one.

In short, because my initial experience with motherhood was so positive, I set myself up by expecting it to continue that way with my second child. When my expectations most decidedly weren’t met, I was frustrated, stressed-out and miserable.

Since then, each transition has become easier, with our last being the easiest of all. Now, babies certainly didn’t become more easy to care for in the 9 years between having #2 and #5. Yes, Clara is a very mellow baby and her brothers are helpful, but the fact is that five kids is a lot of work no matter how you slice it. Kids, and all that goes along with raising them, didn’t change…I did.

Namely, my expectations about what I could expect life to be like with a newborn and older siblings of various ages became much more realistic. As a result, when things are normal (you know: crying kids, blowout diapers, squabbling siblings, dishes in the sink) I’m not surprised by it and feel fairly content. When the baby falls asleep, the kitchen is clean, and nobody fights for a few hours, I’m pleasantly surprised.

Of course, your miles may vary. Some people have no idea how hard motherhood will be–they think it’s going to be all sunshine and roses, and their moment of truth arrives at the same time as baby #1. Some people may be startled by the additional work involved with adding a third. And of course, other factors like family support, each child’s personality, and a mom’s tolerance level for noise and sleep deprivation weigh heavily as well. But expectations are huge.

I’m working on a book idea on being a happy mother and right now, principal #1 is “manage expectations”. Not just of your kids, but of yourself. Of course, everyone needs some standards. But setting goals only works if you can actually reach them. Life with children only “works” if you don’t expect more of them then they’re capable of giving.

How do you balance your goals for yourself and your kids with reality? Do you find that it makes you a happier mother when your expectations are realistic? What else makes you a happier mom?

I’ve got another post up at 23andMe, this one about how genetics contribute (or do they?) to a baby’s gender.

Snuggled up next to me on my bed is something I honestly had given up on ever having–my DAUGHTER, Clara.

Sure, to many people, giving birth to a daughter is nothing so unusual.

Those people don’t have four sons.

When I found out I was pregnant with my first child, I just assumed the baby would be a girl. I’d always named my baby dolls Heather, Ashley and Elizabeth. There was not a Tommy, Tyler or Bobby in the group.

So imagine my surprise when I found out that my baby was, in fact, a boy! Oh well, I thought…I’ll have a girl eventually. But I didn’t. And then I didn’t again. And again.

By the fourth son, I was starting to get the picture: The chances of my ever having a girl were pretty slim.

Read the rest here. And while you’re at it, join the 23andMe Pregnancy Community–it’s free, and you’ll get to contribute to pregnancy-related research.