Tales from the Mom Front: The Misadventures of a First-Time Mom

By Rebecca Martorella

Tales from the Mom Front offers an insightful and engaging look at the early years of parenthood from the perspective of a first-time mother. Author and family therapist Rebecca Martorella chronicles her journey from pregnancy to preschool with a dose of realism and wit that reads like a conversation with a good friend.

Unlike advice books that outline what to expect from parenthood, Martorella shares the unexpected moments that have parents everywhere wondering, "is it just me?" Stories include:

Building Baby Furniture-The First Parenting Challenge
Breasts, Bottles, How Do You Work These Things?!
Family Vacation is an Oxymoron
First Date with the Babysitter
Eeek! Daddy's in Charge!

and more. She reveals her mistakes and victories and encourages parents to trust their instincts, laugh at their blunders, and release themselves from the pressure to be a "perfect" parent.

Tales from the Mom Front began as a newspaper column that earned praise from new and experienced parents and grandparents alike. Parents find a sympathetic voice in the author and are relieved to learn that they are not alone in their daily confusion and joy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Mar 27, 2006
• ISBN: 9780595831012

Rebecca Martorella

Rebecca Martorella, M.A. is a Marriage and Family Therapist in Connecticut where she lives with her husband and son. She has a private therapy practice and authors a column about family issues for The Darien Times in Darien, CT. She previously worked as an advertising and marketing executive. Contact: [e-mail].

Book preview

READYING THE TROOPS

Great Expectations 

Six Months Pregnant 

Trying to Fit In 

I am six months pregnant with my first child, which we found out is a boy. We always thought we would wait to be surprised by the gender at the birth, but when it came down to it, we couldn’t handle the doctor knowing yet one more thing than we did. I mean, I’m going through this for the first time. I have no idea what’s going on with my body, what I should expect (despite the book of the same name), what tests are going to get done next. Every time I go into the doctor’s office, it’s a mystery. Will there be a sonogram or not? Will they be pricking my arm to take yet another vial or four of blood? What are they testing for anyway? Is this pain under my ribs normal? Is he moving too much? Too little? Do I really have to eat yogurt every day? I hate yogurt.

So we decided to take control in the one place we could (thanks to modern technology) and ask the doctor to share her little secret. But, we proclaimed, we will keep it to ourselves and let everyone else be surprised. That lasted about four minutes beyond hearing it’s a boy! Would it have been different if it were a girl? I’m not sure, but the fact is my husband was so excited to hear it was a boy that he was on the phone with his parents almost instantaneously shouting it’s a male boy, it’s a male boy! Which is a good thing because those female boys are just so hard to handle. We’ve since expanded to call it a male boy son just to ensure there is no confusion.

I must say I have loved being pregnant. Though getting pregnant was tough, being pregnant has been a dream. I have not suffered from morning sickness, swollen hands and feet, or severe heartburn, and I love my thick hair and strong nails. The biggest adjustment has been getting used to my new size. The fact that my waist has disappeared has led to a few amusing moments trying to put pants or socks on. I can see my feet, I just can’t quite get there. Additionally, it makes it difficult to sit up straight, so I lie back slightly to be more comfortable. Unfortunately, then I can’t get up until my husband comes home.

I forget that I can’t weave between people in tight spaces like I used to. I was recently at a sit-down dinner where the tables were so close together that it would have been difficult for supermodels to get out of their chairs. When I tried to get through with my soccer ball belly, I found myself wedged between two chairs standing on the tips of my toes trying desperately to get my stomach over the high back of the chair inconspicuously. When I looked up, I noticed at least five tables of strangers watching this occur. I’m not positive, but I’m pretty sure that I saw my family taking bets on whether I’d make it through.

The benefit of this new size is that it requires a new wardrobe, and one that is supposed to make you look fat. I have to thank my friends for their generous donations of maternity clothing that helped make my maternity wardrobe bigger than my regular wardrobe, although most are from a time when maternity fashion was an oxymoron right up there with jumbo shrimp. Thankfully, pregnant celebrities have used their connections in the fashion industry to bring out some more flattering clothing so I can pretend I resemble a pregnant Sarah Jessica Parker rather than a whale in giant flower prints with ruffles.

Of course, pregnancy is also one of the only times that new shoes seem like a sensible purchase since they are the only things that will last beyond nine months. At least that’s what I tell my husband.

Seven Months Pregnant 

Stocking Up 

Now that the early days of morning sickness, constant worrying, medical tests, and the like are over, we are focusing on one of the more important aspects of pregnancy—stocking up. In preparation for my baby shower, I completed a baby registry with the invaluable assistance of a very knowledgeable friend who helped me filter through the true necessities versus the vast amounts of nonessential extras that are marketed to vulnerable new moms anxious to provide their new baby with everything he or she may need.

Registries are a female phenomenon. We are the ones who purchase most gifts for friends and family, so we appreciate the convenience they provide to the gift buyer as well as to the recipient. There are very few times in life where you can justify telling people what you want, and as materialistic and gauche as it may be, I’m all for it. The registry confidently says Buy this for me, while I get to pretend I am not rudely asking for presents. The request can be even more covert by leveraging new technology and letting the shower invitation do the talking with an inset listing online registry sites. And most of all, it minimizes feigned excitement at the fifteenth rattle and onesie you receive.

Most men don’t really understand the registry. It seems to go against their conservative and practical natures. I think back to our wedding preparations when I believed that the success of our relationship required that my husband and I register for our wedding gifts together. Bad idea. His participation led to a very limited registry list and a house full of crystal vases. I have since felt sinfully envious every time I purchase something off of others’ extensive registries comprised of everything from air conditioners to toothpicks.

So this time I took control (because frankly, the one thing my husband wants to shop for less than china and flatware is baby stuff). However, I did make one big mistake. In a weak, sappy, bonding moment, I chose to share the registry with my husband. Here’s how the conversation went:

Him:   What’s a bouncer seat?

Me:   It’s a seat he can sit back in and bounce.

Him:   "Oh, it’s the thing you hang from the kitchen

doorway?"

Me:   No, that’s the jumper.

Him:   Oh, it’s the thing you carry the baby in?

Me:   No, that’s the infant carrier.

Him:   Oh. Does it rock?

Me:   "No, that’s the swing—it’s listed separately down there.

You can feed a baby in a bouncer seat too".

Him:   So why are you registered for a high chair?

Me:   "That’s for a later stage. The bouncer seat has lots of

toys on it too, so the baby can entertain himself".

Him:   Then what’s the ‘stationary entertainment center’.

Me:   He can sit in it and play with the toys attached to it.

Him:   I thought that was what he does in the bouncer seat.

Me:   Well, yeah…but that’s for an earlier stage.

Him:   (with conviction) "It seems to me that we are going to

have to move the baby every 20 minutes so that we make sure he gets to use all of these things! Take them off the registry!"

Me:   LISTEN! (I say in a voice neither one of us has ever

heard before, and which we both fear will be taking over this new mom), "I AM GOING TO BE THE ONE HOME WITH THIS BABY ALL DAY LONG—I

WILL NEED WHATEVER I CAN GET TO KEEP HIM ENTERTAINED. Besides (returning to my normal, sweet wife voice), they’re all for different stages."

Him:   Um, OK, yeah. (He proceeds hesitantly…)

"Well..how about this ‘musical mobile’ for the crib?

We don’t need that, right? Can we…um…uh…take that off the registry?"

Me:   (conceding nicely to one of my husband’s requests, knowing

full well that I can go back online tomorrow and add it back onto the registry) Okay, fine. But you’re going to have to stand over the baby and hum him to sleep.

Eight Months Pregnant

Baby Furniture—The First Parenting Challenge 

Preparing the nursery is one of the more fun chores when getting ready for a new baby—at least in the beginning. We were excited to be able to give a purpose to an extra bedroom which had up until now been a catch-all for random furniture, lamps, books, and out-of-season clothes.

First, we painted. Actually, my husband painted, which meant that the project became a five-day event (one day each to prep and tape, edge, paint, remove the tape, and touch up). But I shouldn’t mock him—the job was well done. In fact, he is so proud of his work that he plans to require friends and family to visit the nursery before they can see the baby.

Then it was time to add the Peter Rabbit wallpaper border that I insisted would vastly improve the aesthetics of the room, and by extension, the intelligence of our child. Admittedly, this may not have been the best idea I’ve ever had. Sure it was pre-pasted for easy application, but this still meant that I had to moisten the back of long wallpaper strips in the bathtub before my husband could put them up on the wall. Sounds easy enough, until I tried to get my very pregnant body up out of a squatting position in front of the tub without using my hands, which were holding dripping, sticky wallpaper. Luckily, my husband was able to pull me up by my elbows seconds before I did a face plant into the glue-tinged water. We reconfigured our application procedure to limit my drowning potential by cutting the border into smaller, more manageable strips and giving me a chair.

When describing the easy application, the border manufacturer failed to mention that when you put dripping wallpaper on the top of a wall, the glue-saturated water will drip down the walls, scarring your beautiful new paint job. At first, we moved quickly, trying to stop the drips with sponges, but eventually we decided to incorporate the subtle stripes as part of the design. When completed, it looked adorable. But that night, I dreamt that the border was peeling away, piece by piece. The next day I found out it wasn’t just a dream. Hint—don’t put wallpaper up during the most humid