Bathing Beauty

A few weeks ago, we kicked off the beginning of the Tour de France with a pool party. Emma sported her ultra-cute bathing suit and robe from Aunt Sis. She didn't know what to make of the water at first, but eventually splashed around a little and played with her ducky.

My friends inside the computer

A few months back I endeavored to record some of my pearls of mothering wisdom, cultivated from eight whole months of experience, and I always meant to post one more item. This one is about my friends inside the computer. You know, the ones I've never actually met, but who entertain me, educate me, and commiserate with me on a daily basis.

I came upon the genre of "mommy blogs" while I was expecting, and have found endless hours of reading entertainment and a sense of kinship and community that I never would have expected. Here are my favorites:

The Modernity Ward: Mothering stories full of punk-rock awesomeness, archives including PCOS and IUI drama.

Dooce: More punk-rock mothering awesomeness and excellent photography from a recovering Mormon. Dooce is famous for being the blogger that got fired for writing anonymously about work back in the early days of blogginess.

Moxie: A parenting question-a-day advice site with unbelievable archives. Moxie herself is thoughtful and provides great responses, but the true strength is in the daily cadre of loyal commenters who provide support and insights to one another. The archives have questions and answers about any possible parenting concern you might have. Moxie's philosophy and advice have given me confidence to parent Emma in the way that feels best and most natural.

Urban Baby: The exact opposite of Moxie. A snarky bunch of totally anonymous NYC mamas who tear each other to shreds over anything and everything. It's like watching a train-wreck. And addictive. A guilty pleasure.

Those are my friends inside the computer. Who are yours?

Love. Hate.

I’ve been wanting to write for some time about my love/hate relationship with nursing the Emma. The phrase love/hate is misleading, though, because it implies that I feel the two in equal measure, and I don’t. Most of the time, I feel the love more. And it is good. Real good. I can feel it in my bones good. But when that other pesky emotion sneaks in, I feel it hard. So hard that it pushes all the good stuff far away into the corners and out of the light and makes it hard to breathe.

Emma took to nursing immediately and our first many months were the kind that people who have trouble nursing hate to hear about. Good supply, good latch, no health issues, plenty of goodness all around. Enter the love.

I think that our good nursing relationship was key in helping me to find my groove as a mother. I felt so purposeful, so competent. My life and my body, they had meaning. I was nourishing this little person. With my body! And she was thriving!

My favorite time of every day became the bedtime routine. I would put little Emma in her jammies, swaddle her (for the first four months) or zip her into a sleep sack (since then), turn on the Spa Radio channel on the Pandora, and nurse her to sleep while we lay in my bed with the lights down low and the new age music pulsed and whirred in the background. Many a night, I fell asleep there too, and we cuddled and snoozed and it was perfect. Over time, she learned to be transported first to the bassinet and later to her own bedroom to keep sleeping, and I would get to have a few hours of adult time with JMT and my life felt balanced and so, so manageable.

Man, just writing that makes me want to hit fast-forward on the day and start the 7pm roundup right now.

When she was tiny, there were plenty of full-on love moments during daytime nursing as well, when she would fall asleep on me, or when she learned to look up and smile at me when she was done. All good things. And now that she’s a bigger girl, there are the sweet sleepy moments when her body is heavy against me and we can sit for an hour or more while the day goes on around us, and the silly moments when she decides to make a game of things and repeatedly pull away from me and then dive bomb back in for more, and the giggly moments, when she thinks that this nursing thing is just the funniest thing ever, and the serious, “I are hungry baby” moments, when she takes the business of nursing very seriously—furrowing her brow and focusing very, very hard at the task at hand.

All good. So good.

So what about that other thing I mentioned? The hate? Well, it’s in there too. And in increasing amounts. And it manifests itself in ugly ways. Like the tears. The frustration. And the doubt. And the crushing sadness. The growing feelings of inadequacy. Yeah, I hate those.

The unbelievably trite cliché, “All good things must come to an end” comes to mind here. I have always known that I won’t be nursing Emma when she is seventeen. So of course, I knew that eventually I would stop nursing this kid. Preferably before she learned to drive. But I also thought, perhaps naively so, that I would be able to stop nursing Emma on my terms. That at the time I decided, I would do as the baby-rearing textbooks advise and gradually decrease her time nursing, cut out pumping sessions, etc. I figured I’d have an epiphany sometime after her first year and begin the process of ending things.

What I didn’t expect was this long, slow death. For the past three months, my milk supply has been diminishing bit by bit. I’ve done everything the good Internets tells me to do to improve the situation: the tea, the fenugreek, the expensive supplements, drinking enough water to sail a boat on. No dice.

I could write so much about the specifics of how this sucks. I could write about how demoralizing it is to spend 40 minutes a day at work pumping, and only coming up with enough milk for the daycare provider to spike Emma’s formula with one ounce per bottle. I could write about the pain of watching Emma’s increasing disappointment that there just isn’t enough. I could write about the cuts on my arms that I could swear Emma inflicts on purpose with her little razor nails when she’s trying and trying to get enough to eat, but there just isn’t any more to be had. I could write about the horrific realization that those cries we’d been hearing for days weren’t from teething pains, but rather hunger pangs, and were quickly remedied with a nice big bottle of formula.

But I won’t. What’s worse than all of those things is the sadness. The loss. I can supplement Emma’s dietary needs with formula, and she doesn’t seem to mind. But I can’t seem to find a supplement for what I’m losing: the contentedness, the feeling of competence and purpose, the love.

What makes this harder still is the slowness of it. Since a little breastmilk is still better than no breastmilk, I don’t feel like I can cut off cold turkey. So my sadness has become an open wound that cannot heal. Not yet. It’s like a long, slow break-up where you rehash all the good times and the badness over and over before you say goodbye for the last time.

The rational part of me knows this is all nonsense. Emma is happy to drink formula; I am privileged to have had as good of an experience with nursing as I did; we are healthy and well provided for; I’ll get to stop pumping. I know. But the sadness, it defies reason. It cannot be bargained down. It just has to be, to work itself out. And that’s what I hate.

Tooth!

Thursday June 18th, the first chomper showed itself.  Here's a photo of her gummy grin before the teeth.  She'll never look like this again!

So much to say

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Originally uploaded by steal jane

I have much to say about our family vacation last week. and many photos to share We had a great time galavanting about the eastern half of the country seeing family. Even all the traveling (air and car) wasn't that bad. The highlight for me, however, was watching JMT and Emma become best friends. Of course he has always loved her. Of course she has always been happy to see him. But after 9 days of nearly constant contact, their interactions have become a joy to watch. They are my two great loves.

What well rested looks like

Last night was one for the history books.  Emma slept through the night.  Woo Hoo!

Bitter. Sweet.

This morning when I brought Emma to daycare, I had one of those d’oh! moments when I realized that I had forgotten to bring her milk.  Daycare had let me know the night before that Emma was out, and even though I’d made a mental note to bring more in from the freezer at home, and even though I remembered for a split-second at 6:15 this morning, I still forgot to pack up a bag and bring it in.  At least I didn’t pack a bag of hard-won* milk and leave it on the counter to spoil!

Since JMT wasn’t available for a milk-run this morning, and since I had a meeting that would keep me from going home to get more, I decided to go over at lunch-time today to nurse Emma.  All morning I stressed about my meetings and time, and whether I’d get a chance to eat anything since I hadn’t packed a lunch.  I also noted the irony that one of the main reasons I gave for choosing this daycare was its proximity to my office so that I could go nurse at lunch, and this was the first time I was actually going to go do it.

11:00 rolled around and as I headed over to daycare all the little stresses of the morning melted away.  When I got there, the bigger kids were playing outside and Emma was napping peacefully in the bassinet.  I stood over the bassinet for a few moments, watching her sleep… her warm rosy cheeks, her eyelids fluttering, fist thrust above her head in cherubic protest.  I let her wake up slowly as I pulled away her blanket, and I delighted when she finally opened her eyes, saw it was me and smiled from ear to ear.  We sat outside to nurse.  The weather today is spectacular.  A perfect early summer day in Colorado.  About 75 degrees with a light breeze.  I sat in a patio chair near where the bigger kids were playing, but soon we became the main event**.  Emma would hardly concentrate on nursing because six little pairs of eyes and hands were all drawn to her.  She giggled and grinned at all of them, until finally they were shooed away by the daycare provider. 

I want to remember this moment forever.  Emma, warm and rosy from her nap, nestled sweetly in my arms, the warm breeze, the giggle and banter of a yard full of little people.  When Emma was done nursing, I sat with her for as long as my watch and daytimer would allow.  I rested my lips on the top of her head and her wispy hair tickled my cheeks.  She watched the bigger kids with rapt attention, but leaned hard against me.  I fought tears then, as I do now, knowing that this moment, just like Emma’s babyhood, was fleeting.  And then I handed her over to the daycare provider, whisked back to work, and the day resumed.

I am struck by the perfection of those moments with my baby.  I never want to forget the warmth and weight of her in my arms and the sweet smell of her hair.  Days like this, I want to pack up my desk and never look back.  I want to be Emma’s full-time mom, not a part-time employee.  I am blessed to work at a job I enjoy that allows me more flexibilities and benefits than I deserve.  But really, I am treading water here for six hours a day while I wait to see my girl again.  My mind is never fully focused on the task at hand; my heart is never fully committed to my work.

But do I really want to chuck it all and stay at home?  My main worry is that deciding to stay home would be a decision I couldn’t easily unmake.  I could certainly find work again, but a job like my current one only comes around once in a career—and then only if you’re very lucky.  And are afternoons like this one not really real?  Are they more like summer camp romances than real-life relationships?  Are all the emotions and sensations heightened because the end-date is known and you’re trying to soak in every moment before you’re on the bus back home?  Staying at home would not be filled with moments like this, or at least not moments I would recognize, because staying at home would be full of to-do lists and grocery trips and housecleaning and dirty diapers and corner cutting and penny pinching.  Every afternoon would not be 75 degrees with a warm breeze and the sounds of happy children playing outside.  But maybe some would.  And would that be enough?

 

*Some day I need to write about my love/hate relationship with pumping.  For now, let it be said that I’m only pumping enough for one bottle a day, which daycare thoughtfully divides up and uses to sweeten the formula that we’re using to supplement my wimpy supply.

**One of the older kids asked where her food was, and I had a heck of a time thinking about how to explain nursing to a three-year-old.  I wonder how many unusual dinner-time conversations will be sparked by my afternoon visit to daycare.  I realize now that I will need to perfect my explanation of where milk comes from before the next toddler starts asking me questions!

Sweet Potato

God bless the solid foods, for they lead to sleep-filled nights. 

For the past few days, Emma’s interest in purees has surpassed just gumming them around in her mouth, and now she ravenously gulps down one and two jars of fruits and veggies at a time, usually mixed with some rice or oatmeal cereal to add texture and iron.  The last few days have included monster feeding sessions, and the last two nights have included only one wake-up each.  It’s amazing how much better rested I feel when I only have to get up once in the night with the baby instead of three to four times!

Happy Mother's Day

I never would have guessed what a joy motherhood could be, or how lovely a quiet Mother’s Day planting in the garden and eating Italian take-out could be.  But oh, how it is a joy. 

 

How could it not be with a coy little girl like this in my arms?

 

Baby Steps

Life with the Emma is full of firsts. This weekend, while Aunt Sis was visiting, we experienced a few. Emma’s first wine-tasting (she stayed in the stroller, we tasted the wine), the Bumbo seat (photos to follow in a day or two) and Emma’s first drink from a big girl glass (above). She was adamant that we let her drink out of the cup! This was our first trip to a restaurant in which she got out of the stroller and interacted during the meal. We went to The Loop, where she chomped on a corn chip and a piece of carrot, and then washed it all down with some slurps from my water glass.

Costochondritis Questionnaire

(say that 5 times fast)

I love me some Google Analytics. I created an account for myself a few weeks back, and had a blast finding out where all y’all come from and how you find this blog (shame on you person who googled “ginormous belly pics”),. It made my heart warm to know there were so many folks checking in from time to time. The overwhelming trend for new visitors was people who find this blog after googling some combination of “costochondritis, pregnancy, holy-hell-this-pain-in-my-ribcage-is-going-to-make-me-lose-my-mind”. Since this is ICLW week (see the linky graphic thingy to the right for details) I thought it would be a good time to ask folks a couple of questions. Go ahead and leave your answers in the comments. One of these days when I’m feeling motivated, I might compile all the comments from here and other posts I’ve done about costochondritis into a mega-post on the subject.

For those new to the costo, costochondritis is an inflammation of the cartilage that connects your ribs to your sternum (breastbone). It causes acute pain at that junction that can make your life suck. I had a particularly awful case of it during my pregnancy that was fairly well treated with a combination of acupuncture and physical therapy. Some folks ain’t so lucky and have to resort to ultrasound guided cortisone injections, opiates and/or bedrest.

The Questions for Folks Who’ve Been Pregnant:

1-During your pregnancy, did you ever have pain in your ribcage? (If no, you’re done. If yes, please continue on.)

2-On a scale of 1-10 (1 being barely noticeable, 10 being hysterical emergency room craziness) rate the worst the pain ever felt.

3-How often did you feel this pain?

4-Did you seek treatment?

5-If yes to #4, from whom (OB, regular doctor, naturopath, etc)?

6-What was their diagnosis?

7-What was your treatment plan?

8-Did it help?

9-What was the approximate reduction in pain? You can answer numerically—for example 9-2 would mean: my pain was originally a 9, after treatment I’d rate it as a 2.

10-Did the pain continue after you delivered?

Bonus-Anything else you’d like to share about your rib pain?

Thumb. Toes. Bananas. Sleep?

It's been a busy week for Miss Em. For a couple of weeks now, I've been thinking about posting a development update, in keeping with the "baby book" aspect of this blog. But really, she hadn't been up to much. But then this last week was an explosion of tiny developments.

First--the thumb. On Friday, I noticed a peculiar sucking sound coming from the vicinity of Emma. I looked over, and she was going to town on her thumb. I know this doesn't sound like much, but up until now, Emma has been a whole-hand chewer. The dexterity to separate out the thumb and position it for optimum suckage is new. It's cut down on pacifier time substantially, and she always seems so pleased when she finds it. I've been too slow with the camera to catch it yet, but the funny part is the visual. She doesn't know what to do with the rest of her fingers, so she alternatingly waves them around or grabs her nose with them.

In addition to her tasty thumb, Emma has also found that, with a little more effort, her toes can fill in as a tasty treat. At first, she would catch her toes in her field of view, and track them, like Walter the cat tracking a toy mouse... but she didn't quite have the know-how to get the toes to go where she wanted. Now when she catches a glimpse of them, you can watch her little machine of a brain work to remember how she makes the toe thingies work again, and slowly she moves her legs close enough for her hands to grab her feet. It's precious. I'll admit, I was feeling a little worried that she hadn't noticed them yet. I know a friend of mine's slightly older son found his toes at four months. And while I've been good at repeating the good mama mantra of "all children develop at a different pace" I couldn't help but compare.

The third snack Emma learned to enjoy this week was bananas. Since she was about 4 months, I've been checking in once a week to see if she has any interest in solids. Until this weekend, the answer had been a resounding no. And then we tried bananas in that mesh feeder thing. And she loves them! She's been eating about an inch of banana for breakfast and usually dinner too for four days now. It's adorable. She's so engaged in it, and happy and sticky and proud of herself while she's rubbing banana goo all over the the high chair and herself. After a lot of reading about introducing solids, I've been leaning toward the baby led weaning camp. And after watching Emma's reaction to being in control of the banana, I think I'm sold.

And then sleep. I had planned to post this yesterday after it happened to record the fresh excitement. Night before last, Emma only woke up one time. At 3:30. For five minutes. I don't know if it was the tummy full of bananas, or a brain quiet after the turmoil of working through so many new developments, but it was lovely. Especially because it was a cool, humid (for Colorado) night--great sleeping weather as my dad would say--and I was able to enjoy the relative peace of being unneeded for a stretch of nighttime hours. Last night, she woke up at 10:30 and I just brought her to bed with us, so I don't know for sure how sleeping would have gone if she were on her own.

This one's for Rachel

This week I had my annual eye doctor appointment.  It was time to pick some new glasses.  There were so many cute ones... I couldn't make up my mind.  So I asked Rachel for some help, and she helped me pick the ones above--all via camera phone!  Thank you, Rachel!  I wish we got to spend more time together!

Here's another one

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Originally uploaded by Teals West

I just love her expression here.

Last one for today

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Originally uploaded by Teals West

This one is my wallpaper on my work PC. She has just cracked herself up over the lion roaring noise that she made when she pressed the button her right hand is on. We call her excersaucer her "office" and she likes to spend lots of time there "working".