Sad to Know Happy

I was talking to a good friend the other day and she mentioned she was thinking about having a baby.  She had questions, and I assumed they were going to be of the “what is it like to be pregnant, give birth, etc.” variety.  But no.

She wondered how my relationship with Vinny changed once we had a baby.  If we were ever able to carve out time just for us.  And I have to say, these are excellent questions, questions that perhaps people do not ponder enough before having children.

I don’t think anyone is naïve enough to think their relationship with their partner won’t change once they have a child.  But I do think, in all the excitement that comes with potential parenthood, that this topic is often forgotten about altogether.

This is something I thought about often before getting pregnant.  I treasured my pre-baby time with Vinny, the freedom we had to do what we wanted, when we wanted … or even better, to do nothing at all.  Lazy days were our favorite, as were spur-of-the-moment camping trips we took on occasion.  These things are not so easily accomplished (if at all) with a little babe (or two) in the house. 

I found out I was pregnant with Eli at my acupuncturist’s office.  I was late, she knew we weren’t being careful, and she was as giddy as I was, insisting I do a pee test in her office.  The line on the strip test I took was indiscernible to my eye, I wasn’t convinced it was positive at all, but she jumped up and down, “You’re pregnant!  Girl, you’re pregnant!” 

Then you go into shock.  On the drive home I was overwhelmed by 100 different emotions.  The one that took me by surprise was the sadness that flooded in.  Even on that first day, in all the shock and happiness and awe, I already felt sadness for my relationship with Vinny.  I knew at that moment that our lives would never be the same, and that I was going to have to let go of the way our relationship was to move into what it was about to become.

I’ve rarely shared this experience.  The few times I have I’ve been met with either a brush-off, “of course your lives are going to change, duh,” kind of response, or, even worse, a look of concern (not for me, mind you, but because I was experiencing an emotion that wasn’t pure happiness).

I’ve never regretted our decision to have children, but I also think it would be foolish to ignore the feelings I had, to not allow myself to grieve the relationship (as it was) ending to become something different. 

The relationship has become something different, something better.  Seeing my partner as a father has only reinforced all the reasons I love him in the first place.  And seeing him love our children so wholly and purely has made me fall in love with him more deeply, something I didn’t necessarily think was possible before we embarked on this adventure (and a true, unexpected bonus).

There are still moments when I feel sadness for what once was.  But we do find time together, however fleeting.  And we both look forward to taking the kids on new adventures with us, soon. 

When someone asks me a question like this, I don’t hold back.  I have no qualms about being honest.  Choosing to become a parent is one of the biggest decisions you can ever make.  Once it happens, there’s no going back. 

Did I chastise myself a little that day in the car, moments after learning I was pregnant and feeling sadness?  Yes, I did.  I had that “what is wrong with me,” moment, wondered why my brain had to go there in the midst of something so thrilling, but then let it wander there all the same.  I was pregnant, dammit.  My emotions and hormones were already making me a blubbering mess, and I have learned so many times over that when I feel something I need to let myself feel it.  Quashing my instinctual responses only serves to make me less pleasant down the road. 

When I became pregnant with Sophie, there was again shock, thrill, happiness … and sadness.  This time, it wasn’t for what I was losing with Vinny, but with Eli.  I knew the time to give him my undivided attention was drawing to an end, and he is an incredibly fun child to hang out with.  He still is, but the dynamic has certainly shifted since Sophie was born, as is to be expected.

I’ve come to learn that when my mind knows it can’t “go back” to how things were before, especially when I am happy with the way things are, there is always a bump in the road.  It’s generally a large bump, and it just takes me awhile to figure out how to get over it.  What’s on the other side is worth the journey, but I’ve realized it’s okay to take my time getting there.

You're On A What?

I really cannot put into words what it feels like when your baby rejects you.

Sophie has been going through stretches of symptoms that I have chalked up to teething.  And, finally, after nearly two months of these bouts, a tooth did begin poking through the skin about four days ago.

In addition, she is in the everything-is-more-interesting-to-me-than-eating phase.  Any sound, especially that of her brother, has her whipping her head around to investigate.  I try to feed her right after she wakes, in the relative quiet of her room, but even that has only been sporadically successful. 

So there was a trend.  But nothing prepared me for last Wednesday.  After her morning feeding she literally would not eat at the breast for the rest of the day.  Sure, she had quite a large breakfast of rice cereal, bananas, and sweet potatoes.  She does this sometimes: eats a lot of solids and then doesn’t breastfeed for anywhere from four to six hours.  It always puts me into a panic, mostly because Eli never went more than three hours between feedings. 

This was different.  Every time I thought she was hungry and attempted to feed her, she would turn her head away, arch her back, and scream bloody murder. 

It’s hard not to take this personally.

After eight hours with no feeding at the breast I had to pump.  An hour later, immediately after waking from her nap, I got her to eat for maybe three minutes.  It wasn’t much, but I felt immense relief.  Then the rest of the day: nothing.

At dinner I had Vinny give her a bottle of expressed breast milk.  She wolfed it down.  This was maybe the fifth or sixth bottle we’ve ever given her.  I was happy she still wanted my milk, but wounded that she didn’t seem to want me.

Were I not so ding-dang sleep deprived perhaps this wouldn’t be so difficult.  At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

That night I didn’t fare much better.  There was screaming, but I did get her to eventually eat both times she woke up.  Once morning arrived she was back on the no-eating-train.  My confidence was shot, I was so tired, and every attempt to feed her resulted in: her not eating, me in tears.

After getting everyone to bed that evening I decided it was time to put Google to use.  A simple search for “refusing the breast at 5 months” brought link upon link of people writing on this very topic.  Well.  I had a place to start. 

It only took a couple minutes of surfing before it became apparent that Sophie is on a “nursing strike.”  Excuse me?  They can do that? 

This discovery was met first with intense relief (okay, I’m not the only one this has ever happened to … why does it make me feel so good when I know someone else has shared my struggle?), and then a general sense of annoyance.

What is a nursing strike?  Exactly what it sounds like.  A babe refusing to nurse.  The reasons this may happen are numerous (teething, ear infection, cold, slow letdown, change in mom’s diet, hormones, etc.), but even more exasperating is the fact that quite often, there is no reason. 

Worst of all, though there are a couple “pointers” given (most of these are common sense type things you’re probably already trying), you’re simply supposed to ride it out in relative calm as to not upset your babe or your milk supply.  Huh.

I did take Sophie to the pediatrician to rule out an ear infection.  Eli’s never had one, and from my understanding sometimes babes don’t do anything that would indicate they even have one. 

She was quickly determined to not have an ear infection (although she had the beginnings of a small cold).  I pressed the doctor (not our regular):  How long of her not eating before I should be really concerned?  I then told him I was already really concerned. 

He dismissed my fears:  “She won’t intentionally dehydrate herself.  You know, she’s eating solids, she’s distracted, she’s just going to eat less.  Weigh her once in awhile and make sure she’s gaining.”

I stared at him, waiting.  Yes, I wanted to scream, but what can I DO in the meantime?  How can I tempt her back into eating?  How can I keep my sanity?  My confidence?  My cool?  What if I’m not pumping enough to maintain my milk supply (so easy to forget to pump with the thousand other things going on each day)?  What if…?

Sigh.  Why do our minds so quickly turn into a whirlwind of doubt, anxiety, panic?  It escalates, so quickly, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it (see: sleep deprivation).

We are now on day five of the nursing strike.  Some days are better than others.  Some days I can actually get her to nurse four or five times.  Other days it’s three times, tops.  In the meantime, I am loading up her rice cereal with as much moo as I can, and manage to squeeze an extra four to five ounces into her that way. 

And I have to say, for all the irritation and hurt feelings this is causing me, she’s her usual self (well, other than when I try to get her to eat and she doesn’t want to).  She doesn’t seem to be plotting against me, she certainly isn’t starving, she still smiles at me all the time. 

I guess she still likes me. 

Each time I attempt to feed her, I silently wish that the strike has passed, that we can both get back to the good work of giving and receiving, nourishing, bonding without speedbumps.  So far, no go.  I try to keep a positive attitude and hold the worries at bay.  As is so often true, this is easier said than done.

Your Bits & Pieces

I’ve long known that people have all sorts of names for their private parts.  But as more and more of my friends have children, and we then commiserate on the damage done to our respective bits, it has become increasingly humorous to learn the lingo women toss around. 

Here’s the thing:  Women have a lot of nicknames for their cha cha.  Sure, there are a plethora of names floating around out there for the penis, too, but given our culture’s obsession with men’s junk (albeit their obsession, not ours), well, I’ll admit to being pleasantly surprised that females have not been left out of this cultural conversation.

You’ll notice the nicknames women use are generally much less crude than anything men toss around (I’m sure you could think of two or three crude nicknames men use.  If not, someone with too much time on their hands compiled a list here – gross!).

Why bring this up? 

Well, for one, I need to laugh.  Five months in and Sophie is still a poor nighttime sleeper.  Hence, I am sleep deprived beyond anything I have ever known.  The result?  Everything is funny.  Or makes me cry.  I aim for the former.

Second, my mind has been swirling in dark waters, contemplating serious topics, and this is a welcome respite from all of that. 

Third, I know not all women are open about these things and I am here to let you know: it’s okay, talk about your snacko, use whatever name you like, we’re all friends here. 

There are so many things women are hesitant to share with one another, and when it comes to pregnancy, labor and delivery, and motherhood, well, I’d rather know the ugly side of things than be unenlightened.  Yes, tell me what could happen to my lady bits, tell me what will happen to other areas of my body, tell me how to get through those days where I want to crawl under my bed and never come out, tell me that you have had tough days, too. 

After all that, tell me about how much you love being a mother, how it’s the coolest thing that’s ever happened to you, how you wouldn’t trade any of it for a second, even if it meant having your box back to original form.

P.S. Thanks to all my friends for being so open and honest with me (and making me giggle with your lingo).  I couldn’t imagine getting through this adventure without all of you…

A Sticky Subject...

I recently came across an article entitled, “Don’t Glorify My Breast Milk,” discussing the book, “Is Breast Best?  Taking on the Breastfeeding Experts and the New High Stakes of Motherhood,” by Joan Wolf.

Wolf’s stance is: “It’s time to end the glorification of breast milk and the shaming of mothers who choose formula. For many women, nursing works; for many others, it doesn’t. But accusations of selfishness and bad mothering won’t contribute to anyone’s good health.” 

I can agree with the last sentence wholeheartedly. 

This is harder to swallow: “[N]ot all women are able to nurse, whether it’s because the baby doesn’t latch, it’s painful for the mother, she doesn’t have time, or she simply doesn’t like it. In those cases, says Wolf, the pro-breast-feeding studies, without appropriate scientific evidence, make the mother feel inadequate.”

Hmm.

At the end of the day this is a choice every mother has to make, and ultimately, she should do what is going to work best for her and her child (and I realize not all women even get to choose; for various reasons this decision is sometimes made for them).  However, I have to admit I find it unfortunate when a woman won’t even give breastfeeding a chance, when the decision is made before baby even arrives … especially when it falls under the reasons of time and/or inconvenience. 

Get 'Em Out

Did you know it was World Breastfeeding Week last week? 

A friend on Facebook posted an event, “Big Latch On,” that was being held in conjunction with the week’s festivities.  The event was held outdoors at a park downtown, where breastfeeding mommas could convene, connect, and nourish their little ones.

I had honestly never heard of World Breastfeeding Week before, and for some reason it sparked a memory of a sentence I read in some breastfeeding literature awhile back: “breastfeeding in public is legal in all 50 states.”

At the time I did a double take when I read this.  Really?  Someone had to tell me this? 

It never occurred to me that there may have been a time when it wasn’t legal, or that it even needed to be written down somewhere that breastfeeding in public isn’t considered obscene (if you’re curious about breastfeeding laws in your state, go here).

That being said, it’s taken me some time to get comfortable breastfeeding in public. 

The reasons for my discomfort initially were quite varied:  I didn’t want to “flash” myself at strangers (easily avoided with a nursing wrap), I didn’t want to attract attention to myself (I’ve always been this way), and most of all I didn’t want anyone to be offended.

It shames me to admit that I thought publicly feeding my child might offend anyone.  Or rather, that I cared if it did. 

One of the larger underlying issues was that, quite simply, I had almost never seen anyone else breastfeeding in public.

When Eli was a newborn, breastfeeding went poorly.  I didn’t have confidence feeding him in the privacy of my own home.  It was a frustrating ordeal, and the thought of feeding him in public, with a potential audience, was anxiety provoking at the highest level.

I would plan all of my errands, and essentially my entire day, around his feeding schedule.  I would feed him, Vinny and I would look at the clock and say, “let’s go to lunch now so we can get back before he needs to eat again!”  And so on…

This is no way to live, mind you, tied to a feeding schedule, feeling rushed wherever you go.  After awhile I would feed him in the car if we were on the go.  And eventually I did nurse him in public with my nursing wrap.  For all my nerves over it, I can’t even remember where/when our first public feeding was!

All the while I never felt particularly comfortable in what I was doing, but I was getting more and more determined that I shouldn’t have to hide away in our apartment or in my car to feed my child. 

At this point I have breastfed in various stores, the mall, the park, dressing rooms, restrooms, restaurants, museums, the airport, the doctor’s office, and I’m sure several other locations I cannot recall.  I still always prefer to feed at home, where we are both most comfortable, but over time I have grown more confident breastfeeding in public.

I am one of those people that tries to be very discreet when I breastfeed.  I don’t like to flop my boob out for all to see, and it’s not because it would make me uncomfortable at this point, but rather, I realize it does make others uncomfortable.  I have come to understand that many people are not necessarily offended by women feeding in public, it’s more about them being uncomfortable seeing a private body part so openly on display.

I don’t get this, exactly.  On any given warm day in most of our country, countless women wear tank tops or other such clothing that not only leaves little to the imagination, but quite often offers a peek at their girls if you’re really so inclined.  You don’t see anyone complaining about that. 

Regardless, nudity of any kind still tends to shock people, whether it’s for the greater good of feeding a child or not.

Which brings me back to the fact that I so rarely see anyone breastfeed in public (well, other than people I already know).  Since having Eli I feel like I have a keener eye for this sort of thing, and I can count on both hands how many times I’ve seen a breastfeeding momma out in public over the last two years.   

In some ways I feel it is my duty to breastfeed in public.  I’ve heard little kids whisper to their mom, “What is she doing?”  I’ve rarely heard the response given.  I imagine not all kids get the most positive reaction, but I hope the experience stays with the child.  I don’t remember seeing anyone breastfeed when I was a kid, ever.  I wish this would have been “normal” to me, to know that people breastfed, to know that it is acceptable to do in public, to know that it is encouraged.

Breastfeeding is difficult enough without feeling nervous about having to do it “out there.”  I’m happy to report that with Sophie I have had none of the reservations that I experienced with Eli.  If we have something to go do, we do it without thought of when she may need to eat next.  And wherever we happen to be, that’s where she’ll eat.  It’s worked out beautifully so far.

Now, getting back to the "Big Latch On.”  A fine idea, but I have to say if I had stumbled upon that park and not known what was going on only to find tons of breastfeeding mommas?  Well, it certainly would have felt like a Twilight moment, albeit a very welcome one…

Mom Radar

It’s crazy how once you have kids this weird, instinctual “Mom Radar” kicks in. 

I’ve never been a heavy sleeper, and can’t remember the last time I slept an entire night without waking up (it was well before having kids).  After Eli was born, he slept in our room.  That is, until we couldn’t take it anymore.  I swear all he would do is sigh and I would bolt upright, wide awake.  Is he okay?  Is he breathing?  Having him close meant fewer seconds of panic, and almost immediate reassurance. 

However, the slightest little fuss, coo, or kick would wake me up.  Vinny learned to sleep through it all pretty quickly, as he is a heavy sleeper, and has never woken up during the night since (either that, or he puts on a really convincing show in the name of not wanting to get up).  After a few weeks of this up-even-when-the-baby-isn’t-hungry-crying-etc. routine I was desperate for sleep, so I decided it was time to move Eli to his crib.

Well, that was harder than I anticipated, too.  Sure, he was only maybe twenty feet away in the next room, but that short space felt like miles to me.  What if I couldn’t hear him?  What if something happened and it took me longer to discover something had gone awry? 

People like to say, “Well, I don’t know if the baby is ready to move into his/her crib in his/her own room yet.”  Fess up, people.  It has nothing to do with the baby and everything to do with our own comfort and need to have the baby close. 

So I was torn.  Baby close and no sleep or baby slightly further away and potential for no sleep because I’m panicked?  I decided there wasn’t much of a difference sleep-wise and gave it a try. 

The first night was rough.  I probably got up ten times just to check on him.  So I couldn’t make the call either way after that trial.

The next night I was a bit calmer (and wouldn’t you know, really, really tired … maybe from getting up so many times the night before?), and fell asleep quickly.

Here’s the amazing part, friends:  Mom Radar works even at a distance. 

I don’t know how or why, but if either of these kids wakes up and makes even the slightest fussing noise I wake up.  Sure, they may be into a full-fledged wail by the time I actually get to their bedside, but it’s never taken them getting to that point before I wake up.  And somehow, I only seem to wake up when they actually need me, and not for every little sigh, coo, or kick.  It’s a beautiful thing.  

Here’s the equally amazing part:  Mom Radar only works with kids.  Vinny can get up in the middle of the night, toss and turn, cough, elbow me in the head, etc., but if I’m already asleep this does not wake me up.

And of course, Mom Radar works during the day, too.  I suspect it’s one of those “perks” of being a mom that never goes away.  But it has saved a few spills off the couch and other such catastrophes (though by no means all). 

I’m sure there’s some kind of headache-inducing scientific explanation for all this.  Mostly I find it very cool, and know I can rely on Mom Radar on any given night, although there are moments where I wish to once again be a heavy enough sleeper that my husband was bolted awake before me.  Just for one night.

What-ifs, Worry and Windows

I’m currently reading A Map of the World, by Jane Hamilton.  I’m nearly 100 pages in and am not sure I’ll be able to continue (I’ll explain in a moment).  The premise so far is both intriguing and horrifying: A woman is watching her friend’s children and one of them (a two-year old) drowns in her pond.

The reader in me wants to continue to see what the aftershocks of such an event are and how the protagonist deals with them.  The writer in me is increasingly annoyed with the author’s writing style, in particular her use of dialogue.  At times I can barely stand it, the way the characters speak to one another, the way they always address each other by name (think about it, how often to you address the person sitting across from you by name?).  Suffice it to say, I’m hanging in for now. 

Reading frustrations aside, the mother in me is getting put through the wringer.  What a gut-wrenching ordeal this woman is going through.  When it came to the scene of the little girl’s funeral I had to put the book down.  I was in a waiting room and could barely keep myself from crying.  No one needs to see that.

Beyond its entertainment purposes, the book has led me to consider regret, guilt and worry.  I’ve realized that in many ways these are hallmark emotions when it comes to parenting.  Well, at least the dark hallmark emotions.

Growing up it exasperated me how much my mom worried.  She was, and still is, a huge worrywart.  I don’t know how many times I said to her, “Mom, I’ll be FINE.”  To me, it seemed a huge waste of time and energy to worry about things that would almost certainly never happen.  I’d come home from doing whatever it was she was worrying about and say, “See?  I’m fine.”

Could something have gone wrong?  Sure.  Did her worrying keep me safe?  No.  Had something happened is there anything she could have done about it?  No.

But, I know with certainty that if something bad had happened, she would have been racked with guilt and regret.  These emotions seem to go hand-in-hand, traveling together at all times.

Now that I’m a parent, I have a new appreciation for what my mom (and dad) were going through every time we set foot outside the house without them.  Now I think to myself, “How did they let us leave the house?”  Because when I think about either of my kids leaving and going off to do their own thing, on their own or with friends, I nearly have a panic attack.  Just thinking about it.  No one’s going anywhere yet, and already I’m freaking out. 

I also find myself freaking out over the “what-if” scenarios.  Right now my biggest worry-related obsession is our second story windows.  When we looked at the house last fall all I saw were huge windows in every room letting in all kinds of natural light.  In Michigan this is important as the winter months are dreary and gray, and, after living in California for nearly nine years I am used to sunshine nearly every day.  Yes! I thought to myself, these windows are amazing!

It’s worth noting that our house is over 100 years old and our windows have these annoying “pop in” screens.  In my nightmare the kids are a little older, playing in the room, I leave the room to grab a Kleenex (or whatever) and when I come back one of them has pushed out a screen and tumbled two stories to the ground below. 

I hate that I even think about this.  It makes me feel ill every time I do. 

So, naturally, I am paranoid about letting Eli play in his room with the windows open.  My husband is in the process of building screens for all the windows, but I’m still not satisfied that they’ll be secure enough, so now I’m on the hunt for some kind of window guard.

Regardless, I never would have thought of any of this before having kids.  I wouldn’t have imagined someone falling out a window.  I wouldn’t allow myself these kinds of panic-inducing indulgences.

But that’s what you do.  You worry about things that may or (more likely) may not be a true hazard.

As for regret, I have always stood by the belief that there are no regrets, only mistakes you learn from.  In theory this makes sense, but in practice it’s a whole other story. 

So the book is a challenge to me.  Of course what happens is a mistake, the woman would never intentionally let a small child wander out of her house and down to the pond.  But how could you not be consumed by guilt and regret?  I wonder how, if something so disastrous happened to me, would I even be able to forgive myself? 

Thankfully my challenges as a parent are less harrowing, but I am thankful for the food for thought, the what-if-something-like-this-happened-to-me opportunity that reading provides.  At the end of the night I can close the book and go to sleep, distracted from my window obsession.   

I can worry about it tomorrow.