tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9143826320058681902024-03-05T00:15:29.585-08:00bits and peacesJustMehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493032821722724778noreply@blogger.comBlogger184125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-914382632005868190.post-57927683034867989372015-04-02T18:38:00.003-07:002015-04-02T18:40:36.473-07:00Embracing It<p>I went back to work.</p>
<p>It took over a year from my baby’s birth to go back and then another few months for my practice to hit its stride, but now I am officially working. </p>
<p>I <i>love</i> it.</p>
<p>I love getting dressed in actual <i>outfits.</i> I love putting on makeup and blow-drying my hair. I love using my brain and knowing that I am really and truly <i>good</i> at what I do. It feels effortless and smooth and I have no doubt about my role or my identity. Basically, I missed it. It’s good for me. </p>
<p>But.</p>
<p>It started with one day of work and built to two. Now I’m looking at two and a half days. Two and a half days he spends with a nanny. </p>
<p>I’ve also started horseback riding again. The one thing I’ve always done that is completely impractical and expensive and unnecessary but oh-so-much for me, all me. And I feel SO damn good afterwards. So every Monday morning I drag myself out of bed before my baby wakes and go ride a horse. Then I go to work. I don’t get home that day until dinner time. He is always so happy to see me. Not upset, not traumatized, just more like “Hey mom! Want to sit down and have dinner with me?” </p>
<p> But then the other day I had to schedule a dentist appointment. And I started to freak out about the damn dentist appointment. <i>But when should I schedule it? Should I take time away from work so I don’t miss more time away from O? Or should I schedule it on a non-work day so I don’t have to rearrange work scheduling? But then that’s another day I will miss time with him and then…</i> Well you get it. </p>
<p> I sit and I count the hours away from him and I agonize about what each one traces into my identity as a mother. The guilt pierces into me and I feel it in my side when I am proud of my work or happy on the back of a horse. As I was driving home the other day, guilty because I stayed a few extra minutes to write a case note instead of rushing home, I realized…all of these hours away from him – the appointments, the activities, the job – all of them are hours that I spending building up an identity that does not involve my son. </p>
<p>Let me say that again. Those hours contribute to my identity away from my son. </p>
<p>In this land of attachment parenting and Pinterst mothering, that sentence might give you pause. But, as I was driving along the road, realizing that these hours away are literally and emotionally separating me from my baby, I suddenly didn’t feel guilty or sad, but instead I felt happy. I mean, isn’t that the point? At some point, all of us have to choose to start rebuilding another identity that is not “Mother.” So, with hair appointments, dentist appointments, exercise routines, hobbies, even having occasional sex with your husband….whatever it is…isn’t it only expected that at some point we take back some of our selves that doesn’t Belong to the Baby? </p>
<p>I’m not saying anything shocking here. In fact, I sound a bit like a feminist supporter of formula feeding in the ‘50s. But I think somehow, when I quit my job and moved to this land of upper-middle-class Suburbia, I also moved into a circle of women who happily put their own Identities in a box for safe keeping. I have met so many Women Who Used To Be. This Woman Used to Be a Scientist. This Woman Used to Be a Zoologist. This Woman Used to Be…a Psychologist. </p>
<p>After quitting my job, I embraced this. I saw it as a privilege. A privilege to stay home and be with my son. Which it IS. It is for me because it’s a <i>choice</i>. But I always was quick to say “I’m on an extended maternity leave from life,” because I wasn’t quite comfortable with my job as “just” a Stay at Home Mom. </p>
<p>Truth is, I’m not very good at being a Stay at Home Mom. Even on days when I do alright, I’m still pretty shitty at it. Today? Today I managed to do laundry, reorganize the bathroom, meet with a potential petsitter, read books with O, have a dance party with O, make lunch for all three of us, make dinner from scratch, clean the kitchen AND water the flowers. But. But I also found a washing machine full of molding laundry. Ignored the baby clothes needing to be put away. Didn’t take O on any “fun outings” or plan any “educational activities.” And honestly? I was bored out of my mind. I hate hate hate housework. I couldn’t wait for B to get off work so I could have a beer and sit and read a book. </p>
<p>So, yeah. I guess what I’m saying is, rebuilding a bit of Me that is outside of Mother is…..you know, even as I write this, I feel compelled to stop and write a long paragraph about how much I love O and about how it’s not that I want time away from him it’s just…but stop. Really stop. Why do I have to rationalize this or explain it? It’s 100% acceptable to want to have a part of me that is not about him. </p>
<p>And so, here I am, almost a year and a half after giving birth, start to reshape Me. Allowing myself to be someone separate from him. And trying my hardest to embrace that and not feel the stupid Pinterst-coated guilt. </p>
<p>And trying not to erase these words before I hit Publish.</p>
JustMehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493032821722724778noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-914382632005868190.post-42870574036954572632015-03-03T22:59:00.000-08:002015-03-03T22:59:32.928-08:00I Should Be Sleeping<p>Something is off tonight. I’ve been tired all day and can’t claw up out of the daze. That type of tired that makes you angry. Angry at your exhaustion that has become a part of you. Angry that everyone, including you, just accepts it. </p><p.> I woke up this morning from a dream about childbirth. Not about my birth experience with O, but about a birth that hasn’t happened yet. It was emotional and terrifying and beautiful. It shook me. I wanted to think about it and process it. But I was so tired. And my beautiful little toddler woke up next to me, probably from dreams of toy cars and strawberries, and asked me for a sip of water. </p>
<p>The day was a Normal Day. Those have been hiding from me lately. Our house has been a revolving door for visiting family members since O’s 1st Birthday in October. I literally can count less days of <i>not </i> having company than I can count when it’s just the three of us. So today was just us. O and I went on an outing, met with friends. We came home, played, went for a walk. Usual, typical things. It felt good. </p>
<p>But something is off. I feel heavy. Like there is something in the back of my mind I forgot to worry about. B and I actually managed to have really good sex tonight (with the help of some great wine) for the first time in a long time. I felt close to him and happy. But still. I feel that heaviness. </p>
<p>I’m not sure where this post is going or why I’m sharing such dreary thoughts after not writing in so long, but I guess, where else to put these thoughts? Plus, I miss writing and I have lofty goals to write more (ha, ha). So, what’s the point of this post? I guess, just saying hello and to all of you out there having an Off Day....know that you’re not alone. </p>
<p>Here’s to waking up tomorrow with dreams of toy cars and strawberries.</P>
JustMehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493032821722724778noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-914382632005868190.post-42215288380491881262014-11-29T21:18:00.001-08:002014-11-29T21:18:17.243-08:00Hallmark Truths<p>The baby is sleeping. The house mutters the sounds of evening. My husband's slightly dirty feet are propped tiredly on the couch. The dogs wander aimlessly and settle in heaps of quiet. I sip my wine. </p>
<p>Peace.</p>
<p>Peace?</p>
<p>The dishwasher is half loaded. The family room is strewn with dog bones, train tracks, tiny loafers, and a miniature radio flyer. A giant teddy bear slumps in defeat next to some building blocks and a soccer ball. Tissues that were used to wipe a tiny nose sit in a discarded pile screaming to be thrown away. </p>
<p>I wonder if I should get up. Clean something. Straighten something. Have a meaningful conversation with my husband for the first time all day. Pet my dogs who are brushed aside in importance by a ball of running, laughing, demanding toddler. I contemplate opening a second bottle of wine. The dregs of the week-old bottle on the kitchen counter aren't quite satisfying enough. </p>
<p>I picture a Hallmark aisle of greeting cards. My imaginary hands open a pastel card. Italic letters say, <i>"My Life is Full."</i> I have no idea where this image comes from. What kind of greeting card would this be? But the cheesy, sappy words float through my head all day long. </p>
<p>I sit in my backyard, watching the leaves in the sunlight. My eyes are eased by the brilliant green grass and the patches of lavendar across stone. I take a sip of my coffee. Then I jump up, remembering. I chase this little being across the grass. Rescuing him from a million life-threatening "almosts." I corral the dogs in their puppyhood. I try to be creative with my son, when I really just want to read a book without interruption. I think, <i>My Life is Full.</i></p>
<p>It's dinner time. I try to feed him healthy, delicious food and fail miserably and give him graham crackers and cheese. I eat my own food without tasting it and remember three hour meals where each bite is savored and discussed. I am amazed by his tiny hand balancing food on a tiny spoon. I catch my husband's eye. We don't really talk to each other. After the meal, I rinse the tray and think about dirty dishes. <i>My Life is Full. </i></p>
<p>Bedtime. Little hands. Little mouth. Touching. Sucking. Entwined with me. I am mixed with overwhelming love and a burst of tenderness and the desire to escape into a moment of separation. I sing, I soothe him. I sit in the darkness and touch his hair. I want to scream in exasperation at the unfairness of mothers whose babies go to sleep without an hour long ordeal. He sleeps. I sit with him for a few more minutes. Just because. <i> My Life is Full. </i> </p>
<p>And now here I sit. I think I will open up that new bottle of wine. There is a tiny shovel sitting next to me, incongruous on the living room carpet, speckled with bits of sand. The room smells thick. That soccer ball, the one next to the teddy bear? He kicked it around the house today while we followed in amazement. And so, I am tired. But. My mental greeting card got it right. <i>My Life is So Goddamn Full.</i></p>JustMehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493032821722724778noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-914382632005868190.post-22908758667586690592014-11-07T11:45:00.000-08:002014-11-07T11:45:21.882-08:00The "Art" of Weaning<p>Nursing. Breastfeeding. Feeding your baby from your body. </p>
<p>We got off to a rocky start. I cried. <a href="http://bitsinpeaces.blogspot.com/2013/11/settling-in-for-long-haul.html">I hated it.</a> <a href="http://bitsinpeaces.blogspot.com/2013/11/is-he-hungry.html">I dreaded it.</a> I didn't think I'd make it. But I got through it. (For those of you still in those difficult first weeks, I <a href="http://bitsinpeaces.blogspot.com/2013/12/breastfeeding-making-it-work.html">wrote a post</a> about the things that helped me in the beginning). After I made it through the first six weeks, I set my goal at a year. But inwardly I knew I'd be ok with going only six months. At six months, I laughed at the idea of stopping right when we had a beautiful rhythm and I was in love with the ease and simplicity of breastfeeding (as a stay at home mom...to those of you who pump, I applaud you!). So I confirmed that I would breastfeed for a year. Then I would take a year off to "have my body back," before planning the second pregnancy. </p>
<p>Great. Wonderful. Now here we are. I have a one-year-old who still nurses day and night. It's time...right?</P>
<p>I'm going back to work for just two days a week. Whether I want to think about it or not, even those two days a week bring up the clear question of weaning. Weaning your baby is such a complicated thing. The meaning it has for each mother is intimate and unique to her. In fact, I'd go as far as to say it's private and should not be questioned. The <i>why</i> behind your choice to wean belongs to you. So, then, why do I not know my own feelings on this?</p>
<p>I used to crave the moment when I would have my "body back to myself." I always used that phrase. Like there was some part of my body I had given up. I don't feel that way anymore. Instead I feel that when I wean I am giving up a part of my body that is connected to him. A shared part of me. </p>
<p>But the coincidence of this with me going back to work is symbolic. Because being a stay at home mom has changed me. When I wrote a post about the Old Me, there was some wistfulness and yearning for that person. Have I simply buried her? Does she deserve a voice in this too? If I wean him, will I have a whiff of the old freedom that came with being a separate individual? </p>
<p>As always, I am a "middle ground" kinda girl. My plan in this is to night-wean sometime in the next month (yes, we co-sleep and he still nurses through the night) and to continue following his lead during the day. Already he is decreasing his day nursing to the point that my breasts are full and painful by the end of the day. He usually nurses before nap and before bedtime and maybe once in the late afternoon. Am I okay with that amount for another...six months? Another year? Maybe. </p>
<p>But then I think about our trip planned to Paso and Napa this January and I wonder, "Do I want to do that trip as a nursing mom? Where I weigh every drop of wine against my analytical, guilty conscience? Or do I want to do that trip as a separated person?"</p>
<p>I know at this stage that whatever choice I make will be okay for him. Is it good for him to continue getting breastmilk in the second year? Sure. But is it necessary? No, not really. He'll be fine physically and emotionally if I wean him. So then, this decision is not a rational one, but a relational, emotional decision. It's about me. It's about him. It's about us. </p>
<p>As I re-read this post all I see are rational, analytical words. Wasted words. Because I'm no closer to <i>knowing</i> what I want. So. I guess we will just see where this next stage takes us. And slowly, oh so slowly, begin to separate. </p>
<i><p>Any advice? Thoughts? When did you wean? What is your nursing goal? What will be your goal? </i></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirqagVDZrsOFQRjKrUYrUXQDHjYl9Feodg4N3Zag6t7MsTJ9kPqfSTWjghvNku0vwxXGhlEMzuHnubEuuxnvbCcgtWVRKHL7qsEzbclGHcYZziJf3irqdP3ItK7eY9a4tg-Z4aA-4EuY_Q/s1600/DSC00977.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirqagVDZrsOFQRjKrUYrUXQDHjYl9Feodg4N3Zag6t7MsTJ9kPqfSTWjghvNku0vwxXGhlEMzuHnubEuuxnvbCcgtWVRKHL7qsEzbclGHcYZziJf3irqdP3ItK7eY9a4tg-Z4aA-4EuY_Q/s320/DSC00977.jpg" /></a></div>JustMehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493032821722724778noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-914382632005868190.post-20008234550921736012014-10-29T21:26:00.000-07:002014-11-07T19:52:50.082-08:00Here We Are, One Year Later<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJfKOSpO7npeYIKsGGdKbjqX_NT_p7TEuHuBqgjk07jbkD4BhkjIwtNcPtYRg1rFsujF5bvxYfGv91VclcSjh3Bi2xQeyr4kS9l6sGhKB6PWty5yBliklQeb8Abctjgx9yfkbo2wQwR22H/s1600/DSC03339.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJfKOSpO7npeYIKsGGdKbjqX_NT_p7TEuHuBqgjk07jbkD4BhkjIwtNcPtYRg1rFsujF5bvxYfGv91VclcSjh3Bi2xQeyr4kS9l6sGhKB6PWty5yBliklQeb8Abctjgx9yfkbo2wQwR22H/s400/DSC03339.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuLYL7-eqccxzT_ZBaOJFaGwAiQuScFa9AZ_Hlzj0NEK8_Hy8xJ9gfgACfqcy46zX2etsqFiHEdMC8-MupRKGxeA4ayZAvH1_LZbDA9AawhGheQ70fEA9FTOwfNpOlhSnwWseQ7R51_90L/s1600/DSC03418.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuLYL7-eqccxzT_ZBaOJFaGwAiQuScFa9AZ_Hlzj0NEK8_Hy8xJ9gfgACfqcy46zX2etsqFiHEdMC8-MupRKGxeA4ayZAvH1_LZbDA9AawhGheQ70fEA9FTOwfNpOlhSnwWseQ7R51_90L/s400/DSC03418.jpg" /></a></div>
<p>We made it to one year.</p>
<p>For the past 365 days I have been thinking about his First Year of life. I have thought in terms of weeks, months and This Year. But I haven't thought beyond today. I just wanted to get this far. Because, honestly, when he was born, getting through this first year seemed insurmountable. I couldn't imagine being an accomplished mother to this walking, laughing, joking, one-year-old toddler boy. </p>
<p>But here we are. </p>
<p>This post could be about Owen and all the marvelous things he can do. Because he is - marvelous. And he does a lot of amazing things. But that's not what this post is about. </p>
<p>Or it could be about his party and all of the adorable and creative touches I put into it. And it was - beautiful and perfect. I am so proud of him and the party and all that it symbolized. But that's not what this post is about either. </p>
<p>This post even could be about me and how I've changed as a woman and a mother and a human being. Because I have - he has changed me in so many deep and intrinsic ways. But this post is not even about that.</p>
<p>Instead this post is about those first few moments of his life. Because the way he was brought into this world was so traumatic, so intense, that I can feel the memory gripping my muscles as I write this. I spent today telling him how loved he is and how excited I was to meet him one year ago. And then I nursed my baby to sleep and kissed him good night and whispered Happy Birthday. Thirty minutes later, at 8:39, was the exact moment of his birth one year ago. And I felt myself rushed back to that moment. The moments before when I was absolutely sure I was going to die. The doctors and nurses yelling, my husband crying, me feeling oddly detached and just a strange acceptance. And then...the doctor cutting me, his heartbeat dropping, the unbearable pain of the vacuum being forced in...and then the amazing, shocking feeling of him sliding out of me. </p>
<p> I had no idea. </p>
<p>I had <i>no</i> idea. </p>
<p>I want to go back and shake myself and say, <i>Savor this. Take this all in. Look at him. Hold in. No, don't put him down even for an instant. Enjoy these first few days with him. Just the three of you, alone in that hospital room. That quiet sanctuary where you spent the first few moments with him.</i> Because I didn't understand. I was overwhelmed, traumatized, literally in shock and shaking from the the trauma of his birth. And that makes me angry with myself for not fully savoring every second of the resounding emotion of his newborn-ness. I miss it. I want to go back and relive it. </p>
<p>But how could I know? How could I know that this little tiny, beautiful baby with those deep eyes would become... everything? How could I know what a year with him would do to me? How could I understand in a hospital room filled with bright lights what motherhood really <i>is</i>? I just...didn't know. </P>
<p>And so here I am, at the anniversary of his birth, remembering. Paying homage to that moment. Being grateful for the blood and the pain and the emotion that was put forth so he could come out of me and into this world. Because I didn't get it then. I didn't understand. </p>
<p>But now I do.</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRsvVOgxn18VFBpOGhlm9N7Hoph-lqYV5Afy9jnomiuw6CguQV9pzd5hnVrAbh19svRxH2feUwqhClaTsBv8lYyvXkZAXrViYmaD7ed-g1_nkW7k73d9F6xjdO0G4zMZzy7IdTJK_urozB/s1600/10731016_680870368563_8734390669887745574_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRsvVOgxn18VFBpOGhlm9N7Hoph-lqYV5Afy9jnomiuw6CguQV9pzd5hnVrAbh19svRxH2feUwqhClaTsBv8lYyvXkZAXrViYmaD7ed-g1_nkW7k73d9F6xjdO0G4zMZzy7IdTJK_urozB/s400/10731016_680870368563_8734390669887745574_n.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGg14XbqEP84ACex6FujRr-xptZeZ5W8KWZPxYVsmkW8Ma2RWH0qFKZ0f4E84_2qyM57Orp7IAVq7ylBkW8D6358AnW9DsBX8uSIOxcZZnSg4m5Eiy8X8yx6ON7aMBIImvmfgpQV5FADqU/s1600/DSC03315.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGg14XbqEP84ACex6FujRr-xptZeZ5W8KWZPxYVsmkW8Ma2RWH0qFKZ0f4E84_2qyM57Orp7IAVq7ylBkW8D6358AnW9DsBX8uSIOxcZZnSg4m5Eiy8X8yx6ON7aMBIImvmfgpQV5FADqU/s400/DSC03315.JPG" /></a></div>JustMehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493032821722724778noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-914382632005868190.post-83912820487234559282014-10-02T23:12:00.002-07:002014-10-02T23:12:24.926-07:00A Day In Our Life<p>I've wanted to do one of these for awhile. Not sure why, because I don't know if anyone else really cares about the minute details of my day, but I always enjoy reading about others', so I decided it would be fun to try it out. I chose a day when we were home all day, nothing special planned, so you could get a sense of what it's like in the glamorous life of staying home with Owen. So here goes:</p>
<p>6:38 - The puppies downstairs wake up all three of us an hour before Owen usually gets up. In desperation, I tried to nurse Owen back to sleep. Failure. I lie in bed while Owen plays with the cat, in complete denial that I need to get up.</p>
<p>7:01 - I give up. Get out of bed.</p>
<p>7:10 - After getting myself dressed, I carry Owen downstairs to his room and change his diaper. He screams and fights me. I give him one of the letters from his name train, which he throws on the ground. This must be why his train now only says "Ow." I put his pjs back on over his clean diaper. Then I realize we have a playdate at our house today, so the house needs to be clean. Damn. </p>
<p>7:14 - I plop myself onto the couch in the playroom while Owen "plays Xbox" and I check FB. I'm probably winning some Lazy Mother of the Year Award here, but I figure he's up an hour early, so what the hell. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI_T0jTqpnQHp2Mx9aTNF4uNYJFRYvc-A6cdZehOJUJsMX4KxvatFFF8L-oavj-W0sbjzquCYfNOJlYr3rzn19JIura1oOrHa0FW73W4ptGob_XHL_lwahzj1VfAVtDfPyTGQ1CRJeZYK1/s1600/b6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI_T0jTqpnQHp2Mx9aTNF4uNYJFRYvc-A6cdZehOJUJsMX4KxvatFFF8L-oavj-W0sbjzquCYfNOJlYr3rzn19JIura1oOrHa0FW73W4ptGob_XHL_lwahzj1VfAVtDfPyTGQ1CRJeZYK1/s200/b6.jpg" /></a></div>
<p>7:36 - I peel myself off the couch and give Owen some breakfast in his high chair while I frantically clean the kitchen. </p>
<p> 7:47- Owen is done with his blueberry waffles and bananas, so I give him a fruit puree pouch so I can quickly finish up the kitchen. Again, really Desperate Parenting here. Owen, who isn't hungry any more and doesn't like pouches, makes modern art on his high chair tray. </p>
<p> 8:01 - I start in on folding the three loads of laundry dumped all over the couch. Owen plays happily by himself. I am repeatedly interrupted to rescue the 8 week old puppy from the 4 month old puppy. The cat cries incessantly for no reason at all. </p>
<p> 8:13 - I give River (the bigger puppy) a bone that smells awfully like a dead animal to keep her from tormenting tiny puppy and stop stealing all of Owen's toys. I give Owen a quick hug, then contemplate giving up on the damn laundry. Cat still crying for no reason.</p>
<p>8:16 - I am distracted by sheer adorableness as Owen tries to catch sunbeams on the wood floor. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJpGfgAe8WYuSg9jLUSq1foeViN1YGelIGDPV5VYavU6yuXuqc2jmtfoP7JV8X33IMV8drDRuRzgGe8cuHyBsWyoXwU0xKzJhgcAiXphdoA9dXkN2VSw8NLRfERFD3l7Uuw5mvL10Njwpg/s1600/b7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJpGfgAe8WYuSg9jLUSq1foeViN1YGelIGDPV5VYavU6yuXuqc2jmtfoP7JV8X33IMV8drDRuRzgGe8cuHyBsWyoXwU0xKzJhgcAiXphdoA9dXkN2VSw8NLRfERFD3l7Uuw5mvL10Njwpg/s200/b7.jpg" /></a></div>
<p>8:20 - Owen is fussy and bored. Probably because he got up too damn early! I ask him if he wants to fold laundry. He declines by arching his back and falling to the floor. </p>
<p> 8:21 - B comes out and gives me the tiny puppy (Red) in exchange for taking Owen. I take Red outside to go potty, then finish laundry super quick while B has O. I briefly feel excited, then discouraged when I realize I now have to put all of the folded laundry away.</p>
<p> 8:26 - I bring the puppy in from outside. Immediately River starts harassing him. I am ravenously hungry, so I make B and I some breakfast while he plays with Owen in the office. </p>
<p>8:40 - I take Owen into his nursery to play while I eat my toast. Owen immediately steals some of mommy's toast. I watch him pull a piece out of his mouth, look at it, then put it back in. I wish this were acceptable behavior for adults. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihlU6RTO9RVBcQetO1ycT4TZFZZvtxF9aukZjGx-rtwNinwGHYAbU6tdVXYVMLHf0zvRyNr1VQphW9-xishO1PRXlARycNU-zSdGESGRlzhNB4Hc86PpH-GECcNbyu3bUVu_-dZINSNEWd/s1600/b8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihlU6RTO9RVBcQetO1ycT4TZFZZvtxF9aukZjGx-rtwNinwGHYAbU6tdVXYVMLHf0zvRyNr1VQphW9-xishO1PRXlARycNU-zSdGESGRlzhNB4Hc86PpH-GECcNbyu3bUVu_-dZINSNEWd/s200/b8.jpg" /></a></div>
<p>8:44 - my mom calls on the phone. </p>
<p> 8:50 - 2nd poopy diaper of the day. I finally get the baby dressed. He cries whole time in extreme protest. </p>
<p> 8:57- I step in puppy poop on the floor and then almost fall on water River spilled from her water dish while going to clean up the poop. I drop Owen with B for a second so I can run to the bathroom. I realize this downstairs bathroom is out of toilet paper. I hear Owen fussing through the door. Grrr...woke up too early!</p>
<p> 9:10 - We go play in the playroom. Exciting games like, "Let's take the necklace on and off over and over again!" Owen and River then play nicely together with a cat toy. I am amazed to see that Owen can correctly point to "Mickey's eyes" and "Mickey's nose" at least 80% of the time. He is a genius!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEwY4aBpjw27HOD1hVGRKBm8uY-cPtJ6PxGvwcTnluD4_MQ8zVI-xjOC8S04GVLL9ufwvR-I3A5RV2axONjxJshQ8kabE6z3lNTq0q7k_B8cNR8Tg4E3fPSp9az2ENw2JHeN0FPr_X0XP4/s1600/b9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEwY4aBpjw27HOD1hVGRKBm8uY-cPtJ6PxGvwcTnluD4_MQ8zVI-xjOC8S04GVLL9ufwvR-I3A5RV2axONjxJshQ8kabE6z3lNTq0q7k_B8cNR8Tg4E3fPSp9az2ENw2JHeN0FPr_X0XP4/s200/b9.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIR6PUnaJvCvWVoeb-vDj1wcRqO2LM7HVE_4lfn3ENfcGadkEfV0V9rOTr3iNjIVHhaS5C9mYnnQjonM6_rne88TGHzt2s-0PmHaQEBRAMAxlUNQ8os4yxzwiiHRQYuOpALdyZqVLsGB3h/s1600/b10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIR6PUnaJvCvWVoeb-vDj1wcRqO2LM7HVE_4lfn3ENfcGadkEfV0V9rOTr3iNjIVHhaS5C9mYnnQjonM6_rne88TGHzt2s-0PmHaQEBRAMAxlUNQ8os4yxzwiiHRQYuOpALdyZqVLsGB3h/s200/b10.jpg" /></a></div>
<p>9:41 - I decide to give up on our one-nap schedule and take Owen up for an early "first nap" because he is so fussy. </p>
<p>9:54 - After a brief nursing session, Owen seems completely revived by breastmilk and boobtime. Give up on naptime. Back to playroom. The puppies are playing nicely together for once. </p>
<p>10:11 - The highlight of my day...my sister arrives with Starbucks! No pic. I drank it. </p>
<p> 10:30 - The dog trainer from the Invisible Fence company shows up to train River on "How Not To Be Shocked By the Invisible Fence." </p>
<p> 11:15 - I contact my business partner and make final decisions about our logo and business cards. Yay! </p>
<p> 11:30 The mail arrives. I unpack one of Owen's birthday presents. He notices, points, and says "Ooooo!!" I crumble, and give him his present a month early. I cry watching him play with such a grown up toy. A toy that is for his 1st birthday. A toy I picked out for him and he is now obsessed with. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD0IiNR4S-4eLhPYbUzQJAxbeUZAf1YVjaCH_aTVTVzKUsFnnKYhr1AHBBPjKcO5nEsrRn7lFcUUxqntD2UCbp1fbMYIvoW-8XWQjeZpFNtRN4r7Gm0j5kmuNt1SrF8rpmusyQakdU7oZ8/s1600/b16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD0IiNR4S-4eLhPYbUzQJAxbeUZAf1YVjaCH_aTVTVzKUsFnnKYhr1AHBBPjKcO5nEsrRn7lFcUUxqntD2UCbp1fbMYIvoW-8XWQjeZpFNtRN4r7Gm0j5kmuNt1SrF8rpmusyQakdU7oZ8/s200/b16.jpg" /></a></div>
<p>11:50 - Ok, damnit, it's nap time. I have to wrestle the toy away from him. All out tantrum ensues. </p>
<p>12:00 - I turn on soft music, get in bed with him, and read him stories while we cuddle. The tantrum moment turned into a sweet moment. He is asleep ten minutes later. </P><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc7ouAXhIPzUE7bX2YeMtTAphbjqCim1pUjum6bVXG78fpqzT65CSwJ2ckvaz8qmRlRTM8b6R472cLvpiv-yVX86mo-qCumwdYTEQGkhhNGjwTxSn7YEsa-_OuhU-2Vw5Nl9_1Z_vZp9E1/s1600/b1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc7ouAXhIPzUE7bX2YeMtTAphbjqCim1pUjum6bVXG78fpqzT65CSwJ2ckvaz8qmRlRTM8b6R472cLvpiv-yVX86mo-qCumwdYTEQGkhhNGjwTxSn7YEsa-_OuhU-2Vw5Nl9_1Z_vZp9E1/s200/b1.jpg" /></a></div>
<p>1:27 - I waste the whole nap time on relaxing things like eating lunch, playing on my phone, and reading my book. I feel happy and content and the cat sits and purrs on my feet. In other words, I get nothing done.</p>
<p>2:00 - Owen wakes up. I put him in his highchair and feed him lunch while I frantically (again) finish cleaning. </p>
<p>2:30 - Mom friend and her baby arrive for playdate. </P>
<p>4:09 - Guests leave and Owen goes to socialize with his daddy and auntie in the office. </p>
<p>4:28 - Snack time. </P>
<p>4:54 - It's cooled off enough to go outside. Owen, River and I go out and enjoy the backyard. We play with the water table, play with sticks, and all around get dirty. I vacillate between feeling so happy my son is playing in nature and being on alert for all possible dangers (snakes! sharp rocks! little rocks to eat!). </p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCK2a8juer0-8rVtYLyPB1rpwLJLH70qDBOX5NuX9vNood2rKhQLokCRuU5hyTKykGBxXZEhjyjs9Bb7IeiIUo29Hy3zH0x1-lEkHDITn6mt5GuQ7KR91M9OcL2RWVD6c9Di82nSosy1TA/s1600/b3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCK2a8juer0-8rVtYLyPB1rpwLJLH70qDBOX5NuX9vNood2rKhQLokCRuU5hyTKykGBxXZEhjyjs9Bb7IeiIUo29Hy3zH0x1-lEkHDITn6mt5GuQ7KR91M9OcL2RWVD6c9Di82nSosy1TA/s200/b3.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy7DMtezjRFmfTDRTyO3WdBbgez-wK1ZHH2X1svN16jnwI-fSQnOB2gGAIqtLiYq-wNP_iyq5lLGi3UPhez1AIc5K3wK2h1JgIdfPihkslx2A0YShxjc-5Y42fQGdeVb5JaH0BNVdkTTbP/s1600/b4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy7DMtezjRFmfTDRTyO3WdBbgez-wK1ZHH2X1svN16jnwI-fSQnOB2gGAIqtLiYq-wNP_iyq5lLGi3UPhez1AIc5K3wK2h1JgIdfPihkslx2A0YShxjc-5Y42fQGdeVb5JaH0BNVdkTTbP/s200/b4.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTwahyphenhyphendUDU3VAahBgYYsZDC_3HXwb-LoTc-ZgliJUhThktq08Agzm1fqFOZdA2GiMhpueGiNnphIJEnbjcNEmUDP9x75xMmte1bbYISRijDZggB2yeRDSQLaMl-VkCO2uCfMrdUJN6h_VZ/s1600/b5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTwahyphenhyphendUDU3VAahBgYYsZDC_3HXwb-LoTc-ZgliJUhThktq08Agzm1fqFOZdA2GiMhpueGiNnphIJEnbjcNEmUDP9x75xMmte1bbYISRijDZggB2yeRDSQLaMl-VkCO2uCfMrdUJN6h_VZ/s200/b5.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVNFB7ILU-A4MH1gHAvFLe1Gv8n_GV6q2bHHQU-NL40rMHDaPikQNbUOUkdV5A-RlXJRdCQpqIkS6qRCfBF88dLewgIn0yXggF-AMXU2cG51-DIJRJZf4yTUR684yXc-WdX8EcxSjN-wsG/s1600/b11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVNFB7ILU-A4MH1gHAvFLe1Gv8n_GV6q2bHHQU-NL40rMHDaPikQNbUOUkdV5A-RlXJRdCQpqIkS6qRCfBF88dLewgIn0yXggF-AMXU2cG51-DIJRJZf4yTUR684yXc-WdX8EcxSjN-wsG/s200/b11.jpg" /></a></div>
<p>5:26 - Our furniture gets delivered from Ethan Allen!</P>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbQXZnDqzN_tgh_g3p42GCL7CxPcQJLMM8qQSe7h1bFiI_fnth6Cy0wdN_sMgT1O5yb0fIqBdhyKgZgg_mfU5MO_KSJAt3UzfSlFY_ZksyqVqLPZhhtTSQGXqMvH8PHC88j_ewHabZzN4m/s1600/b12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbQXZnDqzN_tgh_g3p42GCL7CxPcQJLMM8qQSe7h1bFiI_fnth6Cy0wdN_sMgT1O5yb0fIqBdhyKgZgg_mfU5MO_KSJAt3UzfSlFY_ZksyqVqLPZhhtTSQGXqMvH8PHC88j_ewHabZzN4m/s200/b12.jpg" /></a></div>
<p>5:57 - Owen briefly nurses. He's really ready to drop feedings. </p>
<p>6:10 - I start chopping garlic for dinner. </p>
<p> 6:15 - B comes out and asks if I want to go on a walk. We load up baby and puppies for a short neighborhood walk. </p> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF-p_HO0bfGF5weFQHtwsl6L9rcWbSUsfhQhEeJdfyBcIwlds-BnN-uOntgAWXUlJl7vYy6JVt8kQILHm9XD8_Ul0EbiYMCQNHwkyRcqYbEl7gGOImLEoHrC8-oJs0NqEFz7ScXKWTW20U/s1600/b13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF-p_HO0bfGF5weFQHtwsl6L9rcWbSUsfhQhEeJdfyBcIwlds-BnN-uOntgAWXUlJl7vYy6JVt8kQILHm9XD8_Ul0EbiYMCQNHwkyRcqYbEl7gGOImLEoHrC8-oJs0NqEFz7ScXKWTW20U/s200/b13.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjDUq9JbNrZno_ib3u0M6TeZCN4FTGf3YXjp69OTqFdqY_pdTCcrpPJbQsfcQKfS5tYmAAVKbpHHOX7D5du1Q28J1174pu1z_Yl05GC3VHFlp48TqDnH5_Wms_izfHprq64i0gilnnYlXV/s1600/b20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjDUq9JbNrZno_ib3u0M6TeZCN4FTGf3YXjp69OTqFdqY_pdTCcrpPJbQsfcQKfS5tYmAAVKbpHHOX7D5du1Q28J1174pu1z_Yl05GC3VHFlp48TqDnH5_Wms_izfHprq64i0gilnnYlXV/s200/b20.jpg" /></a></div>
<p>6:42 - Back to chopping veggies. </p>
<p>7:10 - Dinner time. Owen avoids everything but fruit. As usual.</p>
<p>7:36 - B takes Owen for a bath. The pets are fed, dinner is put away, I have nothing to do but relax.</p>
<p> 8:03 - I nurse Owen in his nursery. </p>
<p>8:15 - He's asleep.</p>
<p>8:29 - The best part of my evening. I have a big glass of wine, Grey's Anatomy, a bag of candy corn, puppy in lap, and a husband to cuddle with. Heaven.</p>
<p>10:00 - I get into bed to put this blog post together. </p>
<p>10:41 - Good night!</P>
JustMehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493032821722724778noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-914382632005868190.post-15179733294684871442014-10-01T22:09:00.002-07:002014-10-01T22:09:42.693-07:00Just A Kid<p>Before I had a baby I had all sorts of thoughts about parenthood that I would never say out loud. Things like, <i>"Oh well, she's just a stay at home mom..."</i> or <i>"He's just a kid, nothing special..."</i> I didn't mean anything hurtful, I just didn't put a whole lot of stock into pictures of other people's kids or the importance of "little things," like a toddler learning how to run. No big deal if your children just learned how to do a cute little dance....'Cus you know, he's "just a kid." </p>
<p>I knew I would love my child and I knew I would love being a mom. But I had NO idea how much it would take my silly, stupid little thoughts and crush them into a million pieces. There is no such thing as "just a kid." Because for every kid, there is a mom. A mom who loves the curve of his neck. A mom who watches him sleep. A mom who devours every little thought he has. He cannot possibly be "just a kid." He is so much more. His eyelashes tell her stories. His smiles gift her his happiness. His tiny hands paint beauty into her tired face. His nonchalance as he plops into her lap teaches her contented stillness. </p>
<p>This is not "just a kid." At least, not to her. </p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid7ocEI7-LImY7SouBhBOPAneOm_694Km_0jw__3LopX8Sss5vtl4_JNcJg1ZfgkFaK5TTx8_5f9UjoKDb3ovl3TlVXFNB62DRf-58i5GGZpnEezWEKYwVExFmXu16dpxa_sMGhsLHtwsb/s1600/DSC03217.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid7ocEI7-LImY7SouBhBOPAneOm_694Km_0jw__3LopX8Sss5vtl4_JNcJg1ZfgkFaK5TTx8_5f9UjoKDb3ovl3TlVXFNB62DRf-58i5GGZpnEezWEKYwVExFmXu16dpxa_sMGhsLHtwsb/s320/DSC03217.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4pjfLRQA7U-7qRmC0VpF66ib_AO2JKoZ3q65JmYohNhVCLrOkZHUEF2zPA1N_blvbKK-tyRYKKwtEiLQVPY0y4ak8hD7J4xjTPZBz82Kc2g2iX4M-ElNxgyqAWHvp9qZ3ZYBqUi034puj/s1600/DSC03229.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4pjfLRQA7U-7qRmC0VpF66ib_AO2JKoZ3q65JmYohNhVCLrOkZHUEF2zPA1N_blvbKK-tyRYKKwtEiLQVPY0y4ak8hD7J4xjTPZBz82Kc2g2iX4M-ElNxgyqAWHvp9qZ3ZYBqUi034puj/s320/DSC03229.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9KM7CH-uqvBAFeS3fGWA2ML5n_vN1THPRti18Sb1Zg5X6sZU6OSpDeRLQO6sL1IZlE_qAZwh2TvhmEjA-SgWWez7OvHtks2wlz2Q6yPUNj-7QWh4Cg8Lv2VTmGRWzX6o3jf4kRB2DXIP_/s1600/DSC03236.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9KM7CH-uqvBAFeS3fGWA2ML5n_vN1THPRti18Sb1Zg5X6sZU6OSpDeRLQO6sL1IZlE_qAZwh2TvhmEjA-SgWWez7OvHtks2wlz2Q6yPUNj-7QWh4Cg8Lv2VTmGRWzX6o3jf4kRB2DXIP_/s320/DSC03236.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj38clLUCu284jOXERRtSAsxDq3LfSpwsywR_xeIbChgXtGpTBKmKMKXk-knoBVoS81JnFuDxfrlkSx6xiy7myZFrIen0G54lxLYLcF3y-3g5BkxF6hd2Nphmba6987oxuP3zdTaESixsjY/s1600/DSC03251.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj38clLUCu284jOXERRtSAsxDq3LfSpwsywR_xeIbChgXtGpTBKmKMKXk-knoBVoS81JnFuDxfrlkSx6xiy7myZFrIen0G54lxLYLcF3y-3g5BkxF6hd2Nphmba6987oxuP3zdTaESixsjY/s320/DSC03251.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw-VzpSst-7zic4fuKzrSxy9YYeB6OGLgE99E9Iv6WkYWrf8SCG_S0ROupqkVKndsLNwYXqxbTTzTWr19BTjOp_UGoGGAO6guZrtFWfenFqbGBWC-yh6-dkvXaGFrfjto9ZSQYgqcuR-7u/s1600/DSC03286.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw-VzpSst-7zic4fuKzrSxy9YYeB6OGLgE99E9Iv6WkYWrf8SCG_S0ROupqkVKndsLNwYXqxbTTzTWr19BTjOp_UGoGGAO6guZrtFWfenFqbGBWC-yh6-dkvXaGFrfjto9ZSQYgqcuR-7u/s320/DSC03286.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrrNVcohlJXUqSbP_o6-ldCqiJNLDXf6TqqrohYIXlmMYLCGjZa-TrbqDCKjtig648IZw2GSv9K65NmsqdjNwzHoeBjP5YSL3cuaZltPIBa_9Zve-src8uw7ykHAC-P7FSXtK3r4fqauFc/s1600/DSC03303.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrrNVcohlJXUqSbP_o6-ldCqiJNLDXf6TqqrohYIXlmMYLCGjZa-TrbqDCKjtig648IZw2GSv9K65NmsqdjNwzHoeBjP5YSL3cuaZltPIBa_9Zve-src8uw7ykHAC-P7FSXtK3r4fqauFc/s320/DSC03303.jpg" /></a></div>JustMehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493032821722724778noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-914382632005868190.post-34813280099192361762014-09-24T21:11:00.001-07:002014-09-24T22:36:04.275-07:00Slow Learner Mom<p>A few months back, my Dad said something to me that I just couldn't get out of my head.</p>
<p><i>"You know, you've really become comfortable in your role as a mother. In the beginning, I wasn't sure, but now I see how comfortable you are in that role."</p></i>
<p>I realize he meant this as a kind observation, but my analytical, negative mind just couldn't avoid noting the connotation that, in the beginning, <i>he wasn't sure.</i> So I asked my sister: what did she think? She said, <i>"Well, you know, the beginning is hard for everyone...</i>" Hmm. That sounds like an elusive way of saying I was a hot mess. I asked my husband, who said, <i>"Well you always knew the baby-stage would be hard for you. I just think it was harder on you than on me. But now you're doing awesome.</i>" </p>
<p>Wait. What? So did <i>everyone</i> think I was a complete failure during the first months of my baby's life? </p>
<p>I think back on those first six weeks. To say they were "a blur" sounds cliche, but it's true. I don't remember what I thought, what I did, what I wore, what the baby wore, what the weather was like...it was a blur. I had just had an extremely traumatic birth and then was struggling intensely with breastfeeding. I was in tears more often than not and was doing my best to suddenly <i>be a mom</i>. Was I doing the best job I could do? If I'm honest, no...not really. I was just getting through it. I was holding him. I was changing him. I was talking to him. I was nursing him through bleeding nipples. So, yeah, I kept him alive. And I loved him. I loved him because he was our baby and he was a miracle and his little eyes pierced into my soul. But was I doing the BEST JOB I could do? Was I cooing over him in amazement every second? Was I overwhelmed with happiness from everything that he did? Was I delighting in hold him every single second? </p>
<p>Deep breath. I'm going to be totally honest. The answer to these questions is No. In the first six weeks, I was just getting through. Getting through by the skin of my teeth. Nursing him with my teeth gritted in pain and then passing him off to sleep in his swing so I could...I don't know, breathe? Try to process what had just happened to my life? And typing these words makes me want to instantly delete them because doesn't that mean I'm not a Good Mother? But I'm not going to delete them. It's what I felt. I look back on his newborn pictures and I am amazed by him and I melt in love and adoration, but deep down, there is a guilty feeling because...I hardly remember those days. Like I said, it's a goddamn blur. </p>
<p>After the first six weeks, it got better. The pain of breastfeeding subsided. The trauma of the birth faded somewhat. And I fell more and more in love with him. Now I <i>did</i> cherish every second of holding of him. I stroked his head in amazement while he napped on my chest. All of that new-baby-stuff that for the first six weeks didn't happen as much as it should have in the first six weeks because I was a catatonic invalid. </P>
<p>But was I a Good Mother in the first six months? Well the truth is, back then, I was still resenting the role somewhat. I had decided to be a stay at home mom. I was lonely. I hated housecleaning. I hated not getting dressed in real clothes or not having the time to take a shower. I felt jealous of people who could have "time to themselves." So even though I was completely in love with my baby and I was giving him everything he needed and more, I still couldn't wear the Mother Role with ease. </p>
<p>After those first six months, the shoe fit. Now, a month away from one year, the shoe is like a second skin. So ask me now if I'm a Good Mother? The answer is HELL YES. </p>
<p>But in the beginning? Truth be told? I was just doing the goddamn best I could. I think what my family was gently trying to say is, the role didn't come as easily to me as it does to some. I wasn't able to jump in selflessly. Instead I blearily had to find my way around and then figure out how to be this new person without feeling angry about the things I was giving up. And don't get me wrong. I wasn't resenting my baby. I wasn't doing anything wrong and he wasn't lacking in any way. In fact, if you were watching from the outside, you would say I was doing it all right. But, that little elusive thing that my family all noticed was...I think I just had a bit of a slower learning curve than some. </p>
<p>So, to all you Slow Learner Mom's out there - It's ok. Do the best you can. Love your babies. Love yourself. Give them what they need. And ask for what you need too. Figure out how to be the Mom you are. And don't hate yourself if it doesn't come to you immediately.</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOPIFRjxBNFZLf0GMHeyJJ0MP0aqrlWFbYqbSlkHGKJyeZmIl0ya1UQVWddIPE66wnQpiUpAFe99-IfjoTx7Siuf8nyonWJ4DwL7xayVI9z2OgcK1Yt-JCfGqBYxao0OodG1HqckXE5K4W/s1600/10341490_10203665321625619_1768112728390198927_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOPIFRjxBNFZLf0GMHeyJJ0MP0aqrlWFbYqbSlkHGKJyeZmIl0ya1UQVWddIPE66wnQpiUpAFe99-IfjoTx7Siuf8nyonWJ4DwL7xayVI9z2OgcK1Yt-JCfGqBYxao0OodG1HqckXE5K4W/s320/10341490_10203665321625619_1768112728390198927_n.jpg" /></a></div>JustMehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493032821722724778noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-914382632005868190.post-44917593744040799052014-09-10T11:12:00.000-07:002014-09-10T11:12:29.237-07:00Introducing the New to the Old<p>Out of the blue...here is a random post from me to you:</p>
<p>We went to Los Angeles last week and stayed the night. We stayed only a few blocks from our old house. We've been gone six months now and I was shaken by that brush with the Old Me. Before we moved to San Diego, I was still straddling two worlds. I was reeling from the shift to mommyhood and the introduction of this entirely new being into our world. BUT I was prepared to go back to work and try to integrate. Instead, we up and moved and I completely left the Old Me behind. When we drove into LA, I didn't expect to miss her so much.</p>
<p>The Old Me worked hard - 60+ hours a week - and loved it. She was a Psychologist. That was first and foremost in her identity. Followed closely by Wife. She lived mostly for herself, then husband, then family, then friends. That order. She was "put together." Each morning she would slide into her Range Rover, check her makeup, hair and outfit in the mirror, throw her expensive bag on the (clean!) seat beside her, flip on NPR, sip her coffee and take off for her hour commute to work. Once arrived at work, she would slide into her "Doctor" role and feel happy with where she was in life. On the evenings and weekends she would enjoy good wine and expensive restaurants. Peppered throughout...fun vacations and gorgeous hotels. But oh my god, it was a lot of work. Literally. Work, work, work, GASP for air, more work. FUN, fun, fun and then more work. I felt like I was waiting. I was always dreaming about what Life Would Be in the future. Planning and dreaming about something else. </p>
<p>I didn't expect to miss some of this. But I did. I missed feeling pretty and put together. I missed being a therapist/teacher/mentor/doctor. I miss helping my clients and their families. I missed long dinners and enjoying bottles of wine. Or hours spent talking with friends. I guess, to be honest, I missed life being about Me. </p>
<p>I also missed the excitement. The hoping and waiting and planning. I remember when we lived at our house in Venice that I spent most of the time there either being excited about my job or being excited about getting pregnant or being excited about Baby coming. Always living in the possibilities of the future. Planning my career. Planning how to become a mother. Planning the nursery. Planning, dreaming, waiting... It was exciting! </p>
<p>But now? The New Me is (obviously) different. The New Me lives for Baby, Husband, Me, family, and sometimes friends. The New Me slides into the same Range Rover that is covered now in a layer of dirt from the dusty roads we live on. I drop my new bag (anniversary gift) that is a slightly less expensive purse/diaper bag onto a seat littered with diapers, puffs, and old coffee lids. I am usually heading to a playdate, grocery store, or park. I have nowhere specific to be. I don't check myself in the mirror because...why would I? I am not a doctor/teacher/mentor to students, but I am a mommy/teacher/guide to my son. I have finally figured out how to wear this role with no awkwardness, resentment, or frustration. My sidekick comes with me in life and he keeps me grounded in the Now.</p>
<p>I don't plan anymore. I am <i>living</i> my dreams. Literally. We bought a house. A beautiful, Spanish-style home with dark floors, white walls, and Mexican tile touches. We have two acres of land, fencing for horses in my future, beautiful oak trees, a wonderful neighborhood and a beautiful pool surrounded by palm trees. We have our cat, a new German Shepherd Puppy, and another puppy on the way. We take our family for walks in the evening when the heat melts into warmth and I don't worry or stress. I just live this moment. </p>
<p>So yes. I am happy. I am settled. I am content. I am no longer living in a desperate race to work hard and get ahead and get to the next step. But that doesn't mean I don't miss it sometimes. That doesn't mean I don't miss having my hair styled and my eyebrows waxed and my toenails painted and....well, the Old Me. But I know that the Old Me was really just rushing to meet New Me. So, Hello New Me. Introduce yourself to the world. </p>
<p>And how do I know she's around to stay? Well because, as Owen approaches one year (Ahhh!), I am working to integrate in small bits of the Old Me that I miss. I have started horseback riding again and now know that I will own my own horses when the time is right. I have found a business partner, rented a space in a medical complex, and am going to open my own small therapy and assessment practice part time. They say that we shouldn't rush the return from postpartum. With all the pressure to "bounce back in six weeks," I think we forget that this is not just about a physical recovery or even an adjustment to motherhood. I believe it will take me a year to completely figure out who I want to be now. Who I can be within the realm of this new life. And also, it has taken me almost a year and a bit of retrospection to appreciate all that the New Me has to offer. I guess sometimes you need a brush with the Old just to say Hello. </p>
<p>And that's my update. Hope you all are well!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlEY9f3tQGdRnSsrt6btIoq7gYht1ctiZl56DCId_dg_w2DKkv0pUydMiqePIEGxdCCCXvnKF8MILuzBYadhLC-dB_P8LW6nxDGQL6lwD5mZvZElPoRqr84F2DwQpWTq-DKMHXLg6tMnGL/s1600/DSC03082.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlEY9f3tQGdRnSsrt6btIoq7gYht1ctiZl56DCId_dg_w2DKkv0pUydMiqePIEGxdCCCXvnKF8MILuzBYadhLC-dB_P8LW6nxDGQL6lwD5mZvZElPoRqr84F2DwQpWTq-DKMHXLg6tMnGL/s320/DSC03082.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0slMh-3It_neSMRCo31XslFijtPvHyLFN6AqUwXQuGc-hLeYYhyphenhyphenXluHB6Oskpw-gSkh2pWzH3KJMtQo7yZ8cmtn7iAny3kKd9jeJbsEU0qlT89ngB81yq4I26hWCTzSwkKnlnXMkCr2vw/s1600/DSC03091.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0slMh-3It_neSMRCo31XslFijtPvHyLFN6AqUwXQuGc-hLeYYhyphenhyphenXluHB6Oskpw-gSkh2pWzH3KJMtQo7yZ8cmtn7iAny3kKd9jeJbsEU0qlT89ngB81yq4I26hWCTzSwkKnlnXMkCr2vw/s320/DSC03091.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXIfOvcOCdX29IVHbqYyuyPa377mxxuGioo4Dj0L-MVbc8hm5SFVv8-o8cla8WEKFDD6WSFQDyAQ-uQlXVyxDHzWzyNrtIOrZsYWcEP6jY2kWVj2qsO4EtEpe44cIVeSFNjPFDK4rGkl2q/s1600/DSC03115.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXIfOvcOCdX29IVHbqYyuyPa377mxxuGioo4Dj0L-MVbc8hm5SFVv8-o8cla8WEKFDD6WSFQDyAQ-uQlXVyxDHzWzyNrtIOrZsYWcEP6jY2kWVj2qsO4EtEpe44cIVeSFNjPFDK4rGkl2q/s320/DSC03115.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4jrzzSQsbV-RB33C7obCAX9vUOjOvm_NbsUVoQ4gZm7b-J51afNCEKoS9rQfCV89xthZhhVdWmVGTFFJbHzd5OR6BKV4jEwKimFqFRamXHbg6oeWbU5NuXZ0F3HhNifw7ofR0dOeeGpCn/s1600/DSC03162.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4jrzzSQsbV-RB33C7obCAX9vUOjOvm_NbsUVoQ4gZm7b-J51afNCEKoS9rQfCV89xthZhhVdWmVGTFFJbHzd5OR6BKV4jEwKimFqFRamXHbg6oeWbU5NuXZ0F3HhNifw7ofR0dOeeGpCn/s320/DSC03162.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeughHwNhxXnidvFMVRELKjehGx8AWkug1mrosRFqKPiO74podvqqAKO1g8bU0itPLUTP8zeWZUoOr0VsqHpvX2g0zMMHUVY6fVvXM7HcaqczoJyoCm-XfJqTKyukzkB4tcG57Rneh4i6B/s1600/DSC03186.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeughHwNhxXnidvFMVRELKjehGx8AWkug1mrosRFqKPiO74podvqqAKO1g8bU0itPLUTP8zeWZUoOr0VsqHpvX2g0zMMHUVY6fVvXM7HcaqczoJyoCm-XfJqTKyukzkB4tcG57Rneh4i6B/s320/DSC03186.jpg" /></a></div>JustMehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493032821722724778noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-914382632005868190.post-6628480340319927962014-06-09T22:11:00.002-07:002014-06-09T22:11:53.850-07:00The Other Side<p>I just realized I’m guilty. I’m guilty of posting about the “good things.” I’m one of those moms who posts the adorable pictures and the precious moments and paints the bland picture of happiness to my readers. So tonight I’m posting just a few sentences to say -</p>
<p>Being a parent is hard. It leeches you of your energy and your freedom and your sense of control and spits you back out gasping for air. Being a stay at home mom is hard. It steals away the identity you spent years molding and leaves you feeling lost. <i>All</i> of this is hard. You try to retain some semblance of you by showering every few days or trying to remember to put on some moisturizer; but frankly, it’s a bit of a façade.</p>
<p>It just is. Really fucking hard. Really exhausting. Really shattering. </p>
<p>Each day, each week, each month. I am tired, I am lonely, I am sad. </p>
<p>And I am in love, in love, in love. </p>
<p>So that’s that. Just wanted to point out the other side. </p>
JustMehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493032821722724778noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-914382632005868190.post-13690809169359345152014-06-06T19:15:00.000-07:002014-06-06T19:15:00.492-07:00Babywearing: From A Beginner's Perspective<p>Time for a purely informational post. If you’re not interested in the topic, pass on by. I’m writing it because little ol’ pregnant me stumbled across a few random blog posts on Babywearing and they were helpful, so maybe someone will find this helpful as well. </p>
<p> When I was about five months pregnant I went to Disneyland with a mom of a two month old baby. I had no idea what she would do at DL with a two month old baby. But when we got there, I hardly ever saw her. She was wrapped up in a Moby Wrap the entire day. I was impressed. I was intrigued. I was a bit intimidated. But I knew I needed one. </p>
<p>Little did I know, I would become <i>obsessed</i> with Babywearing. There are lots of reasons people fall in love with Babywearing. Skin to skin contact, nursing, chasing older children around, comforting a sick or teething baby, helping your baby to sleep, or just…getting some stuff done around the house! For me, I was “blessed” with a very active, mobile baby. A baby who is not easily entertained and was never happy with sitting in a swing, staring at a mobile, or just…chilling. He also is not a cuddly baby. He <i>loves</i> people and is very social, but cuddles require him to sit still and…well, you get the idea. Unless, I found, I was wearing him. When wearing my baby, he is soft and warm and cuddly and still and <i>content</i>. And lately, during his phase of trying to cruise around the furniture, when I am wearing him, he is <i>safe.</i>. And so, I am in love. I have bought way too many baby carriers and am a bit embarrassed by my obsession, but it is what it is. I am sold. </p>
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<p>Oh, I should also mention that Owen never loved being in the stroller. I remember many walks where I would be pushing the stroller and carrying a crying baby. Not fun. Later we progressed to pushing a stroller and <i>wearing</i> a baby. Improvement? Now that he is older, he will sit in the stroller because he is able to sit up and look around, or entertain himself with a toy. But in the beginning…babywearing saved me.
<p>It didn’t start out as love. Remember my friend with the Moby Wrap? I originally had a Moby Wrap and a Beco Gemini on my Registry. The first time I tried the Moby was a disaster. Screaming baby and all. And the Beco? Well, I look back at early pictures and realize I was wearing him much too low, in an awkward, dangly position. In fact, when looking for photos for this post I found early photos of how I wrapped him that made me cringe in embarrassment. But hey, we all start somewhere. </p>
<p>So I am going to take you on a short journey of what I have learned. I am by <i>no</i> means an expert. What I have learned I have learned through a million Youtube videos, a bunch of Babywearing Meetups, and hours of practice. I still would call myself a beginner compared to a lot of Mamas out there. But here goes….</p>
<p>I will start with a basic run down of safety and how-to’s and then run you through my experience with each type of carrier. </p>
<b><i>Safety</b></i><p/>
First, I should say, there is a lot of controversy regarding “good” or “safe” babywearing and the “not ergonomically correct” babywearing. I think we need to distinguish between which rules are really about “safety” and which are more about comfort. As long as your baby is really “safe,” then you can get all of the benefits of babywearing in a $20 carrier that you can get in a $500 carrier (or $1000…or $2000…yes they exist!). So, let’s not get carried away here…That being said, here are some good rules of thumb to follow. </P>
<p>First, you should always follow the TICKS rules. 1) Wrap baby <b>tightly</b> against your body. And yes, I mean <i>tightly.</i> It honestly feels better for you and baby if he is wrapped tightly against you. You will often find your baby will stop crying or fussing if you just tighten your carrier. 2) Keeping baby <b> in view </b>comes from those “bag style” baby pouches in which the fabric wraps up around baby like a cocoon. Not safe. 3) <b>Close </b>enough to kiss is one that I really messed up on in the beginning. My baby would be dangling down near my waist. This is because I wasn’t tightening enough to get him high enough. Not as comfy, believe me. 4) <b>Keep chin off chest.</b> This is extremely important. You don’t want your baby’s chin to be compressed or pointed down to his chest. It should be tilted up to allow him a clear airway. 5) <b>Supported back. </b> An ergonomic baby carrier allows baby’s back to round naturally, yet be supported comfortably. </p>
<p>Finally, you hear a lot about “the seat” in a good baby carrier. There is some research to back this up, but I am not sure it is really as serious as some fanatics will tell you. In other words, some people will tell you if you don’t have the right seat, your baby can develop hip dysplasia. Actually, based on what I’ve read, this isn’t the case as much as, if your baby is already at risk for hip problems, then a good seat is critical. Otherwise, we’re really talking about comfort here. SO…what is a good seat? A good seat is visually represented by an “M” position, meaning baby’s knees should be higher than his bottom and his bottom actually sinks down into the fabric. The fabric should extend from one knee to the other, fully supporting his bottom. </p>
<p>Other than that, just make sure the carriers you buy are bought from a safe source, so that you know the seams are reinforced and strong, etc, etc. Be sure if you are trying something new that you always have a spotter and always ask questions if something doesn’t feel right!</p>
<p>Ok, safety out of the way, let me tell you about the carriers!</p>
<p><b><i>Stretchy Wraps</b></i></p>
<p>This is where I started. A Moby Wrap is a typical example of a Stretchy Wrap, as is a K-Tan or a Boba. I think a lot of people end up buying these and then having absolutely no idea what to do with them. As in, what do I do with all of this material?? I think I would have given up if not for witnessing the babywearing magic at Disneyland. Stretchy wraps are known for being excellent for newborns. They are soft, t-shirt like cotton that allows you to pre-wrap your fabric and then slide your baby in. Once I got the hang of the stretchy wrap, I used it a lot with Owen. I especially loved nursing him in it back when he was a constant nurser in the newborn stage. My biggest mistake with the Moby was not wrapping it tight enough or high enough, meaning he usually ended up much too low. Stretchy wraps are noted for not being good as babies grow bigger because, well, they <i>stretch</i>. This contributed to Owen being too low as he got closer to 15 lbs. I think I stopped using it right around 15 lbs or so. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3IO3r2KJTgyImWcWMf-plI7aUiR1UqKISKix2nloGoV_OrLC5nqRk5XinN9F_6KitSRp1ieZfOVB-6oqIx_uJLYoiFAYXaToXUy4gK3ST4bdXEEsST8u8luJ3kvmu13jCnEeJubPRpI96/s1600/moby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3IO3r2KJTgyImWcWMf-plI7aUiR1UqKISKix2nloGoV_OrLC5nqRk5XinN9F_6KitSRp1ieZfOVB-6oqIx_uJLYoiFAYXaToXUy4gK3ST4bdXEEsST8u8luJ3kvmu13jCnEeJubPRpI96/s320/moby.jpg" /></a></div>
<p><b><i>Soft Structured Carriers</b></i></p>
<p>Soft Structured Carriers are what most people think of when they think of baby carriers or baby backpacks. They do not have any metal or frames as you would find in a hiking backpack, making them soft, but structured. Typical SSCs include Ergo, Beco, Boba, etc. Baby Bjorns also fall into this category, but they don’t allow for the proper M-shaped seat, so some babywearers won’t buy a Bjorn. </p>
<p>I started with the Beco Gemini. I picked it because it allows you to face inward, face forward, put baby on your hip, or on your back. Also, it doesn’t need an infant insert like the Ergo, so you can use it right away. I loved my Beco. It was great. I used it for front facing (facing in toward me) and on my back. It was easy to use and my “go-to” for walks or when I needed something easier than the Moby. For a while, putting Owen in the Beco was my go-to for getting him down for naps as well. </p>
<p>Just a month or so ago, I decided Owen had outgrown the Beco. It probably would have been just fine for quite some time still (he was around 18 lbs), but with his long legs, they had begun to dangle somewhat as the carrier didn’t reach to his knees anymore. Again, just fine…but not as comfy or supported. </p>
<p>Conveniently, this coincided with me wanting to buy another SSC – go figure, huh? After moving to San Diego, I discovered Tula Carriers (made here in San Diego) and fell in love after trying one on. What can I say? They really are so, so much more comfortable! Owen just seems to mold into my body (either on front or back) and I hardly feel him at all, even when hiking up a mountain with 19 lbs of him on my back. The canvas is soft and moldable, supporting him, but not clunky. Plus, it’s super cute! </p>
<p>Tula also makes carriers that are constructed out of hand woven wrap material, which I would <i>die</i> for, but they are highly sought after, super expensive, and hard to get your hands on. Imagine thousands of mommies trying to vie for a chance to buy a $500 carrier. Seriously. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDy-FQk_l-jLo_WTGrtSJC5Hehr3RYWOZ0g_m5RI9L9cNBZ8a0r4rWY-2z-bIfclYOikhuKwa4-L4eNCE7eD819JYjup_trmcacSvPQbIaVjwfGB07VU1AY-8oOhP74op5Ic96v5EZj2Jc/s1600/tula.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDy-FQk_l-jLo_WTGrtSJC5Hehr3RYWOZ0g_m5RI9L9cNBZ8a0r4rWY-2z-bIfclYOikhuKwa4-L4eNCE7eD819JYjup_trmcacSvPQbIaVjwfGB07VU1AY-8oOhP74op5Ic96v5EZj2Jc/s400/tula.png" /></a></div>
<p><b><i>Ring Slings</b></i></p>
<p>After the Moby and the Beco Gemini, I then decided to buy a Ring Sling. I wanted something easy to just pop him into when going from the car to the store or just a quick walk to the coffee shop. I also liked the idea that I could wear him facing outward (kangaroo or Buddha carry) as he always wanted to be looking around. So I bought a Maya Wrap Ring Sling. I still use mine today. It is on the “cheaper” end of things as Ring Slings go and I may someday invest in a more expensive one (softer, stronger fabric), but for now the Maya works really well. Ring Slings are known to be good for newborns or older babies. Not so much in between. For newborns, they allow for an easy, close carry that allows you to pop baby in and out and snuggle them close. For older babies (like Owen’s age up to age 2), you can wear them on your hip. You know, like we carry our babies anyhow, but with added support. The “in between” stage where your baby is not quite a newborn but doesn’t have enough back support to sit on your hip isn’t the best stage for a wiggly baby to sit in a ring sling. We’re just getting back to where I love using it for running errands because he can sit in the sling, but still be involved in grabbing things and socializing with people as we walk about. </p>
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<p><b><i>Woven Wraps</b></i></p>
<p>Ahhhh woven wraps. There could be multiple blog posts about wrapping and so I will just barely scratch the surface here. Let me just say that I <i>love</i> my wraps, but am definitely still a beginner so I will not try to give advice in this area. Let me just tell you my experience…</p>
<p>When the Moby began to get <i>too</i> stretchy, I had just begun to really enjoy wrapping Owen. I had also learned about hand woven wraps and saw how absolutely beautiful they were. Because of the way they are woven, these wraps are stronger and allow you to do more types of carries (i.e., back carries) and carry bigger children (up to preschoolers). There is a <i>huge</i> range in terms of price, quality, and fabric choices. I won’t even begin to get into allow of this. If you’re interested, start googling…</p>
<p>I ended up with two Wraps. I chose in terms of availability (some wraps are extremely hard to find because so few were ever made), price (I wanted to stay under $150 per wrap) and beauty (I love the vibrant blues). I ended up with two made by the same company (Girasol) and both are 100% cotton. Now, these wraps are said to not carry bigger babies as well, so there is a chance I may need to invest in a stronger fabric (linen blend perhaps) if I want to keep wrapping Owen as he grows. </p>
<p>But for now, I love them. Both are super soft and beautiful. I have a size 6 and a size 4, as you can do different carries with different sizes. Here are some of the carries I have learned (or am still working on!)</p>
<p>There really is so much you can do with a wrap. And, if you are good, you really shouldn’t need any other type of carrier. Experts wrap <i>so quickly</i> and efficiently and there is a different carry for every need. Need something quick and easy? Pop them on your hip? Need to cuddle a teething baby? Wrap them on your front. Need them out of your way? Slide them on your back. </p>
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<p>For me, I usually only wrap when I’m at home, or if I want him to take a nap when we’re out in public. A wrap is <i>guaranteed</i> to put him to sleep. Note: This can be a good thing or a bad thing if you are trying to train a baby to sleep in his crib on a schedule!! I’ve just gotten to the point where I am learning different back carries, and believe me, they are hard. But, when he is wrapped correctly, a back carry is oh-so-neat. He feels weightless, yet close. High up enough to look over your shoulder at everything you are doing, and get out of the way so you are hands free. Plus, it just looks SO cool! </P><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEineCstctxiOi6dFobSRCAdXWXVEtNZVGX3JtFc7hm_nFXm4gD45NC1O3u763sa8g2R11hQZyRF4-ZdDg5K9tNmf8gMQ29QMqIl08btq0NQ0EnACa0PulJfEbtMTab5fTAm40-0Dq_MTV2G/s1600/wraps2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEineCstctxiOi6dFobSRCAdXWXVEtNZVGX3JtFc7hm_nFXm4gD45NC1O3u763sa8g2R11hQZyRF4-ZdDg5K9tNmf8gMQ29QMqIl08btq0NQ0EnACa0PulJfEbtMTab5fTAm40-0Dq_MTV2G/s400/wraps2.png" /></a></div>
<p><b><i>Mei Tais</b></i></p><p>Mei tais are Asian-style carriers that are sort of a cross between a structured carrier and a wrap. I bought one (I told you I am addicted!) when I was deciding whether or not to get another wrap or not. Instead, I bought a Mei Tai that is made from wrap fabric, giving you the best of both worlds. I really like my Mei Tai. It is easier than a wrap, yet softer and more adjustable than a SSC. Plus, it is pretty like a wrap! But, to be honest, I have to remind myself to use it. It is not as easy as a Ring Sling or a SSC when you are out running errands, and not as cuddly and soft as a wrap for a fussy baby. Also, I find it just as hard as wrapping a back-carry, so usually ask a spotter for help for getting him up on my back. That being said, I use it most for things like house cleaning or gardening. </p>
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<p>And…there you have it. If you’ve read this far it’s because you probably have some interest or curiosity about babywearing. Or you are just amazed by my obsession. Believe me, it can be an addiction. I think whether or not you fall off the deep end (like me) depends on your type of baby. For Owen and I, it just “fit.” Given that I could never put him down and he’d be content in a swing/jumper/crib/etc, this allowed me snuggly time and time to get things done. The need and purpose of wearing your baby changes over time. You hear people say, “Oh, my baby hates being worn,” but I think that is also something that changes over time. If you get them used to it (may take a few times out on a walk) early on, then as they grow they also are used to being worn as part of routine. Babies who are used to being on mommy’s back can actually be worn up till around age 3 (yes, really!). Also, don’t feel overwhelmed by this post. Babywearing doesn’t have to be complicated. Just buy yourself an Ergo (or Tula!!) and try it out. </p>
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<i><p>Happy Babywearing!</i></p>
JustMehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493032821722724778noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-914382632005868190.post-79978715676851103572014-05-28T16:23:00.002-07:002014-05-28T20:41:11.583-07:00Nice to Be Needed<p>You know the expression, "It's nice to be needed?"</p>
<p>Well, I am Needed all day long. Unfortunately, I am also Needed many times throughout the night. It would be nice to be forgotten for just a moment or two, so that nobody needs me at all. In fact, sometimes I find myself chafing against it and getting on edge for no reason at all. I feel gritty and removed from the moment and then that makes me all the more frustrated. Today was one of those days.</p>
<p>So I went to the park. </p>
<p>It's a nice park. Perched on the edge of a hill. The right ratio of trees to sunshine. Just enough baby-sized swings and toys to keep us happy. Parks in the middle of the day are strange places. A mixture of stay at home moms and nannies who are getting paid to do this difficult job. </p>
<p>While we were there, I felt the minor buzz of annoyance that had been clinging to me all day start to drift away. It was nice to let Owen crawl on the grass with no fear of him getting into something dangerous or falling down and bumping his head yet again. Owen had his first time in a swing. A big Firsts among Firsts. And its pretty hard to be annoyed when your baby is cooing in a swing.</p>
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<p>Later, when we were sitting in the shade contemplating state of mind and colorful teething toys, two boys appeared on mini-motorized-motorcycles. Owen was mesmorized by them. I smiled at my baby and "what a boy" he is and then suddenly I realized that my "tough little boy" had crept into my lap, sat down, wrapped his arms around mine, and was watching the motorcycles from the safety of mommy's arms. Guys, this is a Big Deal. My baby never Needs me in this way. Even when he falls down and bumps his head - yes, <i>even</i> when he fell down and cut the inside of his lip! - he doesn't <i>need</i> me. I mean, yes, he wants me to pick him up, bounce him, shhh him, but then damnit, I better put him back down in 1.6 seconds so he can get back to whatever super dangerous thing he was doing. But today....today he needed me to make him feel safe and secure while he watched the world. </p>
<p>Later, I took him over to the playground where two little one year old twins were tottering around. Owen was entranced by the boy twin who was running around like a wild animal and I'm sure he took some notes for his future self. I struck up a conversation with the nanny. In Spanish, just to challenge myself. Once she discovered what I do (did) for a living, she started to share her story of how her husband is on disability and her oldest son was just incarcerated and her younger son is reacting badly and...and...and... It was, sadly, just like the many stories I used to hear every single day. I felt like I was sitting in my office at the hospital, instead of sitting crossed legged and barefoot at the park. Without thinking, I began getting her the numbers for Legal Aid and the 211 Access Line for services. I coached her through talking to her son's teachers, asking for help, etc. All the while I drew the firm line that <i>no</i>, I couldn't be her son's therapist. </p>
<p>When I left, she gave me her phone number and asked me to call her if I found any other services. I took her number, knowing I was likely never going to call, and wished her luck sincerely. When I got home, I nursed my sleepy baby, who fell asleep for his nap while touching my cheek. </p>
<p>So, I guess, there are some times where it is really nice to be needed. </p>JustMehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493032821722724778noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-914382632005868190.post-55058411771785823942014-05-19T20:38:00.000-07:002014-05-19T20:38:15.335-07:00Let's give this another try...<p>Well, I'm still here. But my blog sits neglected and dusty in a corner somewhere. I didn't even dust it off to reminisce and ponder the fact that my baby has now been alive for half of a year. And if I couldn't be bothered to write about that, well then, it's possible this blog is done. But then, a night creeps in like tonight, when everything is quiet and I wonder...what is going on in the blogosphere? What is going on with those wonderful women who saw me through my pregnancy and those first oh so difficult weeks of Owen's life? </p>
<p>So, I'm going to write a bit, and see what happens. </p>
<p>Tonight is quiet. B is up in LA, staying overnight for work. Owen went to bed early. So I am listening to the emptiness of the air conditioning. There is so much to say and yet...it all will seem mundane if I type it into words. You can't describe chubby thighs wobbling as they quiver to standing. Or how intently he tries to learn each piece of the world. Or the way he melts into my neck when I pick him up in the middle of the night. How do I tell you these things? How do I tell you about him laughing in the pool today, or him crying when he falls down, or his giggles as he touches my neck while he nurses to sleep? Either you know...and you get it...or it is just mine. My little mundane moments of motherhood. </p>
<p>I am rambling. Maybe this is why I don't blog anymore. I'm not the same, systematic person I was before. During my pregnancy, I diligently categorized each symptom, trimester, and important event. I explained it in linear, detailed form. And now, while there is so much to report, my brain seems to not work that way any more. Instead, I think in moments. Owen crawling across the floor at five and a half months. Owen sick with a cold, sleeping on my chest. Owen pulling himself to standing for the first time. Owen taking his first tentative steps, cruising along the couch. Owen, Owen, Owen. </p>
<p>I live in these moments. I live in yoga pants. I live sitting on the floor. I live watching. Watching him. </p>
<p>How did this happen? Where am I? Where is the person who worked so hard at her career and took so much pride in her identity as an intellectual, driven woman? Where is the woman with a sexual, feminine side? Where is the person who brushed her hair and painted her toenails? Where is the person who thought about things other than...him? </p>
<p>I could take this post into a long commentary on being a stay at home mom. But...the cat just settled down on my lap and I smiled. I smiled and realized I don't really care enough to write about it. Why not? Because I am just happy. Happy in this moment. Happy in these moments. For the first time that I can remember since being a little girl, I don't...yearn for things, worry about things, agonize over things, dread things...I just am. Just happy. How amazing is that? </p>
<p>Not saying life isn't hard. Because I am ridiculously exhausted, physically and emotionally. I crave time to myself. I miss things. But...for now, this is where I am. And I know it's not forever. I know I will go back to having multiple facets to my identity. But for now, this is It. </p>
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<p>In Mommy Group, when people talked about sleep problems, napping, or putting baby on a schedule, I just naively tuned it out. I felt like we didn’t need a schedule. I was so “in tune” with my baby that I just followed his lead and when he started to get tired I put him down for a nap. And by “put him down,” I mean literally all I had to do was PUT HIM DOWN and he would sleep. Sigh. Oh, the beautiful naiveté. Also, I bristled against schedules because, well, it’s a schedule. I wanted to be spontaneous and free and able to go out and socialize. My baby was so adaptable that he would “nap wherever” and then wake up happy and refreshed. Oh and the whole idea of the Four Month Sleep Regression? Pish Posh. I was sure that wouldn’t happen to us. Seriously. I have no idea why I thought this, but I thought it was just some made up thing that people said to label their ongoing sleep difficulties. </p>
<p>Wow. That all makes me sound like a bitch, doesn’t it? Let me stop and clarify. I didn’t <i>judge</i> other people. In fact, I told everyone that you need to do “what works for you” in order to feel sane and happy. It just so happened that I thought “what worked” for us was to be flexible and relaxed and in tune with the moment. I thought if I just responded to what my baby needed, that we would be happy and I would never get stuck in “oh, we can’t go right now, because he naps from 11:02-12:35.”</p>
<p>Also, Sleep Training. I thought this was overrated as well. I mean, as a psychologist, I understand that the behavioral principles of gradual exposure and extinction <i>work</i>, but I also thought if you just used common sense and perseverance, you wouldn’t need to be so regimented about it. Are you seeing any themes here? First, clear avoidance of any type of structure or regimented schedule. Second, an exorbitant dose of big-headed ignorance. </p>
<p>So…what happened? Four Months. Yes, it appeared whether I believed in it or not. Literally, the weekend that Owen turned four months we moved to a new city and through off our routine. Owen also began teething. AND he learned to roll over both ways (a new fun skill to try out all night long in his crib). Ohhh and we thought it would be a good time to start having him sleep at night in his big crib (still in our room). So all of these things added up and….guess what? Four Month Sleep Regression. </p>
<p>And now here I am. One month later and still not sleeping. And by not sleeping I mean seriously. Not Sleeping. Naps have turned into 30 minute affairs and nighttime is on Newborn Schedule of waking every 1-3 hours. I am exhausted. Exhausted, emotional and bitchy. Oh, and vulnerable. Vulnerable enough to let doubt pierce my earlier blissful confidence. When a friend of mine, a 2nd time mom, started lecturing me about exactly how many naps Owen should have per day and how long he should sleep and what time he should go to bed, I listened. Listened when a month ago I would have smiled, nodded, and brushed it off as I kept going with what felt right for me. This time, I listened, then fell into a spiral of self-doubt and desperation and “<i>What am I doing wrong???”</i> It’s amazing how a little bit of lost sleep will shatter your confidence/cockiness.</p>
<p>So. I’ve been thinking. Thinking and reading. I’ve been approaching this from both an intuitive, emotional perspective as well as the analytical research side of me who just happens to be a child psychologist. In other words, I’ve spent some time getting “in tune” with myself and with Owen. I’ve also spent some time with my textbooks and journal articles. </p>
<p>Here is what I’ve come up with. </p>
<p>Now, these are just my Thoughts for This Week. They are subject to change at any time when Owen catapults into a new developmental stage and completely rocks my reality again. Also, I may be a child psychologist, but I am <i>not</i> an expert in infant mental health, and I am <i>not</i> talking in the capacity of a psychologist right now, just a mom who is tired. But, here goes…</p>
<p>Being a new mom is hard. Especially a first time mom. Put sleep deprivation in the mix and it’s harder than hard. According to psychological researching, behavioral methods (sleep training), <i>do</i> work, but only when used effectively and not with any consistent efficacy prior to six months. And so, we are left fumbling in the dark (literally and metaphorically). What parents want is a method for dealing with this new reality. Which is why people will may hundreds to Sleep Trainers to put their life back in order. </p>
<p>But who is right? The old me who believed in intuitively following baby’s lead and flexibly adapting each day? The burnt out me who is considering regimenting everything from naps to diaper changes if it will just make him SLEEP? </p>
<p>Neither.</p>
<p>Both.</p>
<p>Because I’ve decided it’s not about <i>what</i> you do, it’s about <i>why</i> you do it. In order to get through this, you need to be able to have some sense of control and belief that you are, to some degree, in charge of what is happening to your life. Now, don’t get me wrong…I also believe you need a healthy acceptance that your life is not your own during this time and that nothing is permanent during this first year (years?). But, for your own mental health and sanity, I think you need to find something that gives you the <i>sense</i> (whether real or imagined) that you have a bit of control. If that means putting your baby on a schedule, then by all means do so. If that means, wearing your baby around for every single nap…go for it. If that means co-sleeping with baby perma-attached to your boob, ok! As long as what you are doing is healthy for you and baby…sounds great! </p>
<p>In other words, I don’t think there is a one, Correct Way to approach this, but I think we each need to find our Own Way. Otherwise, you end up like me, knocked off my pedestal, lost, and doubting every decision I’m making. As long as you have a plan and feel you are doing your best to be the Parent, rather than feeling like the baby is running the world and you’re simply Forest Gump’s Feather, then you’re doing good. Right?? Oh, who knows. </p>
<p>I also think that your method should come from being thoughtful and aware. When I’m just blindly trying to react to each thing that comes up without planning or preparing or consciously responding, I tend to feel more lost. When I don’t know <i>why</i> I’m doing something, it tends to be less effective and I feel more desperate. What I mean is, if the baby is crying and my plan is, say, to bounce him to sleep on the ball, but then his cries get louder and I give up…I feel lost. If I were to step back, think, and remember “Oh right, he always cries a bit louder before he falls asleep, so I’m going to stick with this a few minutes and see if he quiets down,” then I’d probably have more success. Also, on a grander scale, I think we need to know <i>why</i> we make big decisions such as, whether to follow a set schedule or whether to use a Sleep Training method. If your answer is – because it makes me feel better or because it works for my baby or because it makes sense based on my research, then good for you. My problem was, I was just starting to let other people tell me what to do without checking in with what <i>I</i> thought. </p>
<p>Anyhow, that’s all I’ve come up with so far. My little pearls of wisdom that, if you read between the lines, don’t really tell you anything at all. Also, my philosophical ramblings haven’t gotten me anywhere in the real world. We’re still not sleeping at night. Philosophy and analysis are no match for teeth piercing through gums.</p>
<p>What I can say is, I’ve changed my attitude a bit. I’ve started paying more attention to Owen’s needs again. And when I did, I realized he’s no longer on a newborn schedule, even though I was half-heartedly trying to stick to it. He doesn’t need to nap every 90 minutes, but rather every 2 hours or so. As a result, he’s napping better. Which helps my sanity because I get some time to myself to rest or get things done. But, at the same time, I’m trying to keep enough of my old self to know that this too will change depending on the day and as he grows older. In the meantime, I’m just trying to pay attention, be rationale, and not get swept up in the current of exhaustion so I once again begin to doubt myself and become an ineffective mess.</p>
<p><I><b>Update -</i></b> I wrote this post a month ago and then didn’t post it. I suppose because it seemed silly to post an entire post about sleep in which I admit I really don’t believe there is An Answer to the Problem. But, maybe it will help others to read it, so here goes…I’m posting. And, you may wonder…have we made any progress? No, not really. Owen is transitioning from 3 naps to 2 and he’s going down much easier for naps because I’m watching to see when he’s tired and ready. So that’s nice. Nighttimes? We’re getting 3-4 hour stretches now. I still haven’t sleep trained or anything close. It’s just so much easier to feed him (takes about 7 minutes and then he’s back to sleep!). But I may have to try something soon. Six Months is this week and it feels like a big milestone and might be time to start fighting the battle. Props to Sunny at <a href="http://ceaseanddecyst.wordpress.com/">Cease and Decyst</a> for winning hers!</p>
<p>Oh, and just because....here's a few pics....:)</p>
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JustMehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493032821722724778noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-914382632005868190.post-27762878665891330002014-04-04T15:44:00.000-07:002014-04-04T16:01:33.350-07:00Mommy Dating - It's a Real Thing<p>Before I got pregnant, an aspiring film-maker friend of mine (don’t we all have one of those?) told me she wanted to make a documentary about "mommy-dating.”</p>
<p>”About what?” I said.<br>
”Mommy dating,” she said. <br>
”Mommy what?”<br>
"Mommy. Dating.” <br>
”What?”</p>
<p>Yeah. I had no clue. But it’s a real phenomenon. How many blog posts have been dedicated to this topic? Unless you are a part of a very select group that happens to be on the same trajectory and everyone pops out their babies within six months of each other, you are likely to find yourself with a major friend overhaul happening once you come up for air after the 4th trimester. </p>
<p>In LA I belonged to a really nice group of women connected with the birth center. We met weekly for a “Mommy Group” and I always felt supported, comforted, and included. I never felt awkward, left out or not good enough. Except of course, when the topics turned to the crunchier side regarding things such as vaccines, amber necklaces or placenta encapsulation (thanks <a href="http://lalalorna.blogspot.com/">Lorna</a> for pointing this out!). But, in conjunction with this group and the few friends I had that were also having kids, I had a pretty good social group/support network. </p>
<p>Now that we’ve moved, I’ve joined Meetup. Apparently Meetup is a mecca for new moms looking to find their other mommy-half. You can find a Meetup group for anything. And they get quite specific. Mommies in North County San Diego. Mommies in Coastal North County San Diego. Mommies in Coastal North County San Diego whose Babies Were Born in Late 2013. Mommies in North County San Diego who Want Their Babies to Learn Spanish. Mommies Who Like Eating Italian Food and Drinking Wine and Have Babies Learning to Crawl. Seriously. All real groups I’ve joined. Well, ok, except the last one. But I’m sure people would join that.</p>
<p>So, today I went to a Meet and Greet for one of those groups. It was supposed to be a “good first meeting” where you could “meet other mommies” (are you sick of the word mommies too?) and “introduce yourself and your baby.” Now, I’m not really that good at these types of situations. I mean, I am good at making conversation and I’m pretty extroverted, but I hate those awkward First Meetings where you have to make polite chitchat. I’m not good at “polite chitchat.” I’d prefer to skip that and get to interesting subjects like – “So does anyone really enjoy postpartum sex??”</p>
<p>I got ready for my mommy date in the typical way. I brushed my hair I didn’t have time to wash today and tried to make it look cute-ish with some sad little bobby pins. I put on make up (!!). I got dressed in my new LuluLemon clothes that are way too expensive for someone who doesn’t exercise but still the perfect SAHM clothes. And I went. </p>
<p>Instantly I felt out of place. I had the wrong blanket (too small). My baby was the wrong age (too young). And I was “too hippy” (Ring Sling instead of Stroller, breastfeeding instead of bottle). Also, everyone seemed to know each other. So there I was, instantly transported back to high school. The odd girl out, feeling awkward. But I decided I was going to make this work. I am interesting and fun. And…if that’s not true, at least I have an adorable baby who instantly impressed everyone with his “sitting-up-at-5-months” skills. </p>
<p>But my adorable baby is teething. And not-crawling. And really pissed at his not-crawling-state. Especially when surrounded by crawling and walking babies. Also, I began to feel very “not fun and not interesting” as I realized how pretty and together these other women are. I mean, I’m not sure what the difference is. It seemed half of them were also wearing the privileged, SAHM uniform of LuluLemon head to toe. But, they didn’t seem to struggle with clothes clinging weirdly to love handles, or fear that their butt looks too big, or wondering if they shaved their legs today because the cute yoga pants also happen to be cropped pants. I mean, don’t get me wrong, these women were all complaining about “not having time to do their hair or makeup anymore” whilst I looked at their pedicured toe nails. One mom even said she “never washes her hair anymore” while I looked longingly at her cute messy curls. </p>
<p>And so I sat with my fussy baby, trying to act like I fit in, trying to smile, and hoping that I would meet A Friend and wondering why this is so hard? </p>
<p>The truth is, my view of today is filtered through a sleep-deprived state and directly related to the fussiness of my teething baby. On a better day, I may have noticed that the moms were being nice and trying to include me in conversation, even though their babies were at totally different stages. Or I may have not fixated on the 120-lb blonde girls with cute clothes and noticed the normal looking, slightly overweight moms. Or maybe I would have gotten past myself enough to actually make some friends. </p>
<p>But, I didn’t. I gave in to Owen’s fussiness and left early. </p>
<p>I know I’ll go back. Some of them were really nice. And this was only one outing. I’ve gone to others where I’ve met friends and crossed the line to the “Exchange Numbers” stage and the “Individual Playdate” stage. So really, it’s not that bad. Everything is fine. I suppose this is just a post to all of us to say – Hey, I get it. It’s hard being a woman no matter how old you are. </p>
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<center><i>Cute, even when he's a fussy, sleep-deprived baby.</i></center>
JustMehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493032821722724778noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-914382632005868190.post-7490211617673066912014-04-02T09:12:00.000-07:002014-04-02T22:28:29.173-07:00Just Some Little Updates<p>My little tiny baby is now five months old. He is a little person now, with an extroverted personality, a ready-for-anything attitude, and a sense of humor. He weighs 17 pounds and is wearing nine month clothes. He <i>was</i> sleeping through the night, but ditched that habit around four months and has never looked back. Now he is revisiting newborn behaviors of waking every 2-3 hours. So fun for all involved. He has mastered rolling both ways, pivoting, sitting up, and doing some pretty cool yoga poses. He is in love with his kitty and now loves to grab Bear’s black fur and grin at him. The cat tolerates it, surprisingly. </p><p>He is an active, active baby. Always likes to be <i>doing</i> or <i>seeing</i> something. This means that, as long as he is doing something, he is a happy, happy baby. Everyone always compliments me on how <i>happy</i> he is. And he is. He really is. BUT. The flipside is – he always needs to be DOING something. So that doesn't leave room for sitting and snuggling. Yesterday I felt guilty because he was still recovering from his shots and so he sat in my lap and snuggled all morning and I LOVED it. So, to compensate, I’ve gotten really into babywearing. I think babywearing is such a nerdy term, isn’t it? But…I’m sold. I now own a Moby (he’s outgrown it), the Beco Gemini, a Maya Wrap Ring Sling, a Babyhawk Mei Tai, and a beautiful Girasol Woven Wrap. Babywearing is an expensive habit! I have my eye on another woven wrap and a replacement for his Beco when he outgrows it. But, I love it. I can strap him to my back to get things done, or wrap him up tight against my chest when he needs to be snuggled to sleep. Somehow, when he’s worn, he turns all cute and cuddly. </p>
<p>He refuses to take a bottle. The irony of all ironies, considering how hard breastfeeding was to begin with. I try every day, switching it up with different bottles and sippy cups. We’re making progress. Now I can get him to take one ounce. ONE ounce. Sigh. My strong-minded boy. This lack of taking a bottle takes the “mommy and me” thing to a ridiculous level. I can’t be away from him for very long because he will need to eat. Thank god I’m not working right now. </p>
<p>So I guess that’s an update on Owen. I’m sure most of you are eyes-glazed-over in boredom by this point. But I just had to share. Mostly as an excuse to share some pictures with you. Prepare yourself…here come the photos!</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimn6f8B9W4pMWKy9yukej0KKgbmW8kYHcYT0FnkY_DGxGFi39YgMtadOFf_ZOVDhGezpL7lrUYKvvnQbYeO7qRlwTv4v-p-QANawXkzANS4u1ViZxgmlrc8YDMx5lxwc9BiLixYhJbZ4vk/s1600/stpats.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimn6f8B9W4pMWKy9yukej0KKgbmW8kYHcYT0FnkY_DGxGFi39YgMtadOFf_ZOVDhGezpL7lrUYKvvnQbYeO7qRlwTv4v-p-QANawXkzANS4u1ViZxgmlrc8YDMx5lxwc9BiLixYhJbZ4vk/s320/stpats.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM1azF3I1taNw-s24w9MDEpEIyzng5H93XItuLPHOuseMFjm4VoIX2Qf44DV_jb9V6v26Imdz0Q64FQNOEUfLUWRA-G9mzGuoCXMmP9Qtsjivnts2H6Y3UpD6QjlEEkPowtiMxu5v13Sjl/s1600/smilepic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM1azF3I1taNw-s24w9MDEpEIyzng5H93XItuLPHOuseMFjm4VoIX2Qf44DV_jb9V6v26Imdz0Q64FQNOEUfLUWRA-G9mzGuoCXMmP9Qtsjivnts2H6Y3UpD6QjlEEkPowtiMxu5v13Sjl/s320/smilepic.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNRX3jDaNfIjbxu-EhE80NJx9sOa0vLraiEJ1lO-Trbl8ESlv8bvVyl_b7bux-xM1F45BEFK-5sKnp32WxaiZSR4pL_Dvj9OHg8U9m9_6SpPkvSoTKLwLePugHqiRHfUqTt3dXtbaP2SlV/s1600/DSC01714.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNRX3jDaNfIjbxu-EhE80NJx9sOa0vLraiEJ1lO-Trbl8ESlv8bvVyl_b7bux-xM1F45BEFK-5sKnp32WxaiZSR4pL_Dvj9OHg8U9m9_6SpPkvSoTKLwLePugHqiRHfUqTt3dXtbaP2SlV/s320/DSC01714.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN19JrOkbhFfTY3fKtN7du34IiUFiBOSqyz-aJYpnonsXQ-eKASCa97tLqX30518ltoedIsVsCZ1NwtIuimugKEsFIfLwydx5U_XX7VPGCLLRrS10IFzrCKy-7OhqQFs8pU9HTKmJ4z9Fl/s1600/DSC01736.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN19JrOkbhFfTY3fKtN7du34IiUFiBOSqyz-aJYpnonsXQ-eKASCa97tLqX30518ltoedIsVsCZ1NwtIuimugKEsFIfLwydx5U_XX7VPGCLLRrS10IFzrCKy-7OhqQFs8pU9HTKmJ4z9Fl/s320/DSC01736.JPG" /></a></div>JustMehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493032821722724778noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-914382632005868190.post-92181121506669500122014-03-23T16:08:00.001-07:002014-03-23T16:08:53.004-07:00Reshaped<p> I want to be honest about something. </p>
<p> When I started this blog, the pregnancy (and definitely the baby!) was a vague, nebulous idea…something I wanted because I knew I wanted to have a child and knew I wanted to be a mother. But I had no idea in hell what it really and truly meant. My blog was so sweet. Talking about morning sickness affecting my sense of self and the importance finding the perfect stroller. All in preparation for this big change that I didn’t really understand. I thought it would just be us + baby. Or me + baby. But still me. Still us. </p>
<p>What I didn’t understand is, having a baby is not like that. It takes who you were and smacks it around a bit, softens it up, and remolds it into something new. Right now I think I’m coming out of the kiln and looking around for some pretty glaze to brighten up the new me. Because the old me? Gone. I mean yes, I am still shaped out of the same old clay. I haven’t…I dunno, switched political affiliations, developed a religious calling or suddenly taken up baking…but in some ways I am wholly different. </p>
<p>So here goes - <u> I was a selfish person before having a baby. </u> I’m not great at sharing. I can be extremely lazy. I don’t like cleaning up after others. I can sometimes give up when things get hard. I have a tendency to let my husband “rescue” me. And I can just be a bit of a whiny brat. Or at least…all of that was true <b>before</b>.</p>
<p>Then I gave birth. Nine hours of pushing and fighting with my own deep darkest self in order to convince myself to keep going, to not give up, and that no one could swoop in and save me. I still cry when I think about how the small, secret, shameful parts of me reared up during birth and said, “No. This is too hard.” </p>
<p>And after he was born? Breastfeeding. Six weeks of repetitive emotional and physical pain that made me want to say again, “I can’t do this. It’s too hard. Can someone else please step in?” Pain that would make me curl into a ball and cry on the bed for my own mommy. Except, I had to keep going. </p>
<p>And then? Motherhood. I began to chafe against the role of being “the one” who goes to takes the baby to bed while everyone else stays up and enjoys themselves. I cringed at having to give up my own meal to take care of my baby. I felt uncomfortable in the role of being the one who gave up in order to give. </p>
<p>The new me has no room for selfishness. Because, frankly, even though I didn’t feel like I <i>could</i> push him out, the truth is – I <i>did.</i> And even though the breastfeeding seemed inhumanely hard – it is now one of my favorite interactions with my baby. And even though I may not <i>like</i> being “the one” who does the majority of the work – I’m <i>learning</i> to do it. And the major difference is I am learning to do these things and be these things innately, minus the resentment or frustration. </p>
<p>And so yes, motherhood has changed me. For the better. I’m not a saint. I still lose it and complain and get resentful and get tired and bitchy. BUT. I am not the same selfish girl I was before. I’ve been reworked into something better. </p>
JustMehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493032821722724778noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-914382632005868190.post-16932376092064199542014-02-21T16:10:00.000-08:002014-02-21T16:10:11.424-08:00Wear the Shirt<p>At almost four months postpartum, getting dressed is still hard. Enormous breasts make my shirts end awkwardly above my waist. More than ample hips refuse to fit into pre-pregnancy pants. Clothes need to be easy access to accommodate breastfeeding. And certain accessories (fun jewelery, cute heels) are just not practical - or safe! - while carrying around an infant. All of this results in many hours standing forlornly in my closet, trying to find something to put on that while make me feel comfortable and attractive at the same time. Well, no, not really...no one has hours to spend standing in their closet when they are a mom to an infant, but...you get the idea. </p>
<p>So, recently, when on a trip to The Grove, I walked by a store where the clothes looked feminine, loose, and comfortable, but still stylish. Of course, any clothes that can truly boast all of those qualities aren't exactly cheap, right? But, I decided the cost was worth it and invested in a few new shirts. I love all of them...when wearing them I feel pretty, comfortable in body, but plenty of steps above my typical outfit of yoga pants and a too-small t-shirt. </p>
<p>So, yesterday, when getting dressed to take Owen to the doctor's office, followed by a lunch with friends, I came upon the dilemma. Do you wear the nice shirt knowing the day is "nothing special" and that wearing the shirt means the super soft material will be wrinkled by grabby baby hands and slimed by baby drool and even potentially stained by leaking breast milk? Or do you save the shirt for a day when you will be going out <i>without</i> baby and you can <i>be yourself</i> and not worry about ruining the clothes? </p>
<p>And then it hit me. When <i>do</i> I go anywhere without Owen? Hardly ever. At the moment, I am content with that. I enjoy having my sidekick with me wherever I go (hey, we even "enjoyed" a trip to the DMV!). But what does that mean? Does that mean my nice, pretty clothes <i>literally</i> just stay on the shelf? In other words, do I disregard the time and attention to myself that makes me feel confident and attractive? Do I disappear into "being a mom?" Because, believe me, that is tempting and easy to do. I say it to myself all of the time. "Those black yoga pants have faded into a depressing shade of grey and that shirt is more wrinkled than not...but hey, it's ok, I'm a mom." Or, "I'm not sure when the last time I washed my hair was...but, it's ok, I'll throw it in a ponytail because, hey, I'm a mom." </p>
<p>So sure. "Being a mom" is a viable, acceptable excuse/reason for looking "bland and natural." But is it an excuse for not taking the time to feel good in our own bodies? I remember the first time I painted my toenails after Owen was born. He was maybe...two months? I felt deliciously giddy, like I was getting away with something to take the time to do something as frivolous as painting my toe nails pink. But, the truth is, it's more important to me to spend the time rolling around on the floor with Owen trying to teach him about the world than it is to make sure my makeup is done. </p>
<p> So. Back to my dilemma yesterday. Do I put on the $80 dollar shirt that is such a soft, gentle fabric and a sweet shade of coral and makes me feel "pretty" again just for a visit to the doctor's office? All the while knowing that wearing it will subject it to the wear and tear of motherhood? And then I realized. Leaving the prettyness on the shelf is ridiculous. This is my life now. Wearing faded, too-tight clothes while I wait for this to "pass" is stupid. Motherhood doesn't "pass by." This is who I am. And I can choose to leave certain parts of me on the shelf because they might not be the perfect fit for this lifestyle, or I can choose to find a way to make it work. </p>
<p>So, I wore the shirt. I felt pretty. The shirt got wrinkled and drooled upon. And I felt like a mom. But a pretty, happy, smiling mom. So I guess what I'm saying guys is....wear the shirt!</p>JustMehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493032821722724778noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-914382632005868190.post-16740403506298620222014-01-30T16:54:00.001-08:002014-01-30T16:54:24.270-08:00Metamorphosis
<p>So I went today to have an IUD put in. It was the first time back in that type of “clinical” setting since the birth. Oddly, the doctor’s office was right across the street from the hospital where I had Owen. The whole experience showed me just how much I am still recovering emotionally from <a href="http://bitsinpeaces.blogspot.com/2013/11/birth-story-part-2.html">my birth experience</a>. Even walking by the hospital entrance got my heart racing. Lying there, with my legs spread, feet in stirrups, and watching the doctor come at me with these two-feet-long instruments she was about to put up inside my uterus, my heart was more than racing. I am a trauma therapist and even so I am amazed by how much triggers of a traumatic experience can affect our minds and bodies. After the actual insertion (not too painful physically – just cramping and pinching), I realized I was lightheaded and dizzy. And then, in the car, I felt myself tearing up. So, I suppose even though three months have gone by and I am physically healed from giving birth, my mind just hasn’t caught up yet. </p>
<p>I am not really sure how to “heal” from this. I don’t think I need to go to therapy, because I am processing with myself and with my husband and I am sure that I will have recovered by the time I decide to have a second child. Also, I am finding that our attempts to have sex again, while extremely emotional and somewhat frightening for me, are actually healing me emotionally. Almost <i>replacing</i> the memories and sensations for me. </p>
<p>So, I suppose, I will give it time. Even today, having a medical procedure <i>and</i> having a birth control device inserted, is symbolic of healing. Not only was I able to have a good, positive experience with an OB (thank you <a href="http://lalalorna.blogspot.com/">Lorna</a> and E for the recommendations!!), but I am committed that I won’t have another baby for a little. That gives me time to heal in more ways than one. </p>
<p>Meanwhile, I am also committed to this decision to move to San Diego! And, with it, to my new role as a “stay at home mom.” I keep qualifying this new role by saying things about my “career goals” and how I feel “start looking” when we move down there. But let’s face it – for awhile anyhow – I am going to be a stay at home mom. And I am excited about it! I am realizing how much more I like myself in this role. Not only do I like the things that I do with my time – going for walks, watching sunsets, frequenting the Farmer’s Markets I never had time for before – but I like the <i>way</i> that I am in this role. I find myself being less lazy, more productive, more social, more competent, more mindful, calmer, happier, and all around <i>content</i>. When I do go back to work, I hope to figure out how to keep these parts of myself integrated into who I am now. It almost feels as if, before motherhood, I was just getting through life. Putting my head down and charging through the layers and layers of stress and work and overload that I had to deal with. But now I feel on top of life and capable and happy and as if I am enjoying the moments more. I know this honeymoon period may fade and I will find myself craving my individuality and my professional self, but for now, I may as well admit it – I like staying at home with Owen!</p>
<p>And Owen? He was three months old yesterday! He is literally JUMPING out of the 4th trimester into this new stage of life. When we were at the doctor’s office today, she kept getting distracted by him because he is so smiley, happy, and socially engaging. She finally asked, “Are you sure he’s only three months old? I cannot believe how social he is!” We get that all of the time. Since birth, people have thought he was older than he is. I always say it's because he has so much hair, but it’s more than that. He is really <i>connected</i>, alert, and engaged with people. My dad called him an “old soul.” I don’t know about that, but he definitely draws people in. </p>
<p>So that is where we are…healing, growing, changing, and crystalizing into something new. So I will leave you with another question - <i>Do you think we make our own identities by choice or are we shaped by the situations and roles we are playing?</i></p>
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<center> From Three Weeks to Three Months!</center>
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<br><br> <center>And one more, because I am suddenly becoming obsessed with "Baby-Wearing"...</center>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvVA8bnsKpcNbNemJTa_q76oqz8P4w2AhAiGPPZcr0s6nXxhL6SU47qyo15e5VwZOpB_gwtZ9o4Lu2HJk5BI5dGk2yWpsuavJTH-7xYqgjiSdpG7jna2JOKN2_28awhNR3GsjXrARelWl3/s1600/1551676_636256056003_1830664328_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvVA8bnsKpcNbNemJTa_q76oqz8P4w2AhAiGPPZcr0s6nXxhL6SU47qyo15e5VwZOpB_gwtZ9o4Lu2HJk5BI5dGk2yWpsuavJTH-7xYqgjiSdpG7jna2JOKN2_28awhNR3GsjXrARelWl3/s320/1551676_636256056003_1830664328_n.jpg" /></a></div>JustMehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493032821722724778noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-914382632005868190.post-52805822046237822362014-01-22T22:09:00.002-08:002014-01-22T22:09:38.241-08:00Your Thoughts Please<p>I've shared before <a href="http://bitsinpeaces.blogspot.com/2013/06/a-sense-of-place.html">here</a> and <a href="http://bitsinpeaces.blogspot.com/2013/09/post-2-road-trip.html">here</a> about wanting to move out of LA one day. B and I had decided after our trip North that Sonoma area would be our "dream escape from LA." We took a trip up there this summer to scout out the area and decided we were 1-3 years out from being able to relocate, if all went well. </p>
<p> I had settled in to wait it out with Los Angeles. I continued to have a love-hate relationship with the gorgeously plain hipsters on Abbot Kinney. Chose to ignore the traffic that makes my baby scream on a daily basis. Vowed to spend more time communing with whatever nature I could find and visiting the waves that are less than a mile from my house. </p>
<p>But sometimes, when you have made your peace, Opportunity sneaks up and kicks you in the head. </p>
<p>Amongst our many visitors and fieldtrips from daily life, we spent a weekend in San Diego. We commented on how much "calmer" it was, how much more "real" people looked, and marveled at the fact that the beaches are so much more beautiful. And then we headed home and settled back into LA. Until someone jumped on Craigslist and pointed out the difference rental prices between LA and San Diego. And then someone else pointed out that B could just as well run his company from down south and then commute up when necessary. And then BOOM it hit me that this would be an escape out of going back to work. </p>
<p>We daydreamed a little. Spent some time on Craigslist. Daydreamed some more. Discussed with our family that was visited. And slowly, the dream about escaping Los Angeles was becoming a plan. And my excitement began to blend into anxiety as I realized, <i>holy shit, is this happening?</i></p>
<p>And so people, here we are, only a few weeks later, looking at the very real possibility of relocating in less than 2 months. So real that we have already gone to look at houses down there. Let me explain the reasons why we are NOT crazy before I share the reasons why I am freaking out. </p>
<p>1) The lease is up on our current house in March. </p>
<P>2) I am scheduled to go back to work in March. </p>
<p>3) We would have to start paying our Nanny in March. </p>
<p>4) My sister (my best friend and B's employee) said she would be happy and excited to relocate with us.</p>
<p>5) My sister's boyfriend lost his job right after we started considering this idea and said his friend could find him a job in San Diego. </p>
<p>6) We found a perfect home with extra bedrooms, a back yard and a pool. A home that is a mansion by LA standards.</p>
<p>7) The house is north of SD a little ways and so the commute for B (and my sister) would only be 1.5 hours when he needed to drive up. </p>
<p>You might be wondering...wait, you said you wanted to move to Sonoma? So what are you doing going South? Oh well, at this point, I just want to be somewhere different. Plus, we are looking at it as a practice run to see if B's business can handle him being out of LA, but in San Diego he wouldn't be too far away to still commute easily. Sooo here we are. Within the span of two weeks we have possibly (most likely) made the decision to uproot everything and move. </p>
<p>So what are the downfalls? This is something we've been wanting for awhile. Our quality of life will change considerably in terms of our home and pace of life. My husband and sister will both be working from a home office at our house and so will be closer to Owen. AND I have a way out of having to go back to work, giving me more time home with Owen before I start looking for a new job. Seems like there are no downfalls, right?</p>
<p>Well here is where I need you all to jump in and talk me out of freaking out. Even though I have been dreading going back to work and even though I haven't been very happy with my current job, I DO love my career of being a psychologist and it is a very important part of my identity. My plan if we move is not to quick entirely, but just to "take a break" and then start looking for part-time work to ease back into it. Sounds good. And yet....</p>
<p>And yet I feel like a stereotype. When I left for maternity leave, <i>everyone</i> was teasing me that I "wouldn't come back" or that I would become a "stay at home mom" and I assured all of them that I would come back because I loved being a psychologist. They all looked at me with knowing eyes and said ok, we'll believe when we see it. And now? I will have to go back to work to wrap things up and listen to their "I told you so" chorus. </p>
<p>But ok, no big deal. It's not about what they think. It's about what I want, right? Well ok, then if I look long and hard at what <i>I</i> want, I realize that dual sides of my personality are battling once again. I want to stay home and watch my son change (yesterday he rolled over and giggled for the first time, all in one day!) and be this calm, relaxed, happy person that I've been for the past two months. But, at the same time, it <i>terrifies</i> me to quit working, even for a short time. Because, will I fall behind? Will I get hired again? Am I letting down my current job? Am I letting down myself? Am I letting down our future by not bringing in my income? And mostly, most important of all, will I resent my new role? Because, I love staying home. But I could see that I would begin to chafe against it and feel the need to go back to work. </p>
<p>Argh, I am just rambling here. Basically, my mind is spinning at the fact that we are going to walk away from the life we are currently living - a life that is very good, stable, and happy - for the possibility of a different, better life. And in doing so, I am going to shift my identity - for a little while - into something new. The part of me that loves changing is charging forward into this new life. But my logical side is holding back and wondering if I am making a irresponsible decision. </p>
<p>Whew. Advice? Thoughts? Have you ever made a huge decision in the hopes of a better life? Do you tend to lean more towards logic or emotion when you make your decisions? Am I making a mistake in my career to chase a dream? Any input is appreciated. </p>JustMehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493032821722724778noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-914382632005868190.post-20395925452273707812014-01-18T20:06:00.000-08:002014-01-18T20:06:44.518-08:00Brimming with Life<p>It’s been almost a month since I updated this blog. That makes me sad because I really like blogging and I feel like it’s not fitting into my life the way it used to before Owen was born. I know that I could say the reason for that is just being “too busy with a baby,” and that is true – oh, so true! – but if I’m honest I suppose the other reason is because blogging served a different purpose before. I started this blog a little over a year ago to document getting pregnant and then the pregnancy itself. Mostly, I used the blog as an outlet to share the inane details of that journey that people in my life didn't really care about (I mean, who cares about your basal temperature or way too many bump pictures?). Also, looking back, I think I was a bit lonely pre-baby. I had started a new job where I didn’t have any friends and a lot of my LA friends had moved away, leaving me alone with my thoughts and plans. </p>
<p>Now? Well, first of all, <i>everyone</i> cares more about inane baby-details (i.e., how many hours he slept last night) than they did about TTC or pregnancy details. Secondly, I seem to have more new friends lately. I had no idea that having a baby was the perfect way to meet new friends, but I feel like I have fallen into an entirely new community of women. Hello, new mothers! And finally? Well, my life just seems so <i>full</i> now. And I don’t mean that in a sense of being “too busy.” I’m sure I could find the time to update this blog more if I felt the burning need to do so. But really, I have never been more content or <i>in the moment</i> than I am now. I mentioned this before, but I realized that I am perfectly content to sit and watch my baby rest his fist on my breast while he snuggles in to feed and I don’t need to do anything else to fill my mind. As someone who has been extremely distractible and impatient most of her life, this is amazing. </p>
<p>So, what am I saying? Is this a goodbye to blogging? No, by no means. I still read your blogs in the middle of the night. It’s just that I have become one of those silent readers that you always wonder about. As, in who is this person who reads but doesn’t comment? Well, for now, one of those people is me. I read, I smile, I tear up, I gasp, I react…but I just don’t comment. I intend to get back into it, but for now, just know that I am following you and I am connecting silently to what you are sharing. That’s all I have.</p>
<p>And on my end? The writing end? I compose entire blog posts to you in my mind. Posts about gender roles in parenthood, the ongoing recovery from what I have labeled my “traumatic birth story,” and my plans for returning to work. But they don’t get written. When I do find the time and urge to write, I want to use this space to document Owen’s development. Because, I started this blog with no readers – just for myself to pour out my thoughts – and I wrote what I wanted. And right now, I want to have written evidence of how he is changing. I want to be able to look back and remember. </p>
<p>So, I guess what I’m saying is I hope that this will transform back into what it was, but for now, this is just…what it is. </p>
<p> Ok. That may have been the longest intro to an actual blog post ever written. Because yes, I am still going to write a post about my baby, because if I don’t take advantage of this quiet moment while he plays happily on his activity mat and practices grabbing his jungle toys, I may not write again for another month!</p>
<p>So, without further ado….how is Owen doing? He is 11 weeks now and such a different baby. I can believe the “4th trimester” theory because he truly seems to be emerging out of that stage into such a different little being. Since I updated this blog last, he has had so many experiences and we have had so many “firsts” with him and I just feel we have really begun to enjoy life with a baby. Let me share some examples. In the last month, Owen has….</p>
<p> - Spent a lot of time in his Beco and Moby carriers. He has graduated to legs-hanging positions and he absolutely loves it. I am tempted to try the forward-facing position in the Beco now because I think he will be enthralled, but have read mixed reviews about its impact on hips and pelvis. Thoughts?</p>
<p> - Traveled to many local tourist spots with his family: Abbot Kinney in Venice, Redondo Beach Pier, Venice Boardwalk, Manhattan Beach, The Grove…</p>
<p> - Went wine tasting (no wine for baby!!) with the grownups. This was a big deal for me. Those of you who know how much I love wine will appreciate how happy I was to get this back into my life. </p>
<p> - Had his first overnight trip! We spent two nights in a hotel in San Diego and he was a dream!</p>
<p> - Begun sleeping longer at night. Sleep warrants its own entire post because, apparently, your baby’s sleep patterns are as unique and intricate as your own political views. Everyone has an opinion and everyone feels strongly about it. But, for us, I am happy that he has begun sleeping for 5-6 hour stretches for his first stretch of the night. Feels like a dream. </p>
<p>- Become so much more social. He has always been an “alert” and engaging baby. He smiled early, right around one month, but now he is ALL smiles. When I lean down to pick him up in the morning he greets me with a huge grin. When daddy walks in from work he smiles at him from across the room (regardless of whether he was screaming 2 minutes before). When strangers ooh and aah over him he smiles like a little flirt. Basically, his “go to” is happy. Yes, he does get fussy and upset (I mean, he IS a baby), but he seems to have an easy-going, happy temperament. We are lucky. </p>
<p> - Improved on his fine and gross motor skills. He is doing better at tummy time. Instead of just screaming, he lifts up his head and chest and looks around and laughs. And then screams. He is also working on inching forward and squirming to the side. He seems to be working on rolling from back to front and has rolled from front to back once. Also, he is learning to grab things. It is amazing to watch. He slowly and deliberately touches his hanging toys and you can visibly see his brain working as he tries to extend his fingers and then close them around the toy. Once he has a hold, he grabs and shakes it with pride. So fun to watch the changes happen. </p>
<p> - Begun interacting with toys. He has two stuffed animals that he loves – a monkey and a little horsie blanket. He will hug them and suck on them and use them to make himself feel better. He also realized that there is a purpose for his carseat toys instead of just getting in mommy’s way. Oh, and chewing. He has started chewing. He can hold on to Sophie and – sometimes – get her into his own mouth. It’s mostly trial and error, but oh so cute. </p>
<p> - Found his voice. He is cooing and making more and more noises everyday. I absolutely love it. I can’t wait until he can tell me what he’s thinking.</p>
<p> - Grown! I think he is around 15 lbs now. He is in a size 2 diaper and fits in some 3-6 month clothes. I packed up his newborn clothes and took the inserts out of his Mamaroo and carseat. My boy is BIG. </p>
<p>Annnnd that is about enough of this for now. Although I did warn you I was going to use this as a baby book/mental diary, I suppose I should cut myself off before I start writing about his pooping habits (no problems there!). I <i>do</i> hope to get this blog back to something different, and I fully understand if comments plummet in the interim due to my own lack of commenting and the sheer boredom of reading about my son’s fine motor skills, but it is what it is. </p>
<p> I am going to leave you with some questions for other moms and other bloggers. And, as always, I will drop a few photos. </p>
<p><i> Parenting question – What is the deal with this sleep issue? Why are we so heated about it? What works best for YOU?</i> </p>
<p><i>Blogging question – Have you ever reached a stage where you are less interested in blogging? Do you think you write your blog for yourself or for your readers?</p></i>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw-qkAk6B4z9g3DWXsEqiAgMUi1TXKibTMzwUl-1FsiBVC2o1R3FxM1VW7LW8wl4wYgkh01_8ZdxMOOQZHPNxP8ycRixt5ySsVaBEL3QnZc54ciiqwBWYFq75aF-233_uO5psmEBGAyKmn/s1600/DSC00809.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw-qkAk6B4z9g3DWXsEqiAgMUi1TXKibTMzwUl-1FsiBVC2o1R3FxM1VW7LW8wl4wYgkh01_8ZdxMOOQZHPNxP8ycRixt5ySsVaBEL3QnZc54ciiqwBWYFq75aF-233_uO5psmEBGAyKmn/s320/DSC00809.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl0oZoXwN5T_oMcM8pZ_K2f8mnH9r9ldpmOHY3VvGS98JGGAOTjGFbdM6WTno_PAmJe2R28cQmrMaI11MQdXBufNC9-J0ApTXOB3D1l3NyyRhiHINiHptBDSdMTVLzx8NdH3yOvgYhbi9W/s1600/DSC00152.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl0oZoXwN5T_oMcM8pZ_K2f8mnH9r9ldpmOHY3VvGS98JGGAOTjGFbdM6WTno_PAmJe2R28cQmrMaI11MQdXBufNC9-J0ApTXOB3D1l3NyyRhiHINiHptBDSdMTVLzx8NdH3yOvgYhbi9W/s320/DSC00152.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7goEMjIiVOrz1e0yvb-bwc9TvRVuCjOxCUNvxeKM0jL_2Psi9-zBAqy9hU4tnAoQ7nZKExWCwhya5joxyGjZtlVuZztKXDAaklvvdD1yoggI6tfpFFiXcx77m52wTvmKV2khjW1pii-mI/s1600/DSC00908.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7goEMjIiVOrz1e0yvb-bwc9TvRVuCjOxCUNvxeKM0jL_2Psi9-zBAqy9hU4tnAoQ7nZKExWCwhya5joxyGjZtlVuZztKXDAaklvvdD1yoggI6tfpFFiXcx77m52wTvmKV2khjW1pii-mI/s320/DSC00908.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGij6e_LM9LCOnK1zJyfZNj3SiFR2WJB_aEhAos2hRTEJJ7HDUlA8-dkI0-Y5sFy6gXPWKVPJSFoJvEPGsGF4dhYvCBmHAEIija0LAUlyTfZpM2tI5A23hZOSBtG2qJjc2ETVh8TTGomaF/s1600/owenmoby_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGij6e_LM9LCOnK1zJyfZNj3SiFR2WJB_aEhAos2hRTEJJ7HDUlA8-dkI0-Y5sFy6gXPWKVPJSFoJvEPGsGF4dhYvCBmHAEIija0LAUlyTfZpM2tI5A23hZOSBtG2qJjc2ETVh8TTGomaF/s320/owenmoby_n.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFA1N_kLYK-pa9j24bghrDLUa_sAoDJtvQzPfTFz_IEkRioHGILc0HbfdpxLiwZLsbY72ILx0ERTIOtNu_vEoiKl3c2dGFkw2LNy9I6EPLi3_Pm-KuJ3Chpb1OM-5ZJJmorrqYOi3gJXwe/s1600/owenmonkey_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFA1N_kLYK-pa9j24bghrDLUa_sAoDJtvQzPfTFz_IEkRioHGILc0HbfdpxLiwZLsbY72ILx0ERTIOtNu_vEoiKl3c2dGFkw2LNy9I6EPLi3_Pm-KuJ3Chpb1OM-5ZJJmorrqYOi3gJXwe/s320/owenmonkey_n.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRY7PDcfRJKK_NVVg1IMVjgbKXgSDZvh5GEf1X8IRHwqoEiYs65ij5K9yfIxaL712aqgsIZKsZBxExZWZ_Qu0ixrfm3zGoQffUPJ3puHTT5VTF3Jmn5_AuJf2hGXD-JvbdwNrHflvdHCBD/s1600/owensand_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRY7PDcfRJKK_NVVg1IMVjgbKXgSDZvh5GEf1X8IRHwqoEiYs65ij5K9yfIxaL712aqgsIZKsZBxExZWZ_Qu0ixrfm3zGoQffUPJ3puHTT5VTF3Jmn5_AuJf2hGXD-JvbdwNrHflvdHCBD/s320/owensand_n.jpg" /></a></div>JustMehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493032821722724778noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-914382632005868190.post-49320486507721845062013-12-30T17:29:00.000-08:002013-12-30T18:41:40.507-08:00Thriving
<p>Owen had his two month appointment today. He is literally <i>thriving</i>. He gained FOUR pounds in one month! 13 lbs, 3 oz. That is one fat, thriving baby. I take pride in each of his delicious, silky-smooth rolls of fat. Because he and I did that together. </p>
<p>As I watched my son smile and flirt with his all-too-gorgeous doctor and then impress her with his amazing muscle tone while raising his head during tummy time to flirt with himself in the mirror, I realized…we have made it. We have reached the point where I have slid on the mantle of motherhood and wear it gently and calmly. We have a rhythm, a dance, and an ease to the way we interact. He knows me and I know him and we both give to each other. Remember how overwhelmed I was by the symbiosis of breastfeeding? Well, here I am, at my knees with awe at the symbiosis of our relationship.</p>
<p> My little fat, happy, squirmy, man is an integral part of me now. I could list his accomplishments for you – cuddling with his monkey, amazing neck control, turning to make eye contact with us, smiling, smiling, smiling, blowing bubbles, etc, etc, etc – but they would bore you into a glazed over look as you realize that my son is developing right on track. But in my eyes? He is a superstar. I build dreams for what he will do and then quickly tell myself that he can do whatever he wants and doesn’t have to follow any prescribed path I may construct for him. </p>
<p>And me? I am a superstar too. I can stroke his ever-so-soft hair and make his eyes droop and his lips smile. I can get the perfect combo of jiggle-rocking that will put him to sleep even when he’s screaming in protest. I can babywear my baby while housecleaning and feeling oh-so-productive. I can take him on outings and breastfeed in public like it’s no big thing. Basically, I’m a mom. </p>
<p>I realized something about being a parent. I have always loved looking forward to the future, but have never been very good at <i>being in the moment.</i> Parenthood is the best of both worlds. Not only do I get to spend my days looking forward to each new milestone - <i>when will he start grasping? When will he give the first real laugh? I can’t wait until he can sit up!</i> - but I also have learned, for the first time in my life without the assistance of alcohol, to just sit and <i>be</i> in the moment. When Owen was first born, I would need an iPhone, a kindle, or Netflix to entertain me during the endless bouts of breastfeeding. Now, hours will go by where I realize I have just been staring at my son’s eyelashes, petting the cat, complaining over dirt in Owen’s neck folds, and talking to him about nothing at all. This may sound like I have degraded my mental capacity (and I may have), but I like to look at it as if I have become more zen. I am not worrying about paperwork, laundry or other unimportant stuff (like hospital bills??), I am just enjoying my time in the moment. So thank you, Owen, for teaching me that simple yet oh so difficult skill. I may never be so good at it again. </p>
<p> Because I have become so good at being mindful and being in the moment, I haven’t been so skilled at actually <i>documenting</i> the moment, aka blogging! There are so many things I want to blog about – relationships, postpartum sex (!!), mommy friends, maternity leave/going back to work, identity shifts, and all of the goddamn company we have had (no one ever told me that having a baby meant opening a Bed&Breakfast in your house!), but instead of writing these entries, I just stroke my baby’s hair and rock away in the rocking chair. Oh well. </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Before I leave you with a photo montage (because I can’t help myself), I need to acknowledge one thing that happened that really deserves a post of its own, but if I wait around to write it it may never get written and that would just not be fair. Awhile back I shared that our dog <a href="http://bitsinpeaces.blogspot.com/2013/04/quick-update-on-dogs-and-vomit.html">Monte was diagnosed with cancer</a>. We had been fighting it for almost a year and he had been doing really well. But in the past few months he began to deteriorate and the cancer came back. At the end of the pregnancy we were just hoping he could make it to meet Owen. Then we were hoping to get him through the holidays. We got one wish. We got to see him with our baby. Giving him kisses. Dropping toys on his lap when the baby cried. Greeting him at the door with huge licks on the head. Nuzzling his hands. But we didn’t get him through the holidays. The day before Christmas Eve, we had to put Monte down. It was very peaceful, poignant, and tragic. He was my first “baby” and I feel so lucky he was able to stick around to meet Owen. I feel like he knew we were moving from one stage of life to the next and he stayed around long enough to witness it and pass the torch. We will always miss him. </p>
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JustMehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493032821722724778noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-914382632005868190.post-70501539693573088562013-12-19T21:31:00.004-08:002013-12-19T21:31:55.022-08:00Breastfeeding: Making it Work<p>Breastfeeding. This will (hopefully) be the last post I spend on this subject. But I decided, before I move on, that I would like to write more about my experiences with breastfeeding, in the hopes that maybe it will help someone else who reads this. </p>
<p>First of all, as I said before, I never anticipated that I would have a hard time with breastfeeding. Even though I read many accounts about how difficult breastfeeding can be...I never took it to heart. I took a breastfeeding class and was so excited to do it myself. In the hospital, breastfeeding started out just as I imagined. When my baby first latched on, I was amazed and shocked and so proud of my little baby. For those first few days I remember my nipples feeling kind of tender while he nursed, but that tenderness was overshadowed by the uterine cramping and blood pouring out of me every time I nursed. </p>
<p>When I got home, I had a lactation consultant from the birthing center come over to help out, but just because I thought it would be "nice." Not because it would be necessary. She showed us different positions to use in different places around my house and when she left I felt happy and confident. </p>
<p>I'm not sure what went wrong from there. I think that slowly the initial tenderness just became more and more painful until each feeding felt like shards of glass were ripping my breasts apart from the inside. Seriously. Especially the first minute of feeding. I would bite my tongue, curl my toes, and count down inside my head to get through the pain. I know this sounds dramatic, but this is how it was. It got so bad that I would dread having to feed my baby. I'm not going to go into details, because I explained it in another post, but basically the pain of feeding led me to question whether I could continue each time I fed. The first few weeks were interspersed with periods of me sobbing to my mother or husband about how I felt like such a failure. It was only sheer determination that kept me going. Pure and utter stubbornness because I didn't want to give up. </p>
<p>So. The purpose of this post is to talk about what worked and didn't work for me. It is not by any means a prescription for what will work for other women. It's just what worked for me. And if there is a take home message here, I think it should be that breastfeeding can be extremely hard work and you need to find what works for you. </p>
<p><b>Latching</b>. This really is as important as they say. At first, I was convinced that my latch was okay. Why did I think this? Well, every time someone checked me (nurses, lactation consultants, La Leche League leaders, etc), they told me I had a great latch. So I would read materials that stressed the importance of a latch and I would roll my eyes in frustration. But, looking back, I believe this really was the key to my problems. I knew <i>how</i> to latch and was capable of helping Owen latch, but I wasn't consistently getting it right. The more painful the feedings, the more avoidant I was, which created a worse latch, which made me more fearful...enter vicious cycle. This was only worsened by nighttime feedings when I was extra-tired or cluster feedings on the hour. Finally, after another consultation with the LC, I remembered her saying "Just get him on there." From then on, that became my mantra. Stop playing around and just <i>get him on the nipple.</i> I also made sure to focus on scooping him up from below the nipple and really aiming below the nipple, instead of above. I think that this was the primary change that helped me. </p>
<p><b>Nipple Creams.</b> I tried all of them. Medela Lanolin. Lanisoh Lanolin. Hydrogel Pads. Breast milk baths. Boob-Ease Cream. APNO Prescription Ointment. It started to drive me crazy when people would say, <i>"Have you tried...."</i> The answer was always yes. In the end, I think it was a combination of the APNO (1-2x/day) and the BoobEase (similar to MotherLove, natural with olive oil, calendula, etc). However, I can't really say if either cream made a difference because those also happened to be the last ones I used. Everyone swears by <i>some</i> type of cream. I guess my advice here is TRY THEM ALL and find out what works for you. Even now, I still put the BoobEase (seriously, what a name) on my nipples after a particularly voracious feeding session. </p>
<p><b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Lansinoh-70170-Latchassist-Nipple-Everter/dp/B00112EIWW">Latch Assist</a></b> - I wish I had found this earlier. I have flat nipples. That is not something I was ever aware of before. I though all nipples looked like mine? Now 7 weeks in, they aren't as flat as they used to be. But, initially, I think part of the pain during initial latch was him literally sucking my nipples out. POP. The latch assist does this painfully in two seconds. I highly recommend. </p>
<p><b><a href="http://www.mymilkies.com/milksaver">Milk Saver</a></b> This didn't necessarily help me with the pain of breast feeding, but again, I <i>highly</i> recommend this. The point here is to put the Milk Saver on whatever breast you are not feeding on, and it will catch the extra milk. In the beginning, before I regulated, this was a <i>huge</i> deal. It made the difference between being drenched in milk by the end of a 15 minute feeding session. By putting the Milk Saver on, not only did it prep my nipple a little, but I was able to get 3-4 oz per feeding out of just one breast. Amazing! Now that I'm more regulated, I don't need to use it any more. I checked today just to see, and I was only getting about half an oz. </p>
<p> <b>Position</b> This is also highly important. Have you noticed how <i>obsessed</i> the lactation consultants are with positioning? Every time I would have the LC come over, she would show me ways to put arms, footstools to use, and origami designs of pillows. Eventually I learned that not only was it important to be ergonomically correct, but it was much more important to just be comfortable and relaxed. My favorite position started to be Laid Back Breast Feeding. Google it. It's awesome. But basically, I would lie back with the baby on my stomach and let him latch on from below the breast. This seemed to be a good position for latching, but also just emotionally because I felt relaxed. So, what am I saying here? I guess just find a position that you would like to be relaxing in if you didn't happen to be breastfeeding. Get comfy and cozy. Make the best of it!</p>
<p><b>Getting Comfy</b>. Related to getting comfy in positioning, you also need to have all of your "extras" with you. For me, that was a soft pillow, a bottle of water (it makes me SO thirsty!), the Milk Saver, my cell phone, and TV. Yes, TV. TV was pretty much the most important thing for me because it distracted me and allowed me to enjoy the breastfeeding when it wasn't initially so enjoyable. I know it sounds silly, but I'm pretty sure when I started inviting Netflix to the breastfeeding relationship, it all got way better. </p>
<p><b>Taking a Break</b> This was the hardest thing I did. When my left nipple got so bad (literally - NO skin) that I couldn't handle it anymore. I ended up giving my left side a break. This was really, really hard to do because it meant that every time I fed the baby I also had to pump. So picture this - middle of the night feeding on the right side, then rock the baby to sleep, then I'd still have to pump. The other really hard thing about this is I never knew if he was getting enough milk from just one side and so we also were supplementing with bottles of breast milk (thank you Milk Saver!). So, then there was the added stress of bottle feeding and guilt of giving my little baby bottles at 2-3 weeks of age. But, in the long run, this was SO worth it. Watching the skin grow back on my nipple was amazing. </p>
<p><b>Mindset</b>. This is important too. I got stuck in a mindset that it would <i>always</i> be this way. Then, I read something on Esperanza's blog about approaching each session as it's own session. Even if the last session was terrible, that doesn't mean the current one will be bad. And vice versa. It also doesn't mean the pain will go on forever. As a therapist, I had to remind myself to stay away from words like <i>forever, always, worst, unbearable...</i> You get the idea. </p>
<p><b>Time</b>. Everyone says, <i>It gets better with time.</i> The problem with this is, every one has an answer to a question of <i>how much time</i>. At first, everything I read said two weeks. After two weeks it will be better. I remember in the beginning the pain was so bad that I couldn't imagine it going on for two whole weeks. HA. In the end, it took me five weeks. The thing is, the amount of time is different for everyone. But it won't go on forever. The question just is, can you outlast the pain? </p>
<p>I'm sure there is more I could say about this, but I started writing this post almost two weeks ago and I just want to get it published. I will do my best to respond to comments on this post though, so maybe we can get a conversation going. So feel free to ask questions about anything I didn't mention. For example, nipple shields? Yep, tried them. Didn't work. Ouch. Or to leave suggestions on what worked for you. </p>
<p>Before I post this, let me leave you with a Where I Am Now Picture. At 7 weeks, I am in SUCH a different place that even finishing this post - something that seemed so important to me two weeks ago - was hard work for me. Breastfeeding is so easy for me now. I love that I have exactly what my baby needs and it will always calm him when all else fails. I love that I can seduce him into a breastmilk coma in a way that a bottle never can. I love stroking his hair and watching his eyes slowly close as he swallows. It has become so connected, so intimate and...so easy. Thank god. It is also convenient. No more cleaning bottles, pumps, etc. Nothing to bring with us when we go out. I just have everything he needs. And feeding him in the middle of the night? So easy. I just pull him into bed, feed him, and put him back in his bassinet. This is how I hoped it would be. </p>
<p>In sum, I hope that people reading this can see two things. One, if you are having a hard time, you are NOT alone. And two, there is hope at the end of the tunnel. If I can go from crying, sobbing, and feeling like a failure, to feeling like a pro, then there <i>is</i> hope. If you want to make breastfeeding work, the best thing you can do is keep trying to find the unique combination of things that work best for you and your baby and then just <i>give it time.</i> But, if you feel that isn't bearable and you cannot wait it out. Then I totally understand. Every single day I walked the line between quitting and continuing. Whatever each woman decides should be her own choice and she should be respected for that choice. </p>
<p>Wow. This post is disjointed. I wrote it over three periods of time in between baby naps. But you know what? I'm going to post it anyhow. Maybe it will help someone. And I hope it starts a conversation. <i>Please leave comments with what worked for you or what didn't work for you. OR why you decided to keep going or decided to switch to a different method of feeding. And if you have any questions, I will do my best to answer.</i> </p>
JustMehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493032821722724778noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-914382632005868190.post-40462963140246691192013-12-10T21:20:00.001-08:002013-12-10T21:26:54.946-08:00Six Weeks: Emerging Out of Post-Partum<p>40 days post partum is a significant number. Many different cultures have special customs for this 40 day time period. If you don’t believe me, just ask Wikipedia. 40 days is approximately equal to the six-week-period recognized by US disability. AND my 40 days ended on my 32nd birthday this weekend. It’s odd, because I feel like this weekend I crossed over some sort of hurdle into feeling like myself again. </p>
<p>Things I did this weekend that made me feel human:<br>
<br>-Took a long, hot bath.
<br>-Went out for an expensive birthday dinner with my husband while my sister watched Owen.
<br>-Split an expensive bottle of wine with my husband during said dinner. This bottle of wine was the first really expensive bottle of wine we ever splurged on and when we bought it (a few years ago) we said we would drink it after I had our first baby. It was definitely worth the wait. It was also worth pumping and dumping the milk.
<br>-Went grocery shopping by myself while Daddy watched the baby.
<br>-Took a nap with Owen and B, snuggled in bed together.
<br>-Took Owen to a baby shower and showed him off to friends.
<br>-Visited friends who just had a baby and felt like I actually had good advice and wisdom to share.
<br>-Was surprised by a small family birthday party.
<br><br>
Overall, I began to feel like there were other things in my life besides baby. Now, don't take this the wrong way. I’m not saying “everything is better because of the non-baby stuff.” It was a combination of being able to have some time for myself as well as continuing to feel more and more confident and happy in my role as mother. I’m also really enjoying my days home alone with Owen. We have a nice rhythm and I love being able to easily give him what he needs and keep him happy. All of this is tied up with feeling better physically in terms of recovery from labor and breastfeeding, such that I just feel so much more <i>normal</i>. </p>
<p>The bizarreness of it all is that it coincided with the 40 days period of post-partum. Almost as if the traditional 40 days really are a magic number for recovery. Because it was a recovery for me. I know that it's not always like that for everyone, but for me it was a major process. As of this week, the first part of my maternity leave (disability) ends and the second stage (family leave) starts. It really feels like the first six weeks <i>were</i> a disability period for me. I was kind of a mess. Now I am really looking forward to the next 12 weeks of just being with my son and enjoying my time. This morning, when Owen woke up, I pulled him into bed with me and fed him in a side-lying position (the best possible way to breast feed), and then we cuddled together in bed, half asleep. A pretty amazing way to start the next stage of maternity leave, if you ask me. </p>
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<p><b>Me</b> - I am doing SO much better. First of all, breastfeeding. I am back to feeding him on both sides. Which means no more pumping AND feeding, which is such a relief. While it can still be painful at times and my nipples are not fully healed, I am feeling so much more confident about it. At the Mommy group today I fed him like a champ and felt so proud. Physically, we took a really long walk to the beach this weekend and I felt sore afterwards. Sore in my perineal area – ouch. Sore in all of my other neglected muscles – good. My body originally lost a lot of weight and seems to have plateaued. I attribute that to the Holidays and I’m okay with that. In total, I am still up a little over 10 lbs from my pre-pregnancy weight. Finally, I have started looking forward to things in the future and feeling excited about things again. This weekend is my 32nd birthday and I will be going out to dinner with B whilst my sister watches Owen at home. Big deal! </p>
<p><b>Other Stuff</b>- We have taken Owen out to restaurants twice now. I realize other families take their babies out before one month, but that is how long it took us, and I’m trying to be ok with doing things on our own timeline. Owen did great at both meals. I’m thinking I will miss this stage when he can sleep through an entire meal. At the Mommy & Me Group today, we had to say what we had to give up to be a mother. I think I answered that in my post about breastfeeding. Being a mother seems to take away a part of my independence and identity. But, I’m realizing it replaces that with something else entirely. </p>
<p><i>What have you given up to be a mother? This pertains to those of you who are already moms, are currently pregnant, or who are still trying.</i></p>
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