Just to update on the adventures of Sincere-Girl - her cape was pretty ruffled after the trip to the consulate. Didn't handle it nearly as well as she used to. Almost left a poopy diaper on the window of the woman who "helped" with the passport application. The completely condescending lady with the big gold cross on her neck. The Swiss woman who got bitchy at me when I misunderstood her directions because she didn't use the American English version of some terms. Yeah, glad we made it out of there without too much damage to the process.
Passport arrived. We can escape if we want to!
And baby A's birthday, her one-year-old, is coming. During a sleepless night, I've found myself looking up PTSD and colic. Do I actually think I have PTSD? Probably not. I don't know that I get vivid flashbacks of those early months, but I do still get queasy when I see a twin stroller. The thought of another infant makes me scared, as does getting pregnant again. I realized that as I start thinking about her birthday party, I feel a bit of the sadness I felt at Mother's Day. My heartbeat goes up a bit, in an anxious way, when I think about approaching the anniversary of her birth. That's sad.
As if we might re-live all the things that hit us so hard - the difficult labor, the C-section, the problems (and not great solutions) breastfeeding, the nights of her screaming and no sleep, the confusion and sadness of how this was supposed to be such a happy time ("oh, when she gets older you'll miss those newborn times") of bonding, and quiet cuddling and turned out to be so hard on us, on marriage, on everything.
In a way, I'm looking forward to writing over the coming 5-6 months. How horrible is that? But I am. To replace fear with calm, sadness with laughter, confusion with getting to know our beautiful little toddler better. And I hope that at some point I might feel twinges of happy and not just sad on her birthday. It has to happen eventually, right?
I think it will. I just know that this first birthday is going to be a bit mixed for me. I'm sorry about that, little one.
On a lighter note, from Baby A's first two friends' birthday parties I've learned a lot about what a room full of babies and toddlers need to have a good time: novel crackers, and a bunch of helium balloons. And each other. That, we can manage.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Sincere-Girl to the rescue
Everyone has some. They may not include flying, X-ray vision, or being able to figure out where the controls are in an invisible jet. They are usually more subtle, these superpowers. I have a few - being totally submissive to the point of self-deprecating (stop laughing, you people who know me personally...I only bring this power out under extreme circumstances), and I almost always find a parking space. The latter power I attribute to being an only child, and the belief that there will always be a space for me. Maybe it nudges me to go around the parking lot just one more time, but I have an impressive record. I don't mean I can find a space in a half-empty lot. I mean I can find a space near the front at the airport, or curbside in downtown Chicago at peak parking hours.
But back to that first power. There is a part of me that has always wanted to be really smart, and I think that once I went through astronomy coursework, that part settled down a bit. Not in class, or among other astronomers, but in civilian life. And the fact that I've passed a differential equations class, opens up this other part of me that can eat crow like its a slice White Chocolate Raspberry cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory.
"Oh, I know, I'm just so silly."
"I'm so sorry to inconvenience you."
"Yes, it really is dumb of me. Hee hee, what would I do without your help."
You need me to be stupid so that you can feel better? Well, if you have something I really want, I can be dumb as dirt. No problem. I can hide every last bit of sarcasm from my voice, my face, my being (maybe that is the REAL superpower) for the time period we have to interact.
I discovered this power while at a university where the front desk individuals at my dorm got practically drunk with power by making the students feel dumb. The more they could feel superior, the faster they helped you. And one night, I stood at that front desk in bare feet and pajamas, having locked myself out of my room. I was cold, tired and really just wanted to go to my warm fluffy bed. And, POOF, Sincere-Girl came out. I got the extra key, ran back to open my door, returned the key and was asleep in minutes.
So when a recent phone call from the consulate office here in town started with "This is the first time you've applied for citizenship for a child of yours? Yeah, I could tell by how badly you filled out the form," Sincere-Girl should really have been answered. She was probably untangling her cape after getting of that first bus we'd just been on, so instead Normal-Me took the phone and almost said something like "Wow, you're kind of bitchy for being the public face of the USA in a foreign country, huh?" Luckily, Sincere-Girl heard that first sentence, and quickly grabbed the phone from Normal-Me and just said "Mm-hm, yeah!" We jostled back and forth a bit for control of our side of the conversation, past screwy consulate non-logic and stupid requirements that are totally useless. In the end, the superhero took over, and we have an appointment for baby A's passport application.
Sincere-Girl is getting ready for the meeting, at which both M and Baby A also have to be present. Luckily, Baby A doesn't speak English yet, but I've informed M that he will spend the time holding, calming and engaging Baby A. Under no circumstances, except for building-wide fire, will Arguing-Logic-Academic-Man come out. I think we'll do okay. I just need to leave a bit of time that morning before we go to iron my cape and flex my eyebrows to make sure they can be adequately contrite.
P.S. Every superhero also has a weakness, and mine is lines. Don't ever, EVER, get in line behind me. I always pick the line which will, in the time AFTER I join it, go pear-shaped. We're talking the security at the airport finds a live cat eating a stolen Buddhist statue inside the carry-on of the person in front of me. Or the customer ahead of me decides to pay for $100 worth of groceries in pennies. After I've stepped into the line. Or, the car in front of mine at the Canadian border is a low-rider, with anti-government stickers on it, and a guy who suddenly decides to argue with the border agent (who, in that instance, had just come on shift and was the most ornery guys I've ever met, 20 minutes later when we finally got to him).
But back to that first power. There is a part of me that has always wanted to be really smart, and I think that once I went through astronomy coursework, that part settled down a bit. Not in class, or among other astronomers, but in civilian life. And the fact that I've passed a differential equations class, opens up this other part of me that can eat crow like its a slice White Chocolate Raspberry cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory.
"Oh, I know, I'm just so silly."
"I'm so sorry to inconvenience you."
"Yes, it really is dumb of me. Hee hee, what would I do without your help."
You need me to be stupid so that you can feel better? Well, if you have something I really want, I can be dumb as dirt. No problem. I can hide every last bit of sarcasm from my voice, my face, my being (maybe that is the REAL superpower) for the time period we have to interact.
I discovered this power while at a university where the front desk individuals at my dorm got practically drunk with power by making the students feel dumb. The more they could feel superior, the faster they helped you. And one night, I stood at that front desk in bare feet and pajamas, having locked myself out of my room. I was cold, tired and really just wanted to go to my warm fluffy bed. And, POOF, Sincere-Girl came out. I got the extra key, ran back to open my door, returned the key and was asleep in minutes.
So when a recent phone call from the consulate office here in town started with "This is the first time you've applied for citizenship for a child of yours? Yeah, I could tell by how badly you filled out the form," Sincere-Girl should really have been answered. She was probably untangling her cape after getting of that first bus we'd just been on, so instead Normal-Me took the phone and almost said something like "Wow, you're kind of bitchy for being the public face of the USA in a foreign country, huh?" Luckily, Sincere-Girl heard that first sentence, and quickly grabbed the phone from Normal-Me and just said "Mm-hm, yeah!" We jostled back and forth a bit for control of our side of the conversation, past screwy consulate non-logic and stupid requirements that are totally useless. In the end, the superhero took over, and we have an appointment for baby A's passport application.
Sincere-Girl is getting ready for the meeting, at which both M and Baby A also have to be present. Luckily, Baby A doesn't speak English yet, but I've informed M that he will spend the time holding, calming and engaging Baby A. Under no circumstances, except for building-wide fire, will Arguing-Logic-Academic-Man come out. I think we'll do okay. I just need to leave a bit of time that morning before we go to iron my cape and flex my eyebrows to make sure they can be adequately contrite.
P.S. Every superhero also has a weakness, and mine is lines. Don't ever, EVER, get in line behind me. I always pick the line which will, in the time AFTER I join it, go pear-shaped. We're talking the security at the airport finds a live cat eating a stolen Buddhist statue inside the carry-on of the person in front of me. Or the customer ahead of me decides to pay for $100 worth of groceries in pennies. After I've stepped into the line. Or, the car in front of mine at the Canadian border is a low-rider, with anti-government stickers on it, and a guy who suddenly decides to argue with the border agent (who, in that instance, had just come on shift and was the most ornery guys I've ever met, 20 minutes later when we finally got to him).
Thursday, September 30, 2010
The true test of a diverse workplace
The directions option for Google maps lets me choose: by car, by public transport, or walking. And even the public transport option for Zurich includes a fair bit of walking. In a place this hilly, those "3 blocks" can mean all stairs. Many paths exist for going up and down the hills, "weg" this and "weg" that. Only a small fraction of them have any sort of ramps for strollers or wheelchairs.
Then there is the iCal function on my phone. I can set recurring events for hourly, daily, weekly, or monthly. Alas, as one of my recent, fairly emotional, posts can attest to, the Apple software does not come with a "once every 26-28 days" option.
I'm going to say that there are still not enough women working at either Google or Apple.
(What is good exercise for a pregnant lady is pretty much impossible with a stroller. 100 stairs on the walking part of Google directions.)
Then there is the iCal function on my phone. I can set recurring events for hourly, daily, weekly, or monthly. Alas, as one of my recent, fairly emotional, posts can attest to, the Apple software does not come with a "once every 26-28 days" option.
I'm going to say that there are still not enough women working at either Google or Apple.
(What is good exercise for a pregnant lady is pretty much impossible with a stroller. 100 stairs on the walking part of Google directions.)
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
We could be heroes
I went out tonight. Baby A finally fell asleep (I tell you what, wow, how I practiced calm breathing) about 7:45pm and the show began at 8pm. I did a lot of mental "it is okay if we miss some. Even if we don't go" as I rocked her. Japanese food delivery bento box in hand, contents gulped down in the taxi, M and I rushed to the Peter Gabriel orchestral show, New Blood.
We had 4th row seats. It was every bit as moving, inspiring, entertaining, delightful and powerful as I expected. And being that close...was nice.
I saw him almost 8 years ago last time. The show was more theatrical, with conventional drums, bass, etc., and although it was all of the things I just said, it was also an experience that left me with a sadness. He is one of those people (like Julie Taymor, Jim Henson, Robin Williams) who you just know is doing what he was meant to do. Playing to all his skills and practically taking flight with the rightness and mastery of it. I find watching people like this a transcendent experience. A spiritual experience. And 8 years ago I had yet to find anything like that fit for myself. I was still in astronomy, hating it, and feeling every day what a bad fit it was, but terrified to try anything else.
When I switched into education, started working on museum projects and writing about learning and science, I started to find my wings. I finally understood what it was like to be excited as a graduate student and to have confidence in my own skills and potential.
I haven't written any best-selling books on academia, or designed any planetarium experiences that others would leave from transformed, but I know I might. I didn't leave the concert tonight with that sadness and longing. I'll get back to my stuff eventually, in a few months. I'll find ways to work on projects that inspire people. And to keep following my voice.
It was a good day.
We had 4th row seats. It was every bit as moving, inspiring, entertaining, delightful and powerful as I expected. And being that close...was nice.
I saw him almost 8 years ago last time. The show was more theatrical, with conventional drums, bass, etc., and although it was all of the things I just said, it was also an experience that left me with a sadness. He is one of those people (like Julie Taymor, Jim Henson, Robin Williams) who you just know is doing what he was meant to do. Playing to all his skills and practically taking flight with the rightness and mastery of it. I find watching people like this a transcendent experience. A spiritual experience. And 8 years ago I had yet to find anything like that fit for myself. I was still in astronomy, hating it, and feeling every day what a bad fit it was, but terrified to try anything else.
When I switched into education, started working on museum projects and writing about learning and science, I started to find my wings. I finally understood what it was like to be excited as a graduate student and to have confidence in my own skills and potential.
I haven't written any best-selling books on academia, or designed any planetarium experiences that others would leave from transformed, but I know I might. I didn't leave the concert tonight with that sadness and longing. I'll get back to my stuff eventually, in a few months. I'll find ways to work on projects that inspire people. And to keep following my voice.
It was a good day.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Silly paperwork required.
A few years ago, I went to see a solar eclipse in Africa. M and I had already been trying to get pregnant for at least a year and a half at the time, and I bought a fertility symbol, and a bunch of baby clothes from a women's batik/sewing cooperative called Global Mamas. In cute, bright colors, three dresses and a romper. Both purchases were made as a sign of great hope that we could conceive.
When I got back, the clothes were stored away, in a box with fabric, in our extra bedroom. Two years later, and while packing the house to move Switzerland, I finally found out I was pregnant. I had already given away a few "maternity" type dresses a month earlier that my friend K had helped me let go of. I had kept them for so long and they represented a strange mix of sadness and hope. As with many of the clothes she helped me get rid of, the phrase "Can you honor the thought behind the item (uuuugly maternity dress, gift I never wore, etc.) and then let it go?"
Yup, you bet. The uuuugly dress went away. "You'll get some much cuter maternity stuff anyway when you get pregnant, to celebrate." was K's reasoning. But the baby clothes I kept because I could still always give them as a gift.
Now, they were packed in a box with itemized contents, so I could definitely find them for summer once the baby came. We got to Zurich, and the guest apartment, things got unpacked and repacked, and we moved to our current place. And the baby clothes disappeared.
I have looked everywhere for them. I can't even remember if I saw them in the guest apartment, but assume I must have because that box was itemized and they were in there. I have found every single other thing I packed. I have searched and re-searched the apartment and the storage unit. And finally I just mentally let go of the clothes. Summer is ending, and I will try to order one replacement dress on-line. It won't be the same, with the same meaning, yearning, full of good wishes and hope, but it can take on a new meaning.
Well, in the ridiculously complex process for getting baby A's US passport and consular report of birth abroad, we need not only our original birth certificates issued in the last 6 months, but also a marriage license the same, and to prove that one of us lived in the US for 5 years in a row after age 14. Really? Really, you can't take IRS and border control information. I need to get grad school transcripts, too, to prove my residence? Really?
So today I was looking for my old passport to find some dates (month AND day) of trips out of the US, and I needed to get into the lock box. It is one of those fireproof cases, where we've always kept things we want to save in a fire. I figured that was the most likely place I've stored my old passport. After an hour of searching for the key, I finally opened it.
No passport, no marriage license, no vaccination records. Just 4 things inside the lockbox. Not even important papers.
Here they are.
A part of me finally exhaled. I can't believe I finally found them. I was sure they were lost.
They are even big enough for baby A to wear next summer.
Now, where's my old passport?
When I got back, the clothes were stored away, in a box with fabric, in our extra bedroom. Two years later, and while packing the house to move Switzerland, I finally found out I was pregnant. I had already given away a few "maternity" type dresses a month earlier that my friend K had helped me let go of. I had kept them for so long and they represented a strange mix of sadness and hope. As with many of the clothes she helped me get rid of, the phrase "Can you honor the thought behind the item (uuuugly maternity dress, gift I never wore, etc.) and then let it go?"
Yup, you bet. The uuuugly dress went away. "You'll get some much cuter maternity stuff anyway when you get pregnant, to celebrate." was K's reasoning. But the baby clothes I kept because I could still always give them as a gift.
Now, they were packed in a box with itemized contents, so I could definitely find them for summer once the baby came. We got to Zurich, and the guest apartment, things got unpacked and repacked, and we moved to our current place. And the baby clothes disappeared.
I have looked everywhere for them. I can't even remember if I saw them in the guest apartment, but assume I must have because that box was itemized and they were in there. I have found every single other thing I packed. I have searched and re-searched the apartment and the storage unit. And finally I just mentally let go of the clothes. Summer is ending, and I will try to order one replacement dress on-line. It won't be the same, with the same meaning, yearning, full of good wishes and hope, but it can take on a new meaning.
Well, in the ridiculously complex process for getting baby A's US passport and consular report of birth abroad, we need not only our original birth certificates issued in the last 6 months, but also a marriage license the same, and to prove that one of us lived in the US for 5 years in a row after age 14. Really? Really, you can't take IRS and border control information. I need to get grad school transcripts, too, to prove my residence? Really?
So today I was looking for my old passport to find some dates (month AND day) of trips out of the US, and I needed to get into the lock box. It is one of those fireproof cases, where we've always kept things we want to save in a fire. I figured that was the most likely place I've stored my old passport. After an hour of searching for the key, I finally opened it.
No passport, no marriage license, no vaccination records. Just 4 things inside the lockbox. Not even important papers.
Here they are.
A part of me finally exhaled. I can't believe I finally found them. I was sure they were lost.
They are even big enough for baby A to wear next summer.
Now, where's my old passport?
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Always 10 steps ahead
I fast forward a lot. I extrapolate, two, five, ten steps ahead of here and now.
Sometimes it is helpful, with a hint of side-show freaky. Like when I have 6 different
errands all in my head, mapped out (usually within a few seconds) based on not having to make left turns in a car. Or the order in which to do 10 things before boarding a train, to minimize how long it will take.
I do this with some sort of "when it is all done, then I can relax" notion in my head, I think. And unless I am alone, and not responsible for anyone else but me, and in a sealed room with no phone,...it works just like that. As soon as another person or the outside world, or heck, even a flu virus, get wind of this thinking, they all rush in and ruin my perfect little world where I get that International Foods coffee moment at the end of all the effort.
And this has been causing me a lot of grief with parenting. Even knowing that the crappy fake but sweet and easy coffee moments don't happen, the 10 steps ahead stuff gets me into trouble. Like this evening.
Baby A had what I might actually call her first tantrum when she woke up from a late, much needed nap that had been really hard to get her to take in the first place. Let's just say, he didn't wake up in a good mental space. One of those, inhale sharply, pop up on all fours immediately wakings she does so often that would have benefited greatly from me popping up and rocking her back to sleep for another 5 minutes even.
Well, I didn't do that this time, because it is hard to tell, and it was late in the day, and if she slept too long then what happened to her being hungry and me needing to give her that medicated bath for her horrible rash that isn't getting better, and I didn't want to bathe her after a meal because what if she threw up in the bath and I had to start over and I'm already tired, and she doesn't feel good, and M is out of town and I should try to keep her to a schedule because I don't want her to freak out too much and make bedtime even worse for her which will make me upset and I'm on my own with this and I get angry sometimes and I so don't want to be that way tonight and....
So I was going to talk about the screaming in the bath and my decision matrix failing me at that point, but apparently my issues with the fast forward are quite adequately covered by the 5 minutes before the bath.
The more I go down this path (and I'm a long distance runner where this stuff is concerned), the worse place I get to in terms of being flexible. And being flexible seems to me to be one of the best skills to cultivate for myself with baby A. And then I'm right back in this nasty power struggle place, where I'm fighting some "good fight" to keep the baby seated in the tub even though she's tired and upset and nothing is calming down. It really bites me in the ass, this tendency. A lot right now.
And as with many other mental habits, it was really useful at some point in my life, in another situation. To get a bagillion things done in a day. Okay, it was at least helpful toward that goal. The goal itself was a bit messed up. But it is so completely un-useful, to the point of being harmful to my connecting with my kid and noticing what she needs and letting myself do that. And it is faulty reasoning, because I have NO IDEA what this kid will do next, and I'm still learning, and she's changing all the time. My intuition can be totally wrong in these situations.
So I'm trying my best to keep reminding myself to just fix the situation in the moment, without all the what-ifs and but-thens. To trust baby A instead of my fears of some dystopian, Nanny 911 family. It is amazing how quickly I can get from a screaming child in a tub to visions of a future sociopath I raised who is being hunted by the Law & Order police. Why I go to those places in my mind, I'm not totally sure. Probably something to do with the "evil all around you just waiting to tempt you, bait you, pull you down" messages I learned as a child.
Anyway, that's my "work" right now. To stop jumping out of the moment. To just stay put, and do the best things to calm down the current situation in front of me. And I find it extremely hard. Surprisingly hard, given how useful it would be to stop jumping ahead like that. Bow to your sensei.
Sometimes it is helpful, with a hint of side-show freaky. Like when I have 6 different
errands all in my head, mapped out (usually within a few seconds) based on not having to make left turns in a car. Or the order in which to do 10 things before boarding a train, to minimize how long it will take.
I do this with some sort of "when it is all done, then I can relax" notion in my head, I think. And unless I am alone, and not responsible for anyone else but me, and in a sealed room with no phone,...it works just like that. As soon as another person or the outside world, or heck, even a flu virus, get wind of this thinking, they all rush in and ruin my perfect little world where I get that International Foods coffee moment at the end of all the effort.
And this has been causing me a lot of grief with parenting. Even knowing that the crappy fake but sweet and easy coffee moments don't happen, the 10 steps ahead stuff gets me into trouble. Like this evening.
Baby A had what I might actually call her first tantrum when she woke up from a late, much needed nap that had been really hard to get her to take in the first place. Let's just say, he didn't wake up in a good mental space. One of those, inhale sharply, pop up on all fours immediately wakings she does so often that would have benefited greatly from me popping up and rocking her back to sleep for another 5 minutes even.
Well, I didn't do that this time, because it is hard to tell, and it was late in the day, and if she slept too long then what happened to her being hungry and me needing to give her that medicated bath for her horrible rash that isn't getting better, and I didn't want to bathe her after a meal because what if she threw up in the bath and I had to start over and I'm already tired, and she doesn't feel good, and M is out of town and I should try to keep her to a schedule because I don't want her to freak out too much and make bedtime even worse for her which will make me upset and I'm on my own with this and I get angry sometimes and I so don't want to be that way tonight and....
So I was going to talk about the screaming in the bath and my decision matrix failing me at that point, but apparently my issues with the fast forward are quite adequately covered by the 5 minutes before the bath.
The more I go down this path (and I'm a long distance runner where this stuff is concerned), the worse place I get to in terms of being flexible. And being flexible seems to me to be one of the best skills to cultivate for myself with baby A. And then I'm right back in this nasty power struggle place, where I'm fighting some "good fight" to keep the baby seated in the tub even though she's tired and upset and nothing is calming down. It really bites me in the ass, this tendency. A lot right now.
And as with many other mental habits, it was really useful at some point in my life, in another situation. To get a bagillion things done in a day. Okay, it was at least helpful toward that goal. The goal itself was a bit messed up. But it is so completely un-useful, to the point of being harmful to my connecting with my kid and noticing what she needs and letting myself do that. And it is faulty reasoning, because I have NO IDEA what this kid will do next, and I'm still learning, and she's changing all the time. My intuition can be totally wrong in these situations.
So I'm trying my best to keep reminding myself to just fix the situation in the moment, without all the what-ifs and but-thens. To trust baby A instead of my fears of some dystopian, Nanny 911 family. It is amazing how quickly I can get from a screaming child in a tub to visions of a future sociopath I raised who is being hunted by the Law & Order police. Why I go to those places in my mind, I'm not totally sure. Probably something to do with the "evil all around you just waiting to tempt you, bait you, pull you down" messages I learned as a child.
Anyway, that's my "work" right now. To stop jumping out of the moment. To just stay put, and do the best things to calm down the current situation in front of me. And I find it extremely hard. Surprisingly hard, given how useful it would be to stop jumping ahead like that. Bow to your sensei.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Familiarity breeds content
Everything is new this year. Everything is unfamiliar. My address, my phone number, my furniture, the language I need to speak in to do my shopping and errands everyday, a baby, my body, my shoe size, the "usual" things I cook and eat, banking and bill paying, garbage and recycling rules, the seasons, the customs, the holidays, the sky and the landscape, where to find light bulbs and baking soda, the people in my life.
It is all new, all at once. It gets overwhelming sometimes. To a point where I've realized how much I need to burrow into familiarity every few days. I seek out Starbucks, or an English-speaking butcher, or the International Herald Tribune's daily crossword, just to feel a bit less adrift sometimes. And no, I'm not currently learning German. I know a bit, but I'm still learning mothering, and expat-ing, and stay-at-homing, and all these other skills.
I confessed to M the other day that I don't know if I actually have the capacity left in me to learn the 3, randomly assigned, German articles that take the place of the English "the." I really feel like I may not have the brain space left for them. Vocabulary words, nouns, I'm adding a few every few months. But imagine then needing to learn a second part of each word. I don't think there is room left.
So I watch BBC on TV instead of the local channels. I ask visitors to bring Whole Foods peanut butter and oatmeal. I have images of New England on my computer wallpaper. It keeps me a bit more sane in a sea of novelty.
I've realized, too, that although I still have my friend-making skills, my life right now makes it near impossible to keep up with them like I would have pre-baby A. So I'm feeling a bit disconnected. Like I've said "I'd love to, but we can't right now," a few too many times this month. How many times can a person regretfully decline invitations before they stop being invited to things?
I guess I'm going to find out.
It is all new, all at once. It gets overwhelming sometimes. To a point where I've realized how much I need to burrow into familiarity every few days. I seek out Starbucks, or an English-speaking butcher, or the International Herald Tribune's daily crossword, just to feel a bit less adrift sometimes. And no, I'm not currently learning German. I know a bit, but I'm still learning mothering, and expat-ing, and stay-at-homing, and all these other skills.
I confessed to M the other day that I don't know if I actually have the capacity left in me to learn the 3, randomly assigned, German articles that take the place of the English "the." I really feel like I may not have the brain space left for them. Vocabulary words, nouns, I'm adding a few every few months. But imagine then needing to learn a second part of each word. I don't think there is room left.
So I watch BBC on TV instead of the local channels. I ask visitors to bring Whole Foods peanut butter and oatmeal. I have images of New England on my computer wallpaper. It keeps me a bit more sane in a sea of novelty.
I've realized, too, that although I still have my friend-making skills, my life right now makes it near impossible to keep up with them like I would have pre-baby A. So I'm feeling a bit disconnected. Like I've said "I'd love to, but we can't right now," a few too many times this month. How many times can a person regretfully decline invitations before they stop being invited to things?
I guess I'm going to find out.
Friday, September 17, 2010
The plural of anecdote is data.
Well, it can be.
I both hate and love online parenting forums and discussions because they can make me feel totally horrible about myself, like a parenting super-failure, or they can make me feel normal again. The latter kind are the data of which I speak.
After a 5-7am mama-as-doorstop session, I was googling "fidgety kicking baby sleep" this morning and stumbled on a blog entry followed by a slew of comments by parents with kids like mine. Not the same age, not all girls, and definitely not all born in Switzerland. But these kids all seem to perform the same sleep gymnastics that Baby A does. I say she tries to bench-press me off the bed, they call it Kung Fu hour, and Olympic sports trials. They speak of trying to calm flailing little legs and arms that constantly wake the owner by....GASP....practically immobilizing their kids with wraps, parent legs and arms, you name it. Just like I've done.
And, just like for me, it works. About half of the time. The other half of the time, the mini-gymnast just gets pissed off and screams their head off. Yup, that sounds about right.
All of a sudden, as I'm chuckling about another parent's description of the same thing I've been though, I feel okay. I feel lighter. I even sign in and write a comment. Not only is the flailing happening to other babies, but so is the parental exhaustion and the being screamed at, loudly, when executing a move that just worked this morning. The pressure is off again. My kid is just a wiggly. Like all these other babies that parents are posting about. We've gone to doctors and read books, and we're all still no further in finding a solution to the wiggles. But boy is it nice to know there are others out there.
That transformation through mutual understanding is what makes it not only data, but very valuable data to me. When someone can describe many aspects of my kid's movement habits, even more accurately than I can, it is data. When the same 5 or 6 traits come up over and over again in these comments - fidgety, early development, sleeps in a swing, swaddling not working after about 4 months when the kids just get really good at escape, knocking binkies out of mouths, Kung Fu time, I consider that data.
Whether or not there is an explanation, there is a common experience, which is data.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Miracle of Mindfulness
Along with above-mentioned book, I packed my iPhone, my laptop, another book, and picked up an International Herald Tribune on the way in to Baby A's daycare. I may have missed the point of the first title this morning.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
That dude outside
Am I normal? Is what I do, want, think, believe normal? Some of us spend time comparing ourselves to others to see if we are “normal” in whatever way concerns us. In work, in child-rearing, in dressing, in talking, you name it. We think that others know what normal is, or just are normal and we might not be. But here is the thing that really surprised me about normal when I read about it for my dissertation – it is constructed by everyone around us, including us. We have such a hard time finding “normal” because it is constantly being defined and redefined around us and by us.
A friend of mine was visiting us last week and recalled when I’d first met her (we were both still pregnant) and told her I was looking for a counselor locally who could deal with postpartum depression because I thought I was at higher risk for it. She said something about the exchange like “you just acted so matter-of-fact about it and I thought, wow, she’s this totally normal woman and just brought up counseling like it was nothing strange. I can do that, too.” It reminded me of something I think is related to academic culture – a person can redefine normal by acting as if what they are doing is normal.
The few talks I’ve given about my research, I’ve spent the talk sitting down in front of the audience. I chose to do this, first, because it is not what “normally” happens at an academic talk. It is one of those little rules that everyone learns by watching and no one ever has to be told by their advisor “you stand up when you give a science talk.” It happens at journal clubs, conferences and class presentations. Humans are good at picking up on this type of, everyone-else-is-doing-it, norms. When someone breaks this rule, people use humor, ridicule, or gossip to comment on it to others and reinforce that it was a break from what is supposed to happen. “What was X thinking, sitting down during journal club? How rude/strange/flippant/naïve.”
But I think there is a power to flipping the situation around, that only a few people ever use, but can change how the action is perceived. If the person engaged in the “deviant” behavior acts as if it is normal, instead of apologizing or being embarrassed, she can start to shake up the process. Suddenly, if X comes out journal club and says to the group “I sit because I concentrate better that way and I think it makes my journal club presentations better – isn’t that the goal?” maybe the group starts to rethink the point of the standing up “rule.” The real power to redefine (or challenge) the concept of sitting as normal, though, happens if X makes that statement in a tone of voice that is completely unapologetic, maybe even slightly mystified, the way you might defend a normal behavior to someone who doesn’t understand your culture. “Um, of course I picked up that piece of litter, that’s what we DO here.” Duh. If you can hold that line, other people start to waiver a bit.
So I’m saying there is a bit of a game of “who blinks first” going on. If you can hold your line, and act as if what you’ve just done is normal (whether or not you believe it), others start to think about what you’ve done normal. Or at least more normal than before, if you’ve broken some norm of behavior within your group. Whether you are a pregnant woman telling a new acquaintance that you are looking for a therapist and that you’ve been depressed in the past, or a science instructor who announces to the class that you keep having problems working with log-normal plots, if you can say it matter-of-factly and act as if it is okay, it starts to become ok. We are all involved in defining, and redefining normal, in the groups we are part of. This is a powerful role that can help us change all sorts of things around us.
Just to be clear, I’m not advocating doing this with sexually harassing your students, or spitting into someone else’s dinner plate. And there is an extreme example in front of me as I write this. A guy who has been talking to himself – and not apologetically, or embarrassed when someone looks at him – and after speaking with the café manager, seems to be collecting the white pebbles out of the mostly grey gravel in out in front. This guy is not going by many norms shared by those around him, for whatever reason. And at some point, he may get shooed away, or arrested, if his non-normal behavior keeps going. There is a point at which you can act as normal as you want about your behavior but you’re going to get in trouble for it.
A friend of mine was visiting us last week and recalled when I’d first met her (we were both still pregnant) and told her I was looking for a counselor locally who could deal with postpartum depression because I thought I was at higher risk for it. She said something about the exchange like “you just acted so matter-of-fact about it and I thought, wow, she’s this totally normal woman and just brought up counseling like it was nothing strange. I can do that, too.” It reminded me of something I think is related to academic culture – a person can redefine normal by acting as if what they are doing is normal.
The few talks I’ve given about my research, I’ve spent the talk sitting down in front of the audience. I chose to do this, first, because it is not what “normally” happens at an academic talk. It is one of those little rules that everyone learns by watching and no one ever has to be told by their advisor “you stand up when you give a science talk.” It happens at journal clubs, conferences and class presentations. Humans are good at picking up on this type of, everyone-else-is-doing-it, norms. When someone breaks this rule, people use humor, ridicule, or gossip to comment on it to others and reinforce that it was a break from what is supposed to happen. “What was X thinking, sitting down during journal club? How rude/strange/flippant/naïve.”
But I think there is a power to flipping the situation around, that only a few people ever use, but can change how the action is perceived. If the person engaged in the “deviant” behavior acts as if it is normal, instead of apologizing or being embarrassed, she can start to shake up the process. Suddenly, if X comes out journal club and says to the group “I sit because I concentrate better that way and I think it makes my journal club presentations better – isn’t that the goal?” maybe the group starts to rethink the point of the standing up “rule.” The real power to redefine (or challenge) the concept of sitting as normal, though, happens if X makes that statement in a tone of voice that is completely unapologetic, maybe even slightly mystified, the way you might defend a normal behavior to someone who doesn’t understand your culture. “Um, of course I picked up that piece of litter, that’s what we DO here.” Duh. If you can hold that line, other people start to waiver a bit.
So I’m saying there is a bit of a game of “who blinks first” going on. If you can hold your line, and act as if what you’ve just done is normal (whether or not you believe it), others start to think about what you’ve done normal. Or at least more normal than before, if you’ve broken some norm of behavior within your group. Whether you are a pregnant woman telling a new acquaintance that you are looking for a therapist and that you’ve been depressed in the past, or a science instructor who announces to the class that you keep having problems working with log-normal plots, if you can say it matter-of-factly and act as if it is okay, it starts to become ok. We are all involved in defining, and redefining normal, in the groups we are part of. This is a powerful role that can help us change all sorts of things around us.
Just to be clear, I’m not advocating doing this with sexually harassing your students, or spitting into someone else’s dinner plate. And there is an extreme example in front of me as I write this. A guy who has been talking to himself – and not apologetically, or embarrassed when someone looks at him – and after speaking with the café manager, seems to be collecting the white pebbles out of the mostly grey gravel in out in front. This guy is not going by many norms shared by those around him, for whatever reason. And at some point, he may get shooed away, or arrested, if his non-normal behavior keeps going. There is a point at which you can act as normal as you want about your behavior but you’re going to get in trouble for it.
Bedtime blues...and red (shudder)
Baby A and I had quite the afternoon yesterday. Let’s just say a lot of crying happened around nap time. And while I had a bloody nose in the morning from my cold, she managed a bloody mouth from something she did while seriously protesting being in her crib. I have no idea how she did that to her gums, but I was pretty freaked out when I first picked her up in the dark and saw dark red on her chin.
Other than those 2 minutes each of bleeding, we were okay, but in the middle of the 5-step process that she seems to need most days to fall asleep, I just realized I can’t keep doing that. It makes me tired of being a mom. Hold her, sway her, bounce her while walking, bounce her while sitting, let her roll around on the big bed to settle down. It is too much, too many options, and it turns her into a too finely-tuned baby. Not for her, but for me.
Really, as with most other realizations, it is a realization about myself, borne out of frustration. I’m not super-mom. I don’t have the patience, when I’m tired (especially then…I don’t do tired very gracefully), to go through all those steps calmly. I just want it to be over, at least for my part to be over. I want to sit down, lay down, just rest, even if on the floor. I realized it is okay for me to be the kind of person who is not so great when she is tired.
And while it is my responsibility to keep trying to get enough rest, and put sleep ahead of a lot of other things I might also want to do, it is okay that Baby A has to meet me a bit more towards center. Not because it is fair or not, but because I can’t do more than that sometimes. Because her mama is imperfect and that is totally okay. It is okay that I disappoint her sometimes and that she knows I’m not superwoman. And I think it is much better than being angry with her, for me to fall short of some of her ideals.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t think my 9 month old baby should learn to put on her own pajamas, make her own bottle, or even scream herself to sleep. I just mean that I’m coming to the realization that it is okay that I may only have enough in me to sway with patience, and I don’t have to be embarrassed (and then angry at her for asking more of me), if she cries a bit more than if I could bounce and walk, too. This morning, she cried a bit in my arms, screamed a few times while arching, and then, as I kept really nicely calm and kept swaying, she readjusted once more in my arms and fell asleep. It was all I had for her, and it turned out to be enough. She met me a little bit closer to center.
We’re starting to read a few books (I know, I know, but they come recommended this time) about sleeping and babies. Granted, head hitting the crib bars or whatever that messed up thing is that brought about a bloody gum, we’re not going to let her go that far when we can help it. This baby isn’t made to be left completely on her own to figure out sleep. But her mama isn’t made to completely put her to sleep every night, either. And that is okay. She doesn’t have to make it to some classic, babble for 5 min and drift off stage. Because I don’t think she can handle it. And in our family, I’ve decided that it is okay for each of us to have some things we can’t handle and for everyone else to pitch in (in whatever way they can, big or small) on those issues. It is part of self-acceptance for Baby A, learning by seeing us accept our own limits. Without shame or guilt. Practicing being complete beings, just as we are.
My main point….I’ve come back to this paragraph after a day. My point is that I’m going to start acting like (and hopefully eventually believing that) my okay-ness, or good enough-ness, is intrinsic. That I start with that, just by being, existing. And that then my actions, my capabilities are okay and good enough by extension, and not treating the whole matter the other way around. Until now, I have spent most of the time judging whether I’m okay as a mom (or student, or woman, or person) based on my actions. And that just leads to a lot of harsh judgment. Kind of like what I read once about love. If you are constantly trying to decide whether someone loves you enough based on their actions, you’re going to constantly be either doubting or disappointed. They will always fail you in some way. Instead, if you start with the assumption that they love you, then you are free to look for all the other reasons that he didn’t bring you flowers or she didn’t get you that thing you like so much.
So, sleep is going to change somehow. We started last night by putting teeth brushing, face washing, and pajama wearing a bit early, and then all of us piling on the big bed in her room to quietly hang out until she got sleepy. So more wind-down for Baby A, less crying about being tired and having a diaper changed, and at least last night, a baby who fell asleep with 4 minutes of walking/swaying by me. That I can handle. We’ll see what else the books have to say.
Other than those 2 minutes each of bleeding, we were okay, but in the middle of the 5-step process that she seems to need most days to fall asleep, I just realized I can’t keep doing that. It makes me tired of being a mom. Hold her, sway her, bounce her while walking, bounce her while sitting, let her roll around on the big bed to settle down. It is too much, too many options, and it turns her into a too finely-tuned baby. Not for her, but for me.
Really, as with most other realizations, it is a realization about myself, borne out of frustration. I’m not super-mom. I don’t have the patience, when I’m tired (especially then…I don’t do tired very gracefully), to go through all those steps calmly. I just want it to be over, at least for my part to be over. I want to sit down, lay down, just rest, even if on the floor. I realized it is okay for me to be the kind of person who is not so great when she is tired.
And while it is my responsibility to keep trying to get enough rest, and put sleep ahead of a lot of other things I might also want to do, it is okay that Baby A has to meet me a bit more towards center. Not because it is fair or not, but because I can’t do more than that sometimes. Because her mama is imperfect and that is totally okay. It is okay that I disappoint her sometimes and that she knows I’m not superwoman. And I think it is much better than being angry with her, for me to fall short of some of her ideals.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t think my 9 month old baby should learn to put on her own pajamas, make her own bottle, or even scream herself to sleep. I just mean that I’m coming to the realization that it is okay that I may only have enough in me to sway with patience, and I don’t have to be embarrassed (and then angry at her for asking more of me), if she cries a bit more than if I could bounce and walk, too. This morning, she cried a bit in my arms, screamed a few times while arching, and then, as I kept really nicely calm and kept swaying, she readjusted once more in my arms and fell asleep. It was all I had for her, and it turned out to be enough. She met me a little bit closer to center.
We’re starting to read a few books (I know, I know, but they come recommended this time) about sleeping and babies. Granted, head hitting the crib bars or whatever that messed up thing is that brought about a bloody gum, we’re not going to let her go that far when we can help it. This baby isn’t made to be left completely on her own to figure out sleep. But her mama isn’t made to completely put her to sleep every night, either. And that is okay. She doesn’t have to make it to some classic, babble for 5 min and drift off stage. Because I don’t think she can handle it. And in our family, I’ve decided that it is okay for each of us to have some things we can’t handle and for everyone else to pitch in (in whatever way they can, big or small) on those issues. It is part of self-acceptance for Baby A, learning by seeing us accept our own limits. Without shame or guilt. Practicing being complete beings, just as we are.
My main point….I’ve come back to this paragraph after a day. My point is that I’m going to start acting like (and hopefully eventually believing that) my okay-ness, or good enough-ness, is intrinsic. That I start with that, just by being, existing. And that then my actions, my capabilities are okay and good enough by extension, and not treating the whole matter the other way around. Until now, I have spent most of the time judging whether I’m okay as a mom (or student, or woman, or person) based on my actions. And that just leads to a lot of harsh judgment. Kind of like what I read once about love. If you are constantly trying to decide whether someone loves you enough based on their actions, you’re going to constantly be either doubting or disappointed. They will always fail you in some way. Instead, if you start with the assumption that they love you, then you are free to look for all the other reasons that he didn’t bring you flowers or she didn’t get you that thing you like so much.
So, sleep is going to change somehow. We started last night by putting teeth brushing, face washing, and pajama wearing a bit early, and then all of us piling on the big bed in her room to quietly hang out until she got sleepy. So more wind-down for Baby A, less crying about being tired and having a diaper changed, and at least last night, a baby who fell asleep with 4 minutes of walking/swaying by me. That I can handle. We’ll see what else the books have to say.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
"Everyone goes through this...."
I kind of hate that phrase. Especially now that Baby A is going through her transition phase starting daycare. And I keep hearing it applied to separation anxiety. Yes, yes, I know, it is part of her developing and awareness of object permanence and realizing something (or someone) is gone. And babies learn the concept of leaving before they learn the concept of returning. So I might never be coming back when I say goodbye. So no wonder she cries.
But I’m suspicious of how often people say “every baby goes through that.” It is such a generalization. Not every baby goes through it in the same way. My daughter screams like her toe got cut off when you take away your wallet she has just been playing with. When she is tired or hungry. She doesn’t just sniffle. She tells it….forcefully.
And she works herself up something fierce, again, mostly when she is tired and hungry.
So when I look for advice on getting her used to a daycare during this sensitive time, I’m tired of just hearing about staying with her for a bit and then saying a quick goodbye. Duh. Really. That is, like, the zero-th order thing we’ve done. I want to hear about more subtle issues and tricks. Like making sure she isn’t too close to needing a nap when I leave. Like maybe inviting the teacher to our apartment for an hour, to help Baby A see us include her in our “pack.”
I get that often there isn’t enough time for parents who need to go back to work to do a long transition period, but Baby A’s nights mirror her days. And let me tell you, you’d much rather she had a day without much screaming. Because when night comes,…
And I have the time to make this a slow transition. To try out a few different things each time we go, to watch her and judge if I’m better leaving before hand washing and the snack, or after the song.
I don’t doubt that almost all children go through a stage of separation anxiety. And that almost all of them (including my daughter) will cry when I leave her at daycare. I just wish there was a more rich discussion on-line or in books (yes, I know I promised to stop reading those) about the variety of the separation anxiety experience. Instead, it feels like “they all go through it, so drop them off, short goodbye, and leave fast and distract yourself quickly so you don’t feel so guilty.”
Sorry. That doesn’t work for me. I want to stay, just around the corner, to hear how long and how strong she cries. Sure it makes it harder on me, but I’m the adult. I can manage my anxiety about it. I want to be able to judge how to proceed with the rest of the day once I pick her up, whether to try a different phase to leave her, and hear with my own ears, how this departure went. I’m glad when the teacher can tell me she is doing relatively well, compared to other kids. It is an important piece of information. But I need to know, on my own scale, how she did, too.
At this point, she cried loud and strong and then proceeded to explosively poo herself two days in a row when I left. Today, she got a teeny nap before we left for daycare, and the teacher and I decided in the moment that I should leave while they were going for handwashing, a time when Baby A gets held in the teacher’s arms and is involved in a change of tasks and a novel environment. And she still cried, but not so strongly. It took 1 minute instead of 5 for her to calm down.
As I sit here in the daycare office, I can once again hear her cry, but it is coming from the bathroom. She isn’t so fond of changing tables right now, so I know these are tears that might still be there even if I was there. And I feel better. We’re both going to do okay here.
But I’m suspicious of how often people say “every baby goes through that.” It is such a generalization. Not every baby goes through it in the same way. My daughter screams like her toe got cut off when you take away your wallet she has just been playing with. When she is tired or hungry. She doesn’t just sniffle. She tells it….forcefully.
And she works herself up something fierce, again, mostly when she is tired and hungry.
So when I look for advice on getting her used to a daycare during this sensitive time, I’m tired of just hearing about staying with her for a bit and then saying a quick goodbye. Duh. Really. That is, like, the zero-th order thing we’ve done. I want to hear about more subtle issues and tricks. Like making sure she isn’t too close to needing a nap when I leave. Like maybe inviting the teacher to our apartment for an hour, to help Baby A see us include her in our “pack.”
I get that often there isn’t enough time for parents who need to go back to work to do a long transition period, but Baby A’s nights mirror her days. And let me tell you, you’d much rather she had a day without much screaming. Because when night comes,…
And I have the time to make this a slow transition. To try out a few different things each time we go, to watch her and judge if I’m better leaving before hand washing and the snack, or after the song.
I don’t doubt that almost all children go through a stage of separation anxiety. And that almost all of them (including my daughter) will cry when I leave her at daycare. I just wish there was a more rich discussion on-line or in books (yes, I know I promised to stop reading those) about the variety of the separation anxiety experience. Instead, it feels like “they all go through it, so drop them off, short goodbye, and leave fast and distract yourself quickly so you don’t feel so guilty.”
Sorry. That doesn’t work for me. I want to stay, just around the corner, to hear how long and how strong she cries. Sure it makes it harder on me, but I’m the adult. I can manage my anxiety about it. I want to be able to judge how to proceed with the rest of the day once I pick her up, whether to try a different phase to leave her, and hear with my own ears, how this departure went. I’m glad when the teacher can tell me she is doing relatively well, compared to other kids. It is an important piece of information. But I need to know, on my own scale, how she did, too.
At this point, she cried loud and strong and then proceeded to explosively poo herself two days in a row when I left. Today, she got a teeny nap before we left for daycare, and the teacher and I decided in the moment that I should leave while they were going for handwashing, a time when Baby A gets held in the teacher’s arms and is involved in a change of tasks and a novel environment. And she still cried, but not so strongly. It took 1 minute instead of 5 for her to calm down.
As I sit here in the daycare office, I can once again hear her cry, but it is coming from the bathroom. She isn’t so fond of changing tables right now, so I know these are tears that might still be there even if I was there. And I feel better. We’re both going to do okay here.
The practice baby
We call baby A “monkey,” but technically, the nickname is Monkey #2. That is because the pupper, our beloved Heeler mix, who we have had for 5 ½ years is the original “monkey,” now Monkey #1.
We used to call Monkey #1 our “practice baby,” but I was a bit hesitant to say that around parents when we still didn’t have kids. I thought that they might get offended at us comparing a dog to a baby. I figured I’d stop doing it once we had a child because I would realize that the two are so different, and the relationship between us and a dog was nothing like that between us and baby A.
But that isn’t true. The pupper was totally a practice baby in some really great ways. When we first moved to Switzerland, we already had to limit going out a bit since we don’t leave the dog in the crate for more than 4-5 hours. That is just our rule, that if we want to have a dog we want to not just put her away more often than not. If we are to have a dog, our lives can change, and some things can get a bit harder in accommodating her because she makes other things in our lives so much better. We laugh more with her antics, we definitely see the outdoors more and spend more time walking with her. All of this is good. And when one of us has gone away for the night, the other one had a snuggle buddy if we needed one.
We also learned to use positive reinforcement, like time outs, to discipline her, and that having a “well-behaved” dog was more about consistency with rules than about punishment. Time-outs for the dog, a quick “uh-oh!” and 15-30 seconds in the crate, followed by a try-again, are a common tool in our house.
So when baby A arrived, some things were already familiar to us. Less going out – already been there. Being okay with a new member of the family changing some of what we can do – not so new. Knowing that some things are just due to temperament, be it a dog that wants to destroy all cats or a baby who forcefully protests what she does not like. And how I feel leaving Baby A at her new daycare – not too different from how I felt the first time the Pupper walked away led by her daycare person on her leash. I know to look for smiles and tail wags to help me know that they are both ok with other people.
And every day, we realize how lucky we are to have such a great dog. She is still herself, even after so many months of being a bit ignored while Baby A cried and didn’t sleep. She still rolls on her back and makes happy growling sounds, she still tries to make off with a plastic baby toy once in a while, she still goes to her crate for our dinnertime. But she is also amazingly patient with Baby A. She has never once growled or nipped at her. She has never given her an “I’m going to eat your face while you sleep” look. She lets her come and pinch her fur, and will even put up with a few grabs of her paw. And then, when she has had enough, she gets up, usually from the comfort of a dog bed, and just goes somewhere else in the apartment. And Baby A, now that she has realized we actually have a dog (which happened around month 5), is enamored. She loves watching the dog come in from a walk or daycare. She laughs when the dog goes through our legs to get some extra petting time. And now she tries to do that, too - instead of going over my knees if they are bent, she goes under.
They are going to be friends. It’s great.
We used to call Monkey #1 our “practice baby,” but I was a bit hesitant to say that around parents when we still didn’t have kids. I thought that they might get offended at us comparing a dog to a baby. I figured I’d stop doing it once we had a child because I would realize that the two are so different, and the relationship between us and a dog was nothing like that between us and baby A.
But that isn’t true. The pupper was totally a practice baby in some really great ways. When we first moved to Switzerland, we already had to limit going out a bit since we don’t leave the dog in the crate for more than 4-5 hours. That is just our rule, that if we want to have a dog we want to not just put her away more often than not. If we are to have a dog, our lives can change, and some things can get a bit harder in accommodating her because she makes other things in our lives so much better. We laugh more with her antics, we definitely see the outdoors more and spend more time walking with her. All of this is good. And when one of us has gone away for the night, the other one had a snuggle buddy if we needed one.
We also learned to use positive reinforcement, like time outs, to discipline her, and that having a “well-behaved” dog was more about consistency with rules than about punishment. Time-outs for the dog, a quick “uh-oh!” and 15-30 seconds in the crate, followed by a try-again, are a common tool in our house.
So when baby A arrived, some things were already familiar to us. Less going out – already been there. Being okay with a new member of the family changing some of what we can do – not so new. Knowing that some things are just due to temperament, be it a dog that wants to destroy all cats or a baby who forcefully protests what she does not like. And how I feel leaving Baby A at her new daycare – not too different from how I felt the first time the Pupper walked away led by her daycare person on her leash. I know to look for smiles and tail wags to help me know that they are both ok with other people.
And every day, we realize how lucky we are to have such a great dog. She is still herself, even after so many months of being a bit ignored while Baby A cried and didn’t sleep. She still rolls on her back and makes happy growling sounds, she still tries to make off with a plastic baby toy once in a while, she still goes to her crate for our dinnertime. But she is also amazingly patient with Baby A. She has never once growled or nipped at her. She has never given her an “I’m going to eat your face while you sleep” look. She lets her come and pinch her fur, and will even put up with a few grabs of her paw. And then, when she has had enough, she gets up, usually from the comfort of a dog bed, and just goes somewhere else in the apartment. And Baby A, now that she has realized we actually have a dog (which happened around month 5), is enamored. She loves watching the dog come in from a walk or daycare. She laughs when the dog goes through our legs to get some extra petting time. And now she tries to do that, too - instead of going over my knees if they are bent, she goes under.
They are going to be friends. It’s great.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Baby jeans
I ordered some baby clothes for the coming fall and winter for Baby A from the Gap and Old Navy. For some reason, of all the places they ship internationally, only Switzerland and Turkey are on the Europe list. I won't ask why, I'll just count myself lucky.
I just wanted some warmer pants and tops and some long leg pajamas. I'm not a bit fan of baby jeans. Although there was a really cute denim overalls. If they are soft, fine. But no baby needs to have its movement restricted by hard fabrics. (Ok, I may need to rethink my philosophy here, because the idea of slowing this kid down is tempting...)
There I was, on the baby girl "pants" page - because god forbid we let babies all dress without reference to their sex - and there were as many jeans for babies as I remember there being for women in the store! Really? Sure, light wash and dark wash, whatever. But flare vs. skinny vs. boot cut? Really? To go with the baby stilettos they sell? C'mon, like your kid doesn't have enough expectations from you to live up to already.
It makes the Saturday Night Live "baby thong" commercial not so funny anymore. It was funny when it was outrageous. But, what is the point of baby skinny jeans if you've got that big diaper bulge? Best get some thongs to go with it.
Yeah, girl/boy differences are all biological and we have nothing to do with teaching them how to act. It makes me want to keep Baby A in yellows and greens and not tell people on the tram if she is a girl or boy.
I just wanted some warmer pants and tops and some long leg pajamas. I'm not a bit fan of baby jeans. Although there was a really cute denim overalls. If they are soft, fine. But no baby needs to have its movement restricted by hard fabrics. (Ok, I may need to rethink my philosophy here, because the idea of slowing this kid down is tempting...)
There I was, on the baby girl "pants" page - because god forbid we let babies all dress without reference to their sex - and there were as many jeans for babies as I remember there being for women in the store! Really? Sure, light wash and dark wash, whatever. But flare vs. skinny vs. boot cut? Really? To go with the baby stilettos they sell? C'mon, like your kid doesn't have enough expectations from you to live up to already.
It makes the Saturday Night Live "baby thong" commercial not so funny anymore. It was funny when it was outrageous. But, what is the point of baby skinny jeans if you've got that big diaper bulge? Best get some thongs to go with it.
Yeah, girl/boy differences are all biological and we have nothing to do with teaching them how to act. It makes me want to keep Baby A in yellows and greens and not tell people on the tram if she is a girl or boy.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
You've never met a transcendental equation before, have you?
Baby A is doing better.
And now I know what normal parenting tired feels like. I still don't quite get enough sleep. She's practically walking without help, and the child does...not...stop. I call her my force of nature. Every waking moment is spent upright, engaged, moving, testing, eating, pulling, screaming or babbling. So I get the tired thing.
But this tired has nothing whatsoever to say to the tired of the first 5 months. They don't talk, they don't speak the same language, and they probably have totally different life goals. That tired was hellish. It made me nauseous and still does when I think back to it. It was in-human. And it was not what "all parents go through."
And just as with many situations we find ourselves in, especially those which are not common among people but are difficult, once you've been there, you can usually tell other people who have been there, too. You start to tell them your story and very quickly get "oh my god, I know!" or "Yes, that was really hard!" Phrases like that. People who have been through some other version of that stage of life, on the other hand, seem to have a very different reaction.
It is as if they have lost faith in other people's different experiences. If they had an easy time with their baby and breastfeeding, then what are you doing stopping at 4 months? If their kid sleeps anywhere and everywhere, maybe you're just too sensitive when it comes to your kid and should stop spoiling them. And if they just solved for "x" by isolating it one one side of an equation, then what the hell are you doing having such a hard time with your "transcen"-whatever? See, in calculus, just after I got the hang of solving for "x", I met the transcendental equation. Try solving for "x" in:
x = cos(x)
Good luck with the dividing both sides by...anything. You solve it graphically, or with Newton's method. But someone who hasn't gone through it before will say very different things about an equation like that than someone who has. Just like with babies, marriage, depression, moving to another country, etc.
I know what it is like to try getting pregnant for many years. But, I have no idea what it is like to have had a miscarriage. Or to go through a divorce. And that means that I don't have the experiences of those things in context. And have no business judging someone else going through them. I know empathy is about putting yourself in someone else's shoes, but I think we've forgotten along the way that we can't actually do it.
Well, we can put ourselves as we are, with only our experiences, in those shoes. But that is completely different from actually going through those things. So we need to trust the people going through them when they say it is hard, or say something else about the process that we find hard to believe.
Can I tell you how relieved and affirmed I felt the first time I talked with another mom with a sleepless baby? About how hard it was. How depressing. We had so many experiences in common that it suddenly felt like a situation I was in and not so much like my lack of fortitude or calm. I mean, we kept saying "I know!" and "Yes, yes, yes" to each others stories, down to the every third day showers. Not "lucky if you shower by 4pm" but "negotiating which spouse showers that day based on who is leaving the house."
The context of the situations in which people suffer, great or small suffering, is everything. But we forget this, and wind up judging the people for failing to sufficiently handle a situation we have never been in. Instead of assuming that the situation is hard and that we would act almost the same way if it was us. If you can't solve for "x" by dividing or multiplying, you must not be very smart.
And now I know what normal parenting tired feels like. I still don't quite get enough sleep. She's practically walking without help, and the child does...not...stop. I call her my force of nature. Every waking moment is spent upright, engaged, moving, testing, eating, pulling, screaming or babbling. So I get the tired thing.
But this tired has nothing whatsoever to say to the tired of the first 5 months. They don't talk, they don't speak the same language, and they probably have totally different life goals. That tired was hellish. It made me nauseous and still does when I think back to it. It was in-human. And it was not what "all parents go through."
And just as with many situations we find ourselves in, especially those which are not common among people but are difficult, once you've been there, you can usually tell other people who have been there, too. You start to tell them your story and very quickly get "oh my god, I know!" or "Yes, that was really hard!" Phrases like that. People who have been through some other version of that stage of life, on the other hand, seem to have a very different reaction.
It is as if they have lost faith in other people's different experiences. If they had an easy time with their baby and breastfeeding, then what are you doing stopping at 4 months? If their kid sleeps anywhere and everywhere, maybe you're just too sensitive when it comes to your kid and should stop spoiling them. And if they just solved for "x" by isolating it one one side of an equation, then what the hell are you doing having such a hard time with your "transcen"-whatever? See, in calculus, just after I got the hang of solving for "x", I met the transcendental equation. Try solving for "x" in:
x = cos(x)
Good luck with the dividing both sides by...anything. You solve it graphically, or with Newton's method. But someone who hasn't gone through it before will say very different things about an equation like that than someone who has. Just like with babies, marriage, depression, moving to another country, etc.
I know what it is like to try getting pregnant for many years. But, I have no idea what it is like to have had a miscarriage. Or to go through a divorce. And that means that I don't have the experiences of those things in context. And have no business judging someone else going through them. I know empathy is about putting yourself in someone else's shoes, but I think we've forgotten along the way that we can't actually do it.
Well, we can put ourselves as we are, with only our experiences, in those shoes. But that is completely different from actually going through those things. So we need to trust the people going through them when they say it is hard, or say something else about the process that we find hard to believe.
Can I tell you how relieved and affirmed I felt the first time I talked with another mom with a sleepless baby? About how hard it was. How depressing. We had so many experiences in common that it suddenly felt like a situation I was in and not so much like my lack of fortitude or calm. I mean, we kept saying "I know!" and "Yes, yes, yes" to each others stories, down to the every third day showers. Not "lucky if you shower by 4pm" but "negotiating which spouse showers that day based on who is leaving the house."
The context of the situations in which people suffer, great or small suffering, is everything. But we forget this, and wind up judging the people for failing to sufficiently handle a situation we have never been in. Instead of assuming that the situation is hard and that we would act almost the same way if it was us. If you can't solve for "x" by dividing or multiplying, you must not be very smart.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
It's hot. Damn hot. Like, hot hot.
Yesterday was another scorcher. Okay, it was 90 F and sort of dry, but remember, no A/C. A few little table fans. And the bad idea of having the apartment cleaned in the afternoon.
This meant that me and the beibis had to go elsewhere for 3 hours. We went down. First to our little village center to hang out in the grocery store while I returned all the PET bottles. So, actually, the supermarkets and some buses have A/C. The emergency solution is to either go food shopping for 4 hours straight, or just ride a bus back and forth along its line.
We did neither. Instead we kept heading down, to the river, and then to a fake island in the river, where big trees are planted, a baby swim area calls to little feet and bottoms of all ages, a playground, and a whole bunch of grass. Oh, and stairs. That lead into the fast flowing river. For swimmers.
We met up with a few friends, tried our best to sample all leaves, sticks and dirt within reach, took a power nap way too late in the day. And when M arrived from his day in the center of town, he and I traded off baby duty to go jump in the river a few times each.
Well, we walked down the stairs into the river and joined the floating...others (in their speedos and bikinis, board shorts, swim trunks, one-pieces). I was going to say "floating masses" but something about changing lots of diapers these last many months makes that term sound gross. We then aimed for the stairs near the rope that is meant to catch you, and climbed out. Very civilized. Even better, very cool water.
It was still pretty hot and sunny when we got home around 6pm, but the daily storm rolled in around 9pm and things cooled off nicely.
See? Sometimes we have good days.
This meant that me and the beibis had to go elsewhere for 3 hours. We went down. First to our little village center to hang out in the grocery store while I returned all the PET bottles. So, actually, the supermarkets and some buses have A/C. The emergency solution is to either go food shopping for 4 hours straight, or just ride a bus back and forth along its line.
We did neither. Instead we kept heading down, to the river, and then to a fake island in the river, where big trees are planted, a baby swim area calls to little feet and bottoms of all ages, a playground, and a whole bunch of grass. Oh, and stairs. That lead into the fast flowing river. For swimmers.
We met up with a few friends, tried our best to sample all leaves, sticks and dirt within reach, took a power nap way too late in the day. And when M arrived from his day in the center of town, he and I traded off baby duty to go jump in the river a few times each.
Well, we walked down the stairs into the river and joined the floating...others (in their speedos and bikinis, board shorts, swim trunks, one-pieces). I was going to say "floating masses" but something about changing lots of diapers these last many months makes that term sound gross. We then aimed for the stairs near the rope that is meant to catch you, and climbed out. Very civilized. Even better, very cool water.
It was still pretty hot and sunny when we got home around 6pm, but the daily storm rolled in around 9pm and things cooled off nicely.
See? Sometimes we have good days.
Monday, July 12, 2010
The Christmas egg cometh
Baby A was barely born by the time Christmas came around this year.
I managed to find the ornaments and put all the dyed eggs I've made over the years on the tree that a friend so wonderfully brought us. We were running on empty already at that point. It was amazing to have a tree, with lights and baubles no less.
The eggs I'd made special for M one year were up there. As were a few I'd kept from the year I made egg ornaments for family presents.
But no special egg for Baby A.
Easter came and went. Still, we were running on empty. I don't even know if we got around to eating some ham or anything. We definitely didn't have any new dyed eggs, and I didn't do my yearly egg decorating party.
So here is it, mid-July, and I finally made it. I got un-dated eggs from the farmer's market this weekend, and pulled out the two nicest ones to work on. I've had the design in mind for months, now. Ever since I realized I hadn't gotten to make anything for my daughter yet. It will only require one dye color (in contrast to the usual 10 I mix up from the Ukranian on-line store), black. It will be based on one of her first loves as a newborn, the IKEA pillow case we bought last year.
I already penciled in the design and even got all the wax on it. I just need to mix up a jar of black, dip it, melt off the wax, and hope the egg survives the evacuation procedure. A bit of shellac and done.
It may still take me months to do this last bit. Okay, the emptying needs to happen in the next few days. I'm talking about the finishing touches of shellac and of a string. But by next Christmas, Baby A will have her "baby's first Christmas" egg, on her second Christmas. Maybe I'll even make a second one by then.
Doubt it.
Friday, July 9, 2010
The 80s are coming, the 80s are coming!
We live in Europe. Which means we have radiators and no central cooling mechanisms of any sort in the apartment. No A/C or fan. Just two, sort of small table fans.
So when the forecast for the city is close to 90 F, it is time to open all the windows in the cool hours of the morning (thank heavens we live in a dry enough place that it does get chilly at night in summer), and then around 10am, to go around closing windows, lowering the heavy metal blinds, and the balcony umbrella. The fans will be rallying in whichever room we are in. And if we don't make it out to get a baby pool this morning, the rectangular pyrex baking dish will once again be on water splashing duty.
In most buildings, though, it really isn't the hell that it would be in the US. Especially the really old, stone buildings. Unfortunately, we do not live in one such building where it stays 70 F year round. But it is nice to have less frozen air being blown around in general. Even Starbucks feels stuffy when you walk in from the heat, but by the time you have your drink, you realize they just have the A/C on low. So maybe it is 75 F in there compared to 88 F outside. It does make a difference. And you don't need to bring a parka with you to the grocery store.
I think Baby A knows about the impending heat. She is already in her second hour of sleep for an early morning nap. Pretty uncommon. Maybe she'll grace me with another long one later, but maybe not.
I've got my lightest summer dress on.
And I'm wishing we weren't on such a high floor. I bet you those ground floor apartments are all cool and damp and dark.
Oh well, we can always just roll the crib into the cool tile foyer downstairs tonight and all sleep there. Or maybe we'll unload all the junk in the storage space BACK into the apartment and sleep THERE. Yeah. We'll survive.
So when the forecast for the city is close to 90 F, it is time to open all the windows in the cool hours of the morning (thank heavens we live in a dry enough place that it does get chilly at night in summer), and then around 10am, to go around closing windows, lowering the heavy metal blinds, and the balcony umbrella. The fans will be rallying in whichever room we are in. And if we don't make it out to get a baby pool this morning, the rectangular pyrex baking dish will once again be on water splashing duty.
In most buildings, though, it really isn't the hell that it would be in the US. Especially the really old, stone buildings. Unfortunately, we do not live in one such building where it stays 70 F year round. But it is nice to have less frozen air being blown around in general. Even Starbucks feels stuffy when you walk in from the heat, but by the time you have your drink, you realize they just have the A/C on low. So maybe it is 75 F in there compared to 88 F outside. It does make a difference. And you don't need to bring a parka with you to the grocery store.
I think Baby A knows about the impending heat. She is already in her second hour of sleep for an early morning nap. Pretty uncommon. Maybe she'll grace me with another long one later, but maybe not.
I've got my lightest summer dress on.
And I'm wishing we weren't on such a high floor. I bet you those ground floor apartments are all cool and damp and dark.
Oh well, we can always just roll the crib into the cool tile foyer downstairs tonight and all sleep there. Or maybe we'll unload all the junk in the storage space BACK into the apartment and sleep THERE. Yeah. We'll survive.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Two for one
Yes, that's right. Another blog entry on the same day. About 10 minutes after posting the previous one, actually.
Life may be ok, but I still don't get a lot of time by myself on the computer to do much other than find directions, order groceries, and the like. So here I am, on a great sleeping night for baby A, awake from 3:30am to 6am....might as well write some more.
What I didn't put in the last post, and is still on my mind, is this. That whole parent-child-misunderstanding-and-try-again dance is way more subtle that I expected. And I'm finding that the biggest problem for me comes up whenever I am in a mindset of not trusting the meerkat. (That's her new nickname because she sits up like one a lot, on her heels, to get a better look at the world. Totally adorable. That's right, I love my baby. But this kind of love took getting to know her, and her getting to like me, to sink in. So my answer to the question "When did you really fall in love with your baby?" is "at about 6 months.")
Anyway, back to trust issues. Whenever I've made the sad repeat mistake of reading pretty much anything about parenting in a magazine, book or online, I come away with these nasty ideas like "she needs to learn to soothe herself to sleep by crying, or she'll be spoiled later." Ok, first of all, that is a STUPID thing to write about parenting because it is so general and has no information whatsoever about how to apply that principle to your child. Sure, I think I shouldn't rock her to sleep if she can wiggle around a bit on her own, cry a little (quietly), and find her sleep. But that doesn't happen most of the time, and the longest I tried with the crying was horrible. 30 minutes of in and out of the room, trying to figure out what the hell to do in our particular situation where she stands up a lot, drops her binky on the floor because she's crying, etc., etc. I hated it. She hated it. She was terrified of the crib for the next nap. STUPID.
I decided two things that day. 1. I keep trusting her - to slowly get better at sleeping on her own and that if she's having a hard time there is a reason. It can just be a tough day and rocking or a bit more help from me is all she needs to sleep. Here I am wide awake for 3 hours at a horrible time, after all. Everytime I trust her like that, and trust that her screams are important, we do so so so much better. 2. To hell with worrying about spoiling. I would much rather she be a bit "spoiled" (which to me just means not always being pushed to the limit of her capabilities but being given time to be more than ready to acquire a new skill like soothing herself to sleep), than a bit feeling unloved, untrusted, or suspected.
When we go with this approach, I'm not mad at her. I'm calmer, I have more patience, I can apply all sorts of skills to soothe her if I decide to, and I find myself silently rooting for her "You go, baby A! Look at you falling asleep on your own after a bit of crying and some help from me! You did SO well!" while at the door watching, or sitting in the room with my eyes closed. It can be hard not to smile at those times.
I'm proud of her little baby self. And that makes the whole encounter so much better.
Life may be ok, but I still don't get a lot of time by myself on the computer to do much other than find directions, order groceries, and the like. So here I am, on a great sleeping night for baby A, awake from 3:30am to 6am....might as well write some more.
What I didn't put in the last post, and is still on my mind, is this. That whole parent-child-misunderstanding-and-try-again dance is way more subtle that I expected. And I'm finding that the biggest problem for me comes up whenever I am in a mindset of not trusting the meerkat. (That's her new nickname because she sits up like one a lot, on her heels, to get a better look at the world. Totally adorable. That's right, I love my baby. But this kind of love took getting to know her, and her getting to like me, to sink in. So my answer to the question "When did you really fall in love with your baby?" is "at about 6 months.")
Anyway, back to trust issues. Whenever I've made the sad repeat mistake of reading pretty much anything about parenting in a magazine, book or online, I come away with these nasty ideas like "she needs to learn to soothe herself to sleep by crying, or she'll be spoiled later." Ok, first of all, that is a STUPID thing to write about parenting because it is so general and has no information whatsoever about how to apply that principle to your child. Sure, I think I shouldn't rock her to sleep if she can wiggle around a bit on her own, cry a little (quietly), and find her sleep. But that doesn't happen most of the time, and the longest I tried with the crying was horrible. 30 minutes of in and out of the room, trying to figure out what the hell to do in our particular situation where she stands up a lot, drops her binky on the floor because she's crying, etc., etc. I hated it. She hated it. She was terrified of the crib for the next nap. STUPID.
I decided two things that day. 1. I keep trusting her - to slowly get better at sleeping on her own and that if she's having a hard time there is a reason. It can just be a tough day and rocking or a bit more help from me is all she needs to sleep. Here I am wide awake for 3 hours at a horrible time, after all. Everytime I trust her like that, and trust that her screams are important, we do so so so much better. 2. To hell with worrying about spoiling. I would much rather she be a bit "spoiled" (which to me just means not always being pushed to the limit of her capabilities but being given time to be more than ready to acquire a new skill like soothing herself to sleep), than a bit feeling unloved, untrusted, or suspected.
When we go with this approach, I'm not mad at her. I'm calmer, I have more patience, I can apply all sorts of skills to soothe her if I decide to, and I find myself silently rooting for her "You go, baby A! Look at you falling asleep on your own after a bit of crying and some help from me! You did SO well!" while at the door watching, or sitting in the room with my eyes closed. It can be hard not to smile at those times.
I'm proud of her little baby self. And that makes the whole encounter so much better.
The middle of summer
We're here. Kind of. Finally.
Baby A, for whatever reason, is only waking up 3-5 times a night now. So M and I get a lot more sleep. Long chunks of it being most important. We even took our first trip with her, at 7 months old, while our niece was visiting. All four of us survived a 3 hour train trip down to the Italian part of Switzerland and back. Glorious weather, palm trees, green mountains sloping down into a blue lake. And food. Great food. Gelato. Pasta. Sea food. Coffee with boiled milk at breakfast. And the last night, M and I stumbled on a newly opened restaurant in Locarno called Il Tartuffo where the chef took us into the kitchen to discuss the meal, explain the spices and herbs, even sent out a shot glass of the base (fish and chicken) he was using for the day's meals. Such an amazing meal.
Now, when I say stumbled, please don't get some image of us languidly walking the old city streets in search of the perfect place. We were staying up near the monastery on the hill above Locarno, and we'd already had 2 meals at one place (and were close to exhausting their fine, but small menu), and one meal at a very fancy place. We were nearing the end of the restaurant list for what was within a 10 minute walk from our hotel. Our niece was in charge of baby A after we put her down to sleep, but we weren't about to waste precious eating and sitting time on traveling down to town. We would have been more than happy to have 2 plates of pasta that night. It just turned out that our path crossed with this great place that had only been open for 3 months.
So back to now. We are sleeping more. Baby A will be starting daycare in a few months. Those first 5 months of her life still bring a sinking feeling to my stomach. But she and I are doing so much better now. I'm a mom. I see that. And feel it. Especially when my arms are the ones she wants to snuggle in when she falls and bumps her head. Which she does, a lot as she crawls and stands and couch-walks her way around her world.
I still have my moments, when I thought she was tired and she thought she was tired, but there we are with her wide awake and smiling in her crib and me trying to force a nap. Those are still the times that knock me off my balance. But I keep repeating what the one counselor at the hospital said. That parenting is not about knowing what your child wanted or needed, but trying to listen, getting it wrong half the time or more, and everyone having faith that everyone is putting in their best effort, and then trying again. That I can do. I can come back over and over. I can say "sorry, I totally misunderstood. Let's try again." I'm just working on letting myself be in that space instead of feeling embarrassed that I got it wrong in the first place.
Oh, and it is ridiculously hot right now in Zurich for an apartment that doesn't have central anything. It is us and our two fans against the hot sun. We are currently practicing the early morning open-all-the-doors-to-cool-things.
So yeah. Life is ok.
Baby A, for whatever reason, is only waking up 3-5 times a night now. So M and I get a lot more sleep. Long chunks of it being most important. We even took our first trip with her, at 7 months old, while our niece was visiting. All four of us survived a 3 hour train trip down to the Italian part of Switzerland and back. Glorious weather, palm trees, green mountains sloping down into a blue lake. And food. Great food. Gelato. Pasta. Sea food. Coffee with boiled milk at breakfast. And the last night, M and I stumbled on a newly opened restaurant in Locarno called Il Tartuffo where the chef took us into the kitchen to discuss the meal, explain the spices and herbs, even sent out a shot glass of the base (fish and chicken) he was using for the day's meals. Such an amazing meal.
Now, when I say stumbled, please don't get some image of us languidly walking the old city streets in search of the perfect place. We were staying up near the monastery on the hill above Locarno, and we'd already had 2 meals at one place (and were close to exhausting their fine, but small menu), and one meal at a very fancy place. We were nearing the end of the restaurant list for what was within a 10 minute walk from our hotel. Our niece was in charge of baby A after we put her down to sleep, but we weren't about to waste precious eating and sitting time on traveling down to town. We would have been more than happy to have 2 plates of pasta that night. It just turned out that our path crossed with this great place that had only been open for 3 months.
So back to now. We are sleeping more. Baby A will be starting daycare in a few months. Those first 5 months of her life still bring a sinking feeling to my stomach. But she and I are doing so much better now. I'm a mom. I see that. And feel it. Especially when my arms are the ones she wants to snuggle in when she falls and bumps her head. Which she does, a lot as she crawls and stands and couch-walks her way around her world.
I still have my moments, when I thought she was tired and she thought she was tired, but there we are with her wide awake and smiling in her crib and me trying to force a nap. Those are still the times that knock me off my balance. But I keep repeating what the one counselor at the hospital said. That parenting is not about knowing what your child wanted or needed, but trying to listen, getting it wrong half the time or more, and everyone having faith that everyone is putting in their best effort, and then trying again. That I can do. I can come back over and over. I can say "sorry, I totally misunderstood. Let's try again." I'm just working on letting myself be in that space instead of feeling embarrassed that I got it wrong in the first place.
Oh, and it is ridiculously hot right now in Zurich for an apartment that doesn't have central anything. It is us and our two fans against the hot sun. We are currently practicing the early morning open-all-the-doors-to-cool-things.
So yeah. Life is ok.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Inhale...cough cough cough...exhale.
Ok, so it is not your standard meditation breathing, but somehow we made it through the night. Dear god, don't make us go through that again.
I'm in the can't-stop-coughing phase of the cold, Baby A kept having a fever despite two separate drugs and crying every time she coughed, and at 1am, somehow M, with his injured knee and little sleep was still the more competent to get her through the next few hours. And when I say "more" competent, that can mean one tiny bit of energy more than me. If I had .0001 energy, he had .00011.
The day had been way too hot and so was the apartment.
Finally the fever broke again (like it has the other nights), I took over at 4am, and we've made it to another day.
Our niece arrives for a long stay today, and I just hope she doesn't turn back around and fly out once she sees the state we're in.
For her visit, we need the foyer to become a guest room. We have a sofa bed on its way, but the thing is, we need her help so much that we haven't been able to set up the foyer for her stay. Sorry! We're so behind that we need you to come help us set up your own guest room....hm.
Anyway, cool morning. Baby A is asleep for some 15 min. in her crib right now, and once again there is a bit of hope.
Wow, there was nothing funny in this post at all. Hmmm.
Oh, I know, yesterday I found myself hoarse, and trying my hardest to ask the pharmacist over the phone in Germ-glish, how we would know if the anti-fever suppository had absorbed or not since she kept pooping 10-15 min after we'd administer them. We didn't really get to a place of mutual understanding, and the connection was bad on my cell phone. He was trying to find the English word for where the suppository goes, and given that he had mostly medical English, I wound up yelling "ANUS! ANUS!" into the phone. That's kind of funny.
I'm in the can't-stop-coughing phase of the cold, Baby A kept having a fever despite two separate drugs and crying every time she coughed, and at 1am, somehow M, with his injured knee and little sleep was still the more competent to get her through the next few hours. And when I say "more" competent, that can mean one tiny bit of energy more than me. If I had .0001 energy, he had .00011.
The day had been way too hot and so was the apartment.
Finally the fever broke again (like it has the other nights), I took over at 4am, and we've made it to another day.
Our niece arrives for a long stay today, and I just hope she doesn't turn back around and fly out once she sees the state we're in.
For her visit, we need the foyer to become a guest room. We have a sofa bed on its way, but the thing is, we need her help so much that we haven't been able to set up the foyer for her stay. Sorry! We're so behind that we need you to come help us set up your own guest room....hm.
Anyway, cool morning. Baby A is asleep for some 15 min. in her crib right now, and once again there is a bit of hope.
Wow, there was nothing funny in this post at all. Hmmm.
Oh, I know, yesterday I found myself hoarse, and trying my hardest to ask the pharmacist over the phone in Germ-glish, how we would know if the anti-fever suppository had absorbed or not since she kept pooping 10-15 min after we'd administer them. We didn't really get to a place of mutual understanding, and the connection was bad on my cell phone. He was trying to find the English word for where the suppository goes, and given that he had mostly medical English, I wound up yelling "ANUS! ANUS!" into the phone. That's kind of funny.
Monday, June 7, 2010
What sucks.
You know what sucks?
The fact that I was sick with a sore throat just before coming home from the hospital, baby A had a great night the first night home, only waking once (needing our intervention) to feed, and then got my cold just as I was stopping pumping milk.
I made the decision to finally stop because at 3 hours/day, it was time I could have spent enjoying her or doing a bit of something for myself. And today, I'm still coughing and having trouble sleeping, she is sleeping less and having a hard time falling asleep, and it feels like the one reason I decided to stop feeding her breast milk is moot. Total loss.
I guess I really still do believe that good things happen to good people. And I was trying to be so good, and grown up, and make an adult decision.
We had 24 hours with her home, happy, all of us doing so well. Then last night she kept waking up because she was coughing and the binky kept falling out, or because she just had a hard time settling. A month of good nights at the hospital, one at home, and now a cold.
Yes. I know. The cold will pass. But we had hope that the month of good sleep would rub off on her here at home, at least a bit, and we could work towards good nights here. And this was already pushing our luck. Just to hope that we could piggyback on the good sleep habits.
I hear getting the bare minimum accomplished by is the new black.
Am I in a mood? Sure I am. First day home, and on my own, and she and I are sick. And my spirits are not all that solid yet. I just so wanted a grace period to build up momentum.
Were there some good things, too, today? Of course - I had a baby nestle into my chest in her carrier many hours today, just to be close. I got more tissues for the house. We saw baby A's future daycare and it was sweet.
So, head down and keep plowing forward. This all doesn't have to mean anything, or to be preparing us for something else, or in any way intended or directed at us. There is no greater power because if there were, I'd be pissed and expecting some answers. Today is just hard. And I'm just tired. And if I'm not the best me, that is fine.
The fact that I was sick with a sore throat just before coming home from the hospital, baby A had a great night the first night home, only waking once (needing our intervention) to feed, and then got my cold just as I was stopping pumping milk.
I made the decision to finally stop because at 3 hours/day, it was time I could have spent enjoying her or doing a bit of something for myself. And today, I'm still coughing and having trouble sleeping, she is sleeping less and having a hard time falling asleep, and it feels like the one reason I decided to stop feeding her breast milk is moot. Total loss.
I guess I really still do believe that good things happen to good people. And I was trying to be so good, and grown up, and make an adult decision.
We had 24 hours with her home, happy, all of us doing so well. Then last night she kept waking up because she was coughing and the binky kept falling out, or because she just had a hard time settling. A month of good nights at the hospital, one at home, and now a cold.
Yes. I know. The cold will pass. But we had hope that the month of good sleep would rub off on her here at home, at least a bit, and we could work towards good nights here. And this was already pushing our luck. Just to hope that we could piggyback on the good sleep habits.
I hear getting the bare minimum accomplished by is the new black.
Am I in a mood? Sure I am. First day home, and on my own, and she and I are sick. And my spirits are not all that solid yet. I just so wanted a grace period to build up momentum.
Were there some good things, too, today? Of course - I had a baby nestle into my chest in her carrier many hours today, just to be close. I got more tissues for the house. We saw baby A's future daycare and it was sweet.
So, head down and keep plowing forward. This all doesn't have to mean anything, or to be preparing us for something else, or in any way intended or directed at us. There is no greater power because if there were, I'd be pissed and expecting some answers. Today is just hard. And I'm just tired. And if I'm not the best me, that is fine.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Enough
I've come to see this word, "enough," as pretty two-faced. Like that friend who was all buddy buddy with you outside of school and then at school you weren't cool enough or interesting enough, and suddenly acted like you weren't that close.
Ok, maybe it isn't like that, but I wanted to dis a bit on those kinds of people this morning.
It is a two-sided word, though.
There is what I think of as the powerful, positive side of "enough." You are a good enough ________. Fill it with "student," "researcher," "parent," or any other category and if you can believe that, you feel pretty good. It lets you feel ok just as you are, doing what you already do, not needing to change to be a member of that group. Or, "You have enough." "You've done enough." All very accepting, forgiving, gentle. The judgment starts with a positive outcome, and you go from there, retroactively reaping the benefits of this pat on the back, whether it is from yourself or someone else.
Then there is the nastier side of "enough." When it is used as a vague guide for trying even harder on something hard or impossible to do. "You will hear God speak to you if you have enough faith." That one is my poster-child for the destructive power of the word. Just keep trying, and if you keep not hearing God, you're still not doing enough.
Or, "if you relax enough you'll get pregnant." Another winner in the "makes me feel like a pile of poo" category. If you get pregnant, you did (in retrospect) enough. If not, you were at fault. You didn't do enough. It is a way to tie your worth to an outcome. And like I said, the outcome may well have nothing to do with that action.
It happens when people start with the belief that "there is a God who will speak to you" or "there is nothing medically wrong with you that you can't get pregnant" or any number of things that seem way more about belief systems than about logic, or actual cause and effect. And they put such pressure on the one who gets the "not enough" tag. Since God can't fail, you must have. Since medicine is infallible, you must be fallible. They start with a dogmatic belief in absoluteness.
The first use of "enough" places such great faith in the human being and her or his intrinsic completeness, just as they are. The second seems to never bestow that faith in the first place and make the human struggle to prove her or himself worthy.
I hate that. Just thought I'd mention it.
And since, by definition, my blog post is done when I'm done, I've written enough. Phew.
Oh, but here's a family photo since I don't put many photos in anymore and I like seeing photos in other people's blogs....
Ok, maybe it isn't like that, but I wanted to dis a bit on those kinds of people this morning.
It is a two-sided word, though.
There is what I think of as the powerful, positive side of "enough." You are a good enough ________. Fill it with "student," "researcher," "parent," or any other category and if you can believe that, you feel pretty good. It lets you feel ok just as you are, doing what you already do, not needing to change to be a member of that group. Or, "You have enough." "You've done enough." All very accepting, forgiving, gentle. The judgment starts with a positive outcome, and you go from there, retroactively reaping the benefits of this pat on the back, whether it is from yourself or someone else.
Then there is the nastier side of "enough." When it is used as a vague guide for trying even harder on something hard or impossible to do. "You will hear God speak to you if you have enough faith." That one is my poster-child for the destructive power of the word. Just keep trying, and if you keep not hearing God, you're still not doing enough.
Or, "if you relax enough you'll get pregnant." Another winner in the "makes me feel like a pile of poo" category. If you get pregnant, you did (in retrospect) enough. If not, you were at fault. You didn't do enough. It is a way to tie your worth to an outcome. And like I said, the outcome may well have nothing to do with that action.
It happens when people start with the belief that "there is a God who will speak to you" or "there is nothing medically wrong with you that you can't get pregnant" or any number of things that seem way more about belief systems than about logic, or actual cause and effect. And they put such pressure on the one who gets the "not enough" tag. Since God can't fail, you must have. Since medicine is infallible, you must be fallible. They start with a dogmatic belief in absoluteness.
The first use of "enough" places such great faith in the human being and her or his intrinsic completeness, just as they are. The second seems to never bestow that faith in the first place and make the human struggle to prove her or himself worthy.
I hate that. Just thought I'd mention it.
And since, by definition, my blog post is done when I'm done, I've written enough. Phew.
Oh, but here's a family photo since I don't put many photos in anymore and I like seeing photos in other people's blogs....
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Goin' home
We're almost at the end of our stay.
Baby A is now crawling fast and standing when she can. She eats carrot mush and Zwieback crackers with the best of them. And she thought the new backpack hiking carrier was pretty fly. She's a daycare champ.
She still doesn't sleep so well on our visits home (waking 5-7 times a night instead of 10-12 like last month), so things will still be a bit rough. But this month has been about my connecting with her and having enough rest to do it well. And about learning to handle the thought of a small, simple, slow life better. So what if we don't do a lot of what other parents are doing with their 6 month olds. This is our life, and it is enough.
We'll probably never know what the issues with sleep were. That's a hard one to let go of given the academic background and how much the exhaustion can slow down the days. But if we, I, can learn to roll with this reality, I think I'm better of in the long run anyway.
It won't stop me from wanting to bring some serious pain to that 80 year old Swiss ladies who told us we HAD to get baby A's ears surgically corrected because they were so big that they would make her life hard. Yeah, ok, bite me. Oh wait, after a month of therapy I can just smile and walk away. Lucky biddy.
Baby A is now crawling fast and standing when she can. She eats carrot mush and Zwieback crackers with the best of them. And she thought the new backpack hiking carrier was pretty fly. She's a daycare champ.
She still doesn't sleep so well on our visits home (waking 5-7 times a night instead of 10-12 like last month), so things will still be a bit rough. But this month has been about my connecting with her and having enough rest to do it well. And about learning to handle the thought of a small, simple, slow life better. So what if we don't do a lot of what other parents are doing with their 6 month olds. This is our life, and it is enough.
We'll probably never know what the issues with sleep were. That's a hard one to let go of given the academic background and how much the exhaustion can slow down the days. But if we, I, can learn to roll with this reality, I think I'm better of in the long run anyway.
It won't stop me from wanting to bring some serious pain to that 80 year old Swiss ladies who told us we HAD to get baby A's ears surgically corrected because they were so big that they would make her life hard. Yeah, ok, bite me. Oh wait, after a month of therapy I can just smile and walk away. Lucky biddy.
Balboa makes for much better soothing a baby than a lindy basic
“Inside each joy was a hard kernel of sadness, as if I was always preparing myself for impending loss.” 3am and I’ve just started reading a book called Devotion, by Dani Shapiro. It is light and heavy all at the same time, and I like the sense of humor, mixed in, lightening the dark fears and big questions she carries around with her. And this line appears, in the middle of a paragraph. And I know exactly what she means. Moments like this make me feel less alone in the world. That my worries or fears or troubles are just part of being human.
I’ve woken up at 1:30am, to pump, and knew I was going to have a hard time falling asleep. I often do at this time of night. Especially, like tonight, when I’ve had a lot of sleep already. I put baby A to sleep in the room next to mine here at the hospital and the night nurses are taking care of her tonight. I’ve already slept some 5 ½ hours.
So I laid there, listening to the rain sound on the white noise soundtrack I’ve got going. I breathe, I try to calm down, I try to stop hearing Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance” in my head. I do that – play songs in my head over and over. It keeps me from going to sleep, like some little nudge to push me back in to consciousness. Doesn’t have to be pop music, could well have been the Sesame Street theme song, or one of the strange concoctions we’ve introduced to soothe Baby A. And it is usually just a snippet of the song, over and over. With how much it resembles a mantra, I should be enlightened ten times over by now.
Open the window to cool off the room.
“…caught in a bad ro-mance!”
Turn over and put a pillow over my ears.
“Oooooo, caught in a….”
Try to release that feeling that has been with me so long. That grip on my heart. The one that I’ve never been able to relax through meditation. And believe me I tried a lot. It is like Dani Shapiro’s hard kernel. Yoga used to work sometimes, or a long session of dancing. I need to be exhausted to let it go. As if I’m the one holding it.
Like waiting for the other shoe to drop but it is not only clenched in my hand, it is superglued there.
“I want your love. La la la, I want your…”
So I’m the patient this time, at this hospital visit. They gave me a schedule, and “music and movement therapy” was on there this morning. Um, yeah. Really? I’d better not have to bang on some non-Western rhythm instrument, naming my demons in time with some beat. Or do some sort of theater movement exercise where I pretend to be angry, then, sad, then curious, then…do I have any idea of what exercises theater people do? No. But I can sure imagine some stupid ones!
But it was okay. And the person leading the session was young, and hip, and friendly, and most importantly, really normal. She had all sorts of great CDs in her case – the kind that make you relieved. Music that has once been on a radio station and not in a new age shop. I am happy to report a total lack of pan-flutes. And there I was, with a group of other people all with their own sadness or pain or exhaustion or questions. I danced. For the first time in 14 months, I danced as a single, self-contained individual. Not to make Baby A smile (although that is fun), or to rock her to sleep with a Balboa step. Not adapting to the need to hold her. My arms were mine, my legs, I could bounce or jump as hard as I wanted and not worry about a little brain in a little skull. All I had to worry about was not knocking myself out. Mission accomplished. It was good.
In the afternoon, in the daycare, I sat with a few other moms and we had craft time. Another chance for a totally dumb or cliché or infantile experience that was just really nice instead. Someone had said we were making bracelets…great, can I just end it all now with the nearest blunt utensil? But we used fishing wire to string together handfuls of different buttons. A teething toy, full of textures and colors, and totally spit-up resistant. A chance to make something for Baby A, and just sit and play with something tactile instead of just trying to pay bills and do laundry and get her to nap and and and…for those 2 hours. Of course, little miss “it goes in my mouth and if it happens to be any part of your skin, all the better, but I’ll settle for anything within reach” loved it. How nice to have a chance to think about her development stage with intent instead of just rushing to the store to buy yet another toy to keep her growing curiosity satisfied. Completely un-sickly sweet experience. Sentimental in a nice way, not in a lederhosen and cuckoo-clock way. Or in a “Precious Moments” way. In a way I could actually appreciate – quiet, simple, clever.
I just heard her crying next door. I let the nurse take it. I stayed in my room, and listened to it. It was fine. It is okay for me to have some alone time, even if I can’t sleep. I can read, write, stare at the ceiling. I can just be for a while.
“la la love, I want your love…”
Oh shut, up.
I’ve woken up at 1:30am, to pump, and knew I was going to have a hard time falling asleep. I often do at this time of night. Especially, like tonight, when I’ve had a lot of sleep already. I put baby A to sleep in the room next to mine here at the hospital and the night nurses are taking care of her tonight. I’ve already slept some 5 ½ hours.
So I laid there, listening to the rain sound on the white noise soundtrack I’ve got going. I breathe, I try to calm down, I try to stop hearing Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance” in my head. I do that – play songs in my head over and over. It keeps me from going to sleep, like some little nudge to push me back in to consciousness. Doesn’t have to be pop music, could well have been the Sesame Street theme song, or one of the strange concoctions we’ve introduced to soothe Baby A. And it is usually just a snippet of the song, over and over. With how much it resembles a mantra, I should be enlightened ten times over by now.
Open the window to cool off the room.
“…caught in a bad ro-mance!”
Turn over and put a pillow over my ears.
“Oooooo, caught in a….”
Try to release that feeling that has been with me so long. That grip on my heart. The one that I’ve never been able to relax through meditation. And believe me I tried a lot. It is like Dani Shapiro’s hard kernel. Yoga used to work sometimes, or a long session of dancing. I need to be exhausted to let it go. As if I’m the one holding it.
Like waiting for the other shoe to drop but it is not only clenched in my hand, it is superglued there.
“I want your love. La la la, I want your…”
So I’m the patient this time, at this hospital visit. They gave me a schedule, and “music and movement therapy” was on there this morning. Um, yeah. Really? I’d better not have to bang on some non-Western rhythm instrument, naming my demons in time with some beat. Or do some sort of theater movement exercise where I pretend to be angry, then, sad, then curious, then…do I have any idea of what exercises theater people do? No. But I can sure imagine some stupid ones!
But it was okay. And the person leading the session was young, and hip, and friendly, and most importantly, really normal. She had all sorts of great CDs in her case – the kind that make you relieved. Music that has once been on a radio station and not in a new age shop. I am happy to report a total lack of pan-flutes. And there I was, with a group of other people all with their own sadness or pain or exhaustion or questions. I danced. For the first time in 14 months, I danced as a single, self-contained individual. Not to make Baby A smile (although that is fun), or to rock her to sleep with a Balboa step. Not adapting to the need to hold her. My arms were mine, my legs, I could bounce or jump as hard as I wanted and not worry about a little brain in a little skull. All I had to worry about was not knocking myself out. Mission accomplished. It was good.
In the afternoon, in the daycare, I sat with a few other moms and we had craft time. Another chance for a totally dumb or cliché or infantile experience that was just really nice instead. Someone had said we were making bracelets…great, can I just end it all now with the nearest blunt utensil? But we used fishing wire to string together handfuls of different buttons. A teething toy, full of textures and colors, and totally spit-up resistant. A chance to make something for Baby A, and just sit and play with something tactile instead of just trying to pay bills and do laundry and get her to nap and and and…for those 2 hours. Of course, little miss “it goes in my mouth and if it happens to be any part of your skin, all the better, but I’ll settle for anything within reach” loved it. How nice to have a chance to think about her development stage with intent instead of just rushing to the store to buy yet another toy to keep her growing curiosity satisfied. Completely un-sickly sweet experience. Sentimental in a nice way, not in a lederhosen and cuckoo-clock way. Or in a “Precious Moments” way. In a way I could actually appreciate – quiet, simple, clever.
I just heard her crying next door. I let the nurse take it. I stayed in my room, and listened to it. It was fine. It is okay for me to have some alone time, even if I can’t sleep. I can read, write, stare at the ceiling. I can just be for a while.
“la la love, I want your love…”
Oh shut, up.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Public transport junkies
So it seems that the ticket checks on the trams and buses in Zurich have ramped up in the last month or two. It now feels like every other time I ride them, there I am having to dig out my pass, potentially the dog's ticket, while balancing a baby and stroller. What gets me is how much it reminds me of those 80s cop shows where the pimps and drug dealers can totally tell a cop who is trying to go undercover.
I've noticed now that whenever a person gets on the tram who looks kind of shifty, dressed in not too fashionable clothing, and I start to revert to my CTA brain ("watch your wallet and bag..."), without fail they turn around, flash a badge and ask for my ticket. They stand out SO badly. I always think they are junkies or daytime drunks or something.
"Oh, my ticket? Phew, I thought you were going to try to lift my iPhone. You guys should stop looking around so nervously when you get on. You stand out. A lot. And I've only been here a year and can tell."
One of them ticketed a black lab standing next to us, who was riding with a man who had helped me and another mom with their strollers. That's cold.
I've noticed now that whenever a person gets on the tram who looks kind of shifty, dressed in not too fashionable clothing, and I start to revert to my CTA brain ("watch your wallet and bag..."), without fail they turn around, flash a badge and ask for my ticket. They stand out SO badly. I always think they are junkies or daytime drunks or something.
"Oh, my ticket? Phew, I thought you were going to try to lift my iPhone. You guys should stop looking around so nervously when you get on. You stand out. A lot. And I've only been here a year and can tell."
One of them ticketed a black lab standing next to us, who was riding with a man who had helped me and another mom with their strollers. That's cold.
Who knew I could hate a holiday more than Valentine's Day?
2:06am. Night feeding finished by team effort again. Baby A is on her belly (just you try and flip her over) and finallyasleep again.
Last mothers day I was pregnant. 2 months. It was exciting. I felt like someone who could celecrate motherhood.i looked forward to today when I'd be a real mom.
And here it is. I handed baby A over to M in tears yesterday when I had tried fir a second time to get her to nap unsuccessfully. I yelled "I hate that baby." happy mothers day.
I didn't think this was what motherhood was going to be like. I was going to be totally in love with this baby by now. We'd understand each other and I would know how to soothe, feed, and put this baby to sleep.
And instead I'm packing suit cases full of our clothes to go to a program I desperately hope teaches me to love her. Because I don't even know if I love her.
It doesn't feel like I thought it would. She isn't the love of my life. I smile and laugh and interact with her many times but at other times I'm exhausted and I just want to run away. I don't want to be responsible for making her scream yet again for nap time, or cry during another feeding. Gas? Pain? Some other reason? I can't tell when she is in pain vs hungry vs tired vs frustrated. All cries sound the same to me. (Hint: this is not where you give me advice on what baby cries sounds like. I've heard other babies in the hospital and could read them better after 10 min than I can baby A after 5 1/2 months.)
I don't feel like a mom. I feel like a caretaker. I feel like I put 100% of myself into thus everyday and by 3pm I'm in tears not sure what she wants. How can I not know? How can I not even care by that time many days? Where is that fierce love? How come I just feel numb, silent where I thought I would feel emotion. I am good to her because I believe that is how it should work, not because I can't help myself with love.
I don't even know that I feel she is really my daughter. I look into her face and I don't recognize her like I thought I would by now.
It breaks my heart.
I walk out on her screaming in her crib because I'm just out of everything. "Who cares, don't go to sleep stupid baby. Scream instead of settling. Fine. Leave me alone!"
She doesn't melt in my arms. Does she even differentiate between me and anyone else?
I often worry that we made a huge mistake having a child. I don't know what I was thinking. It isn't at all like I expected. I'm so tired, so sad, so empty. And heading off to a hospital with a psych ward for help learning to read my own baby.
I need other people to teach me about my own child. I don't feel like a mom. I feel like a huge phony celebrating mothers day.
My biggest wish was to know her. Who she is. And to accept that like I believe every person deserves. Not to change her or try to force her into some mold. And yet here I am and I can't even tell hunger from tired. And yelling that I hate her because I feel like a failure when 10 min into her screaming and writhing I still can never tell if I'm pushing a nap on her and stressing her out or if it is a necessary process for her to scream and fight before sleeping. And it makes me feel like a bad person to have pinned her arms down at her sides, to keep pushing back from her arching, to keep covering her eyes with a cloth. Because you get to a place where you realize you may be holding her too tight. And it just makes me want to cry, because there I am maybe just terrifying her when all I wanted to do is help her sleep so that the afternoon would go better. So she wouldn't get overtired, so the night might go well. I wanted to help and I can't tell if I am hurting instead.
I can't tell. And at some point I don't even care anymore and I need to put her down and walk out of the room.
happy mothers day.
Last mothers day I was pregnant. 2 months. It was exciting. I felt like someone who could celecrate motherhood.i looked forward to today when I'd be a real mom.
And here it is. I handed baby A over to M in tears yesterday when I had tried fir a second time to get her to nap unsuccessfully. I yelled "I hate that baby." happy mothers day.
I didn't think this was what motherhood was going to be like. I was going to be totally in love with this baby by now. We'd understand each other and I would know how to soothe, feed, and put this baby to sleep.
And instead I'm packing suit cases full of our clothes to go to a program I desperately hope teaches me to love her. Because I don't even know if I love her.
It doesn't feel like I thought it would. She isn't the love of my life. I smile and laugh and interact with her many times but at other times I'm exhausted and I just want to run away. I don't want to be responsible for making her scream yet again for nap time, or cry during another feeding. Gas? Pain? Some other reason? I can't tell when she is in pain vs hungry vs tired vs frustrated. All cries sound the same to me. (Hint: this is not where you give me advice on what baby cries sounds like. I've heard other babies in the hospital and could read them better after 10 min than I can baby A after 5 1/2 months.)
I don't feel like a mom. I feel like a caretaker. I feel like I put 100% of myself into thus everyday and by 3pm I'm in tears not sure what she wants. How can I not know? How can I not even care by that time many days? Where is that fierce love? How come I just feel numb, silent where I thought I would feel emotion. I am good to her because I believe that is how it should work, not because I can't help myself with love.
I don't even know that I feel she is really my daughter. I look into her face and I don't recognize her like I thought I would by now.
It breaks my heart.
I walk out on her screaming in her crib because I'm just out of everything. "Who cares, don't go to sleep stupid baby. Scream instead of settling. Fine. Leave me alone!"
She doesn't melt in my arms. Does she even differentiate between me and anyone else?
I often worry that we made a huge mistake having a child. I don't know what I was thinking. It isn't at all like I expected. I'm so tired, so sad, so empty. And heading off to a hospital with a psych ward for help learning to read my own baby.
I need other people to teach me about my own child. I don't feel like a mom. I feel like a huge phony celebrating mothers day.
My biggest wish was to know her. Who she is. And to accept that like I believe every person deserves. Not to change her or try to force her into some mold. And yet here I am and I can't even tell hunger from tired. And yelling that I hate her because I feel like a failure when 10 min into her screaming and writhing I still can never tell if I'm pushing a nap on her and stressing her out or if it is a necessary process for her to scream and fight before sleeping. And it makes me feel like a bad person to have pinned her arms down at her sides, to keep pushing back from her arching, to keep covering her eyes with a cloth. Because you get to a place where you realize you may be holding her too tight. And it just makes me want to cry, because there I am maybe just terrifying her when all I wanted to do is help her sleep so that the afternoon would go better. So she wouldn't get overtired, so the night might go well. I wanted to help and I can't tell if I am hurting instead.
I can't tell. And at some point I don't even care anymore and I need to put her down and walk out of the room.
happy mothers day.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Rhubarb and country hospitals
So the first rhubarb of the season showed up on the on-line grocery service we use, and it finally made it into my first compote of the season. Rhubarb, prunes, blueberries, strawberries and honey. I'm never using sugar again after last year's great turnout with the honey. Yum. Bring on the amazing fruit, and maybe some more sun and warmth while we're at it.
Ah, right, you are probably tuning in for the second part of the story. Well, after my very unsatisfactory call with the sleep expert, turns out she felt exactly the same way, and left a message on the house phone about another option for us. Well, I don't really check the messages on the house phone, ever. I should change our message on there to make that clear, huh?
Turns out there is a program run out of a hospital with a counseling/psych department, which deals specifically with moms and tough to read babies. You stay in house for weeks. They video tape you and the baby (and dads, too). They analyze the tapes to look for subtle cues that can help you understand the baby better. They look at sleep patterns, and at how you interact with the baby. They have a daycare which gives moms time to sleep, to talk to doctors and counselors, to recuperate. And, I hope, to learn to bond better.
So, yes, the Swiss never cease to amaze me. I'm all ready to throw in the red towel with the white cross on it, and Bam! Jingle, they bring out an amazing program like this. We go there soon. I can't wait.
And at the same time, I can. Just knowing there is hope, even the tiniest bit, does wonders in a hopeless situation. Just the smallest splinter afloat, that can take even a little of the weight off your shoulders, makes it all bearable. For the next days. I can hang in there, I can even stop worrying so much about what each individual night will be like, because once again, help is on the way. I can put down my incessant wondering what causes the sleepless nights, because someone else has said they will step up and take over for a while.
It is good. Really good.
And in the meantime, there are also rules in place at home to help us out. The schedule can bite me, for all I care, the baby comes first. More importantly, my interactions with her come first. Those have to be as good as possible. Also, M is my backup for night waking/feedings. He takes her when I've woken up in the middle of a sleep cycle and am not in a calm place. And having that partner there is really nice. Who am I kidding - it is vital.
We've even made another leap in getting things done in the apartment and now have 5 out of 6 ceiling lights installed. By Friday, it may be 6 out of 6. The guest couch comes next, and who knows what wonderful things will follow. People may come over. They may stop asking if we've just moved in. The dog might stop obsessing about cats. Ok, maybe not that.
It is a good day today.
Ah, right, you are probably tuning in for the second part of the story. Well, after my very unsatisfactory call with the sleep expert, turns out she felt exactly the same way, and left a message on the house phone about another option for us. Well, I don't really check the messages on the house phone, ever. I should change our message on there to make that clear, huh?
Turns out there is a program run out of a hospital with a counseling/psych department, which deals specifically with moms and tough to read babies. You stay in house for weeks. They video tape you and the baby (and dads, too). They analyze the tapes to look for subtle cues that can help you understand the baby better. They look at sleep patterns, and at how you interact with the baby. They have a daycare which gives moms time to sleep, to talk to doctors and counselors, to recuperate. And, I hope, to learn to bond better.
So, yes, the Swiss never cease to amaze me. I'm all ready to throw in the red towel with the white cross on it, and Bam! Jingle, they bring out an amazing program like this. We go there soon. I can't wait.
And at the same time, I can. Just knowing there is hope, even the tiniest bit, does wonders in a hopeless situation. Just the smallest splinter afloat, that can take even a little of the weight off your shoulders, makes it all bearable. For the next days. I can hang in there, I can even stop worrying so much about what each individual night will be like, because once again, help is on the way. I can put down my incessant wondering what causes the sleepless nights, because someone else has said they will step up and take over for a while.
It is good. Really good.
And in the meantime, there are also rules in place at home to help us out. The schedule can bite me, for all I care, the baby comes first. More importantly, my interactions with her come first. Those have to be as good as possible. Also, M is my backup for night waking/feedings. He takes her when I've woken up in the middle of a sleep cycle and am not in a calm place. And having that partner there is really nice. Who am I kidding - it is vital.
We've even made another leap in getting things done in the apartment and now have 5 out of 6 ceiling lights installed. By Friday, it may be 6 out of 6. The guest couch comes next, and who knows what wonderful things will follow. People may come over. They may stop asking if we've just moved in. The dog might stop obsessing about cats. Ok, maybe not that.
It is a good day today.
Monday, April 26, 2010
You know you've got a problem when...
you quit again, after already quitting. I breastfed a few more times after the last post. In the middle of the night, when baby A is a potentially calmer feeder (if you catch it right) and I was so very tired and couldn't even think of the prospect of her starting to scream in the time it took me to get to the kitchen and prep a bottle. So tired.
And it worked ok. Once during a quiet pre-nap moment on the couch, too. So maybe I didn't have to pump every single time, and I could get some time back, and a little closeness to boot.
But last night, after two really great days (we're married 6 years this last weekend) of morning naps, and meeting people for outings and having some great food delivered while we watched Dr. Who, I was just tired again at 11pm. And she woke up crying. And I had decided to try rocking her back to sleep to see if I could stretch that session until 1am. And instantly Baby A went ballistic.
I tried to breastfeed. Bad idea. She bit me again. Hard. Eyes still closed, screaming. It wasn't her fault. I swore out loud. I was so angry. M came into the room to see if I needed help and I just plopped her down on our mattress and yelled "why won't you fucking sleep?!?" I threw a plush toy. It had a music box inside which made the thud much more satisfying. I threw it again, but I think I'd killed the music box already.
I left the room.
I left M to feed her a bottle, and went to go get my pump.
And I sat in the living room and cried. It was time to quit for real.
The almost totally useless sleep experts here tell me "there is nothing medically wrong with her" and "you should keep her on a feeding and sleeping schedule" and then bring it on home with "if you get overwhelmed, come back to the hospital instead of hurting her or yourself." It boggles my mind how people who worry you might abuse your child would stack more requirements on you. Things to stress out about. Things that make you more nervous when you baby's sleeplessness already has you at the end of your rope.
Anyway, I've quit. For real. I'm considering getting back on some anti-depressant as a way to curb my emotions. If I'm not going to get more sleep anytime soon, I can't afford to feel angry. Sure, ecstatic also goes by the wayside, but at least anger and irritation are out of the picture.
I so didn't want to have to go this far, but what are you going to do when the hope coping mechanism has been removed? I'm not religious anymore, but there sure are some moments when having a deity who is "putting you to a test, designed for you, that won't be more than you can take" would be really useful. As soon as we monkeys got up on two feet and realized we are mortal and that evolution doesn't give a hoot about our happiness or sanity, religion probably saved a lot of homo sapiens from jumping off the nearest cliff.
Tune in next time to see how I got some hope back and how I keep underestimating the Swiss.
And it worked ok. Once during a quiet pre-nap moment on the couch, too. So maybe I didn't have to pump every single time, and I could get some time back, and a little closeness to boot.
But last night, after two really great days (we're married 6 years this last weekend) of morning naps, and meeting people for outings and having some great food delivered while we watched Dr. Who, I was just tired again at 11pm. And she woke up crying. And I had decided to try rocking her back to sleep to see if I could stretch that session until 1am. And instantly Baby A went ballistic.
I tried to breastfeed. Bad idea. She bit me again. Hard. Eyes still closed, screaming. It wasn't her fault. I swore out loud. I was so angry. M came into the room to see if I needed help and I just plopped her down on our mattress and yelled "why won't you fucking sleep?!?" I threw a plush toy. It had a music box inside which made the thud much more satisfying. I threw it again, but I think I'd killed the music box already.
I left the room.
I left M to feed her a bottle, and went to go get my pump.
And I sat in the living room and cried. It was time to quit for real.
The almost totally useless sleep experts here tell me "there is nothing medically wrong with her" and "you should keep her on a feeding and sleeping schedule" and then bring it on home with "if you get overwhelmed, come back to the hospital instead of hurting her or yourself." It boggles my mind how people who worry you might abuse your child would stack more requirements on you. Things to stress out about. Things that make you more nervous when you baby's sleeplessness already has you at the end of your rope.
Anyway, I've quit. For real. I'm considering getting back on some anti-depressant as a way to curb my emotions. If I'm not going to get more sleep anytime soon, I can't afford to feel angry. Sure, ecstatic also goes by the wayside, but at least anger and irritation are out of the picture.
I so didn't want to have to go this far, but what are you going to do when the hope coping mechanism has been removed? I'm not religious anymore, but there sure are some moments when having a deity who is "putting you to a test, designed for you, that won't be more than you can take" would be really useful. As soon as we monkeys got up on two feet and realized we are mortal and that evolution doesn't give a hoot about our happiness or sanity, religion probably saved a lot of homo sapiens from jumping off the nearest cliff.
Tune in next time to see how I got some hope back and how I keep underestimating the Swiss.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
I quit.
How did it get to be 2 weeks later already?
Well, that second trip back to the hospital was partially brought to us by the letter "R" - for rotavirus. Baby A caught a stomach bug the first time in the hospital. Nice. Great.
We went back, stayed another 5 days. Her sleep got better again - some problems more like at home, but they chalked it up to the virus. Now that we're home again, virus over, and sleep problems back, I'm not so sure. I think they were seeing some of the middle of night screaming we get here and thinking it was virus discomfort. Her waking schedule started moving closer to our home one.
Anyway, we got back, had one good night, one so-so night, and then....back-in-the-hole! And in the last 8 days, 7 bad nights and one in the middle, strangely quiet. More like the hospital. Of course now I keep obsessing what we did differently that night. Bottle at 7pm instead of right before bed....nope, 2 more times that hasn't worked. Me wearing a hairpin to part my hair on the right? Also, not the solution. Today I'm trying out a long afternoon nap for her, the other thing in the sleep/eat/cry log we've been keeping for 3 weeks now (that is an example in the photo), that preceded some other good nights of sleep.
Ah, right, quitting. Well, a few weeks ago I finally posted that, damn in, I want to breastfeed. But now baby A has 2 front teeth, and breastfeeding was still going rough. And in a moment of struggling (with my milk? with stomach pains? with gas?) she bit me and drew blood. Another few times, bit again, and I just got so nervous and watchful that nothing was nice or relaxing about it anymore. She was getting used to the faster flow bottles from the hospital, and since we were trying to feed her less often, just so freaked out by the time mealtime came, that breastfeeding didn't have a chance anymore.
I'm still pumping for every meal, and we supplement with formula. I made it 5 months, and I'm proud of that, but I do still get a little emotional putting away the last few nursing tops that were in the dryer. Into the box with maternity and newborn clothes. I'll still be a bit jealous of women and babies for whom it goes better.
But I'm ready to just say that the Baby A/mama combo wasn't going to make it any further with the breast feeding. I already had "said goodbye" one day a few weeks ago before going back to the hospital. And when I tried one last time yesterday, it was a disaster. No going back, people. It isn't the same anymore. Time to move on, like only I could have decided.
She now drains a bottle in under a minute sometimes. But still goes a bit too fast and needs lots of burping and resting. Chokes sometimes. Spits up. The food just isn't attached to my body anymore.
Who knows how long I can keep up pumping. Maybe another few weeks? We will see. The doctors said she was probably ready to start on mushed veggies already, but I know that I can't manage yet another food source until I get a bit more sleep at night.
Ok, I'm rambling and boring even myself at this point.
Just do me a favor, ok? Just for this week? For another 2-3 days? Don't tell me how happy you are that your baby isn't teething yet or how much you love breastfeeding. Because I'm still sad. By Monday I'll be fine. I'll adjust. But just not in the next few days. Thanks.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Well shit on a shingle
We are back to square one.
Baby A came home Saturday afternoon, we had a sort of ok night (better then ever before at home apart from the first day we had switched to all formula), and thought the next nights would just get better.
Wrong.
Nope.
Didn't happen. Got worse until, here we are again, it is just like before we left. Ok, not exactly like - she is back on an every 3.5 - 4 hours feeding schedule, getting more at each feeding but less often. She is in her crib for all but a few naps, but the hammock has beer retired. And breastfeeding is, actually, going really well. Better than every before. Somewhat I think thanks to her being hungry at mealtimes, but also because I have learned to trust her when she pushes my body away just slightly - I think it changes something enough that she is then more comfortable. Yes, that's right, my baby has learned to milk me. Again, I feel like a cow. In the best possible meaning of that term.
But back to the sleeping. It is eerie how much it is almost exactly like before the hospital, and this gives me a lot of confidence back. In all we were trying. We didn't wind up with a hammock and swaddling and white noise because of an outdated habit. It is the same stuff we have started to gravitate back to when the hospital methods just don't work. We can't, for the life (and I do mean life) of us get that weird sleep schedule to get any better.
The hospital log sheets show 5 and 6 hour stretches of sleep with just one or two "pop the binky back in and nothing else" marks in them. 4 nights there were like this. And here, whether M and I are both in our room with the door open, or one of us is sleeping in her room, or coming from the living room, "pop the binky back in" just doesn't send her back to sleep. We've mimicked their rolled up towel body pillow, put her in a pajama at bedtime, stopped using white noise or any music, let her naps be short if they will, fed her formula and breastmilk, put her to nap with butt patting instead of bouncing....everything they did. None of it makes a bit of difference. She is once again waking and pooing or farting really hard.
Which leads to a few last ideas (because honestly, I'm running out and I can go pretty damn far when I try), in an attempt to be thorough...
1. that she is allergic to something I stopped eating while at the hospital (I changed my diet there a bit - no eggs, almost no chocolate, lots of carbs and protein) and started again when we got home. The biggest suspect is eggs - I had them for breakfast the day things went back to bad, and in a protein shake for lunch, in powder form. I've been off them and chocolate, tomatoes, berries, citrus and soy (had sushi just before bringing her home) since Saturday. Sleep is no better. Not even marginally, at night. We had one great, calm nap yesterday where putting the binky back in worked. But night, back to hell. 3 hours of sleep for her, then 2, then hours then less.
2. the doctor suggested she may have picked up a stomach bug at the hospital. great. Might explain those mucus poops, but not the pattern that went back to like before.
3. The apartment? I mean, we have had 6 different people work on her sleep, so it isn't like she wakes up just for me. She has slept in the living room for weeks, in our room for weeks, in the guest room for weeks. So it isn't a room. It isn't one of us, at least not directly, behaviorally. What else is here? Some irritant or allergen? Could it be the dog? Or some noise that happens at the same times each day? Is the kid psychic or picking up Wi-Fi signals? But why would that impact tummy issues and farting?
4. The nurses at the hospital lied, gave her sedatives, or something not noted. Do I think this is likely? Of course not. But what do I have left?
So, I've tried to make my diet more like at the hospital. We could try taking her for a few days to someone else's house or a hotel to test #3. Or back to the hospital and I stay up at night to watch what magic those nurses worked on her to get such great sleep patterns.
Anyone have something I haven't thought of? Because our lives are once again at the precipice of little sleep and less hope.
Oh, and it isn't the laws of physics in the apartment. Lamps still only turn on when plugged in, and I dropped a piece of buttered bread this morning. It landed butter side down. So physics, in order.
Baby A came home Saturday afternoon, we had a sort of ok night (better then ever before at home apart from the first day we had switched to all formula), and thought the next nights would just get better.
Wrong.
Nope.
Didn't happen. Got worse until, here we are again, it is just like before we left. Ok, not exactly like - she is back on an every 3.5 - 4 hours feeding schedule, getting more at each feeding but less often. She is in her crib for all but a few naps, but the hammock has beer retired. And breastfeeding is, actually, going really well. Better than every before. Somewhat I think thanks to her being hungry at mealtimes, but also because I have learned to trust her when she pushes my body away just slightly - I think it changes something enough that she is then more comfortable. Yes, that's right, my baby has learned to milk me. Again, I feel like a cow. In the best possible meaning of that term.
But back to the sleeping. It is eerie how much it is almost exactly like before the hospital, and this gives me a lot of confidence back. In all we were trying. We didn't wind up with a hammock and swaddling and white noise because of an outdated habit. It is the same stuff we have started to gravitate back to when the hospital methods just don't work. We can't, for the life (and I do mean life) of us get that weird sleep schedule to get any better.
The hospital log sheets show 5 and 6 hour stretches of sleep with just one or two "pop the binky back in and nothing else" marks in them. 4 nights there were like this. And here, whether M and I are both in our room with the door open, or one of us is sleeping in her room, or coming from the living room, "pop the binky back in" just doesn't send her back to sleep. We've mimicked their rolled up towel body pillow, put her in a pajama at bedtime, stopped using white noise or any music, let her naps be short if they will, fed her formula and breastmilk, put her to nap with butt patting instead of bouncing....everything they did. None of it makes a bit of difference. She is once again waking and pooing or farting really hard.
Which leads to a few last ideas (because honestly, I'm running out and I can go pretty damn far when I try), in an attempt to be thorough...
1. that she is allergic to something I stopped eating while at the hospital (I changed my diet there a bit - no eggs, almost no chocolate, lots of carbs and protein) and started again when we got home. The biggest suspect is eggs - I had them for breakfast the day things went back to bad, and in a protein shake for lunch, in powder form. I've been off them and chocolate, tomatoes, berries, citrus and soy (had sushi just before bringing her home) since Saturday. Sleep is no better. Not even marginally, at night. We had one great, calm nap yesterday where putting the binky back in worked. But night, back to hell. 3 hours of sleep for her, then 2, then hours then less.
2. the doctor suggested she may have picked up a stomach bug at the hospital. great. Might explain those mucus poops, but not the pattern that went back to like before.
3. The apartment? I mean, we have had 6 different people work on her sleep, so it isn't like she wakes up just for me. She has slept in the living room for weeks, in our room for weeks, in the guest room for weeks. So it isn't a room. It isn't one of us, at least not directly, behaviorally. What else is here? Some irritant or allergen? Could it be the dog? Or some noise that happens at the same times each day? Is the kid psychic or picking up Wi-Fi signals? But why would that impact tummy issues and farting?
4. The nurses at the hospital lied, gave her sedatives, or something not noted. Do I think this is likely? Of course not. But what do I have left?
So, I've tried to make my diet more like at the hospital. We could try taking her for a few days to someone else's house or a hotel to test #3. Or back to the hospital and I stay up at night to watch what magic those nurses worked on her to get such great sleep patterns.
Anyone have something I haven't thought of? Because our lives are once again at the precipice of little sleep and less hope.
Oh, and it isn't the laws of physics in the apartment. Lamps still only turn on when plugged in, and I dropped a piece of buttered bread this morning. It landed butter side down. So physics, in order.
Its okay, its really okay, pretty little birdies, its gonna be okay
That’s a rough translation of what I’ve been singing in Lithuanian to Baby A on our evening walks when she’s blowing off steam from the day. I imagine I’ll still have to sing it sometimes, once we leave the hospital and start going outside, on stimulating tram rides or to restaurants full of people.
But for now, it is okay, really okay, and no need for the song in a few days. We’ll go home soon to try out her new sleep pattern. Turns out she slept long on breastmilk, too. So, I can continue to breastfeed at least partially. This makes me happy.
The nurse who keeps “suggesting” that we switch to formula and I stop breastfeeding, she doesn’t make me so happy. When we first got to the hospital and they asked us what we wanted, we said to know if she is in pain or sick, to help her sleep better. And I said that I would like to continue breastfeeding but only if it wasn’t stressful for her (meaning, allergies from my milk, painful reflux). Somehow this nurse has managed to hear “I’m willing to stop” and no more. She keeps trying to make A go longer and longer between meals, instead of keeping in mind that I need to feed some minimum amount of times per day to keep my milk production up. She switched to a larger nipple on the bottle this morning while I was still at home. Again, that’s not going to help A keep breastfeeding contently. And I’m sick of the “well she gets frustrated on the breast” argument. This nurse had no qualms trying to force feed her when she first got there, and made her scream, or to put her to nap while she was screaming in protest. Or to leave her cry for a few minutes in the crib during the day to learn to play on her own. Woman, stop messing with my baby to make her what you want. You wonder why I come back so soon in the morning? I don’t trust you to help me keep breastfeeding safe. Or to give my baby enough attention, quite frankly.
I don’t want to stop holding her for more hours a day than this nurse would approve of. I don’t want her to get used to eating a lot really fast, every 5 hours. She still has reflux, the spit-up kind, and that doesn’t help it. And, damn it…..I. WANT. TO. BREASTFEED.
It doesn’t hurt Amelija, it doesn’t do her harm, it gives us time together, I can produce enough, and when she is still hungry I am happy to supplement. But I am sick of feeling selfish. I want to breastfeed. Is this clear? Is the phrasing confusing somehow? I want to breastfeed. That is my business, as long as the baby gets enough food. Not the nurse’s business, not someone else’s business. This is my relationship with my daughter, and if she agrees to breastfeed, I want to keep doing it. And since we are training her to sleep better, I am allowed to try to train her to feed more calmly. Jesus, I’m sick of apologizing.
I guess I just had to get to this point. I said it. I’m done.
She has slept for 4 and 5 hours at a time the last many nights, by the way. Now I need to retrain myself to do the same.
But for now, it is okay, really okay, and no need for the song in a few days. We’ll go home soon to try out her new sleep pattern. Turns out she slept long on breastmilk, too. So, I can continue to breastfeed at least partially. This makes me happy.
The nurse who keeps “suggesting” that we switch to formula and I stop breastfeeding, she doesn’t make me so happy. When we first got to the hospital and they asked us what we wanted, we said to know if she is in pain or sick, to help her sleep better. And I said that I would like to continue breastfeeding but only if it wasn’t stressful for her (meaning, allergies from my milk, painful reflux). Somehow this nurse has managed to hear “I’m willing to stop” and no more. She keeps trying to make A go longer and longer between meals, instead of keeping in mind that I need to feed some minimum amount of times per day to keep my milk production up. She switched to a larger nipple on the bottle this morning while I was still at home. Again, that’s not going to help A keep breastfeeding contently. And I’m sick of the “well she gets frustrated on the breast” argument. This nurse had no qualms trying to force feed her when she first got there, and made her scream, or to put her to nap while she was screaming in protest. Or to leave her cry for a few minutes in the crib during the day to learn to play on her own. Woman, stop messing with my baby to make her what you want. You wonder why I come back so soon in the morning? I don’t trust you to help me keep breastfeeding safe. Or to give my baby enough attention, quite frankly.
I don’t want to stop holding her for more hours a day than this nurse would approve of. I don’t want her to get used to eating a lot really fast, every 5 hours. She still has reflux, the spit-up kind, and that doesn’t help it. And, damn it…..I. WANT. TO. BREASTFEED.
It doesn’t hurt Amelija, it doesn’t do her harm, it gives us time together, I can produce enough, and when she is still hungry I am happy to supplement. But I am sick of feeling selfish. I want to breastfeed. Is this clear? Is the phrasing confusing somehow? I want to breastfeed. That is my business, as long as the baby gets enough food. Not the nurse’s business, not someone else’s business. This is my relationship with my daughter, and if she agrees to breastfeed, I want to keep doing it. And since we are training her to sleep better, I am allowed to try to train her to feed more calmly. Jesus, I’m sick of apologizing.
I guess I just had to get to this point. I said it. I’m done.
She has slept for 4 and 5 hours at a time the last many nights, by the way. Now I need to retrain myself to do the same.
I guess it is time to cut my hair.
I’ve been waiting, see. I got this horrible cut from a “master” stylist at a salon here just before baby A came into the world. I had had a pixie cut from last year that was growing out, and a Chicago stylist had done a great job cutting just enough to make my hair look great again but allow the top to grow. Well, Mr. MasterStylist listened to my wishes and proceeded to “texture” my hair on top and give it options for sticking straight out in back. Um, yeah. Wow. That is almost exactly the opposite of what I would have chosen, buddy. I guess “master” means “worked for this company for more than a year,” and is not used in the same way as in terms like “mastery learning,” “master’s degree,” or pretty much any other terms that indicate knowing what the hell you are doing.
Anyway, as the last 4 months have gone by, sleepless and clouded, and I wash my hair maybe every 3 days and have forgotten which end of a dryer to point at it, it has gotten longer. I’ve gone from still cursing under my breath at Mr.MasterStylist to just looking for a hair clip to pull back the bangs. Stylish? No. Cute? Nope. Matching my 3 rotating tops and pants that I’ve worn for the last three months. Definitely. It looks particularly well suited to my furry blue robe and mismatched pajamas.
And I’ve been waiting. For that day. The day we walked out of a doctor’s office, pharmacy, or hospital with Baby A (hmm….there’s a pattern), or she woke up on month 3 and suddenly things were better. That she had slept for more than 3 hours, 2 hours, 1 hour, and then 45 min, 30 min, 30 min all night. Or that she no longer woke herself up every 20 minutes during those longer stretches or her naps. Someone would confirm my theory about allergies, and I would cut out nuts and bananas from my diet. After all, the kid wakes up around bananas, who needs them? Or the reflux medication would kick in and we would all wake up after 4 hours of sleep one night. Or something. Anything.
She would still be her alert, curious, overstimulated, sensitive self. We would still need to include these traits in our life and not just stop taking her needs into account. But we would get to go out with friends and their babies. I might finally move my bed time to 9pm and still get a good night’s sleep. By which I’m talking more than one stretch of 4 hours. She might start to like the stroller. Things would get…lighter. My heart included. There would be room to breathe in our lives and the breaths could be deep again.
And I would go down to that salon near the bookstore downtown and get my hair cut. It would be short still, but something cute that I would have a few minutes to style on the mornings I wanted to. When we went out. Because, as I said, we’d start going out again. Outside. I might pull some other clothes out of the closet even. Goodness.
But here we are at the Children’s Hospital for 3 days, and they’ve monitored her waking, sleeping and eating. I’ve slept in a spare bed in a day clinic, and breastfed her. I’ve walked the halls with her and played on the floor with her. She has sat on my lap with her intent little gaze while I spoke with the doctors for an hour. Ok, she had a few things to say, too. The nurses have looked for, and not found, any signs of reflux. They are usually the ones to convince the doctors. Allergies, also no signs. The wheezing that has been a constant companion of hers since we can remember has been diagnosed as harmless, non-painful, baby-reflux. She is learning to fall asleep a bit faster (and less often during the day) and in a crib. She is charming the pants off of everyone, as usual, and generally enjoying her stay (except for that force feeding incident with the nurse which will not be tolerated – by her or me – again).
And in long conversations with the doctors, I’m letting go. I’m giving up. It isn’t going to get better. She may just be a child that needs 9 hours of sleep a day. And the best we may be able to do is to hire good, qualified helpers so that we can get back out there once in a while, and work on helping her sleep faster, and eat more less often. That’s it.
Last night I grabbed my things from that spare room, went down to the nurses’ station and told them I was going to the parents’ dorm a few blocks away to sleep. It was time to get some rest while I knew she was in good hands, instead of staying close to breastfeed and get woken by snoring roommates. There was no more I could do, no more videos of wheezing to show the doctors, no more theories of allergies to run by anyone. Nothing. Done. All we had was one glorious night 5 days ago when we tried her on only formula, when she slept soundly between wake-ups. And even that effect started wearing away after 24 hours. And although the doctors really did listen to all our data and that incident, there was nothing they were aware of that could explain that as any more than a fluke.
I still think it is something, but I’m so tired. Tired of charging windmills. I need to sleep now, so I can be the best mom possible to my little firecracker. To help her learn to navigate the world exactly as she is. To deal with the people who won’t be so happy about what a strong willed kid she is. Sure I’m sad. It feels like I couldn’t be her knight in shining armor, after all. But I know I am still her advocate, and I guess, for a few days, I was even her mama bear.
So, no miracles. I guess it is time to get my hair cut, and accept this different, less shiny solution.
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