My Son and the Devil’s Tower

October 24, 2013 in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

The shining moment of the past week was when we were attempting to change Zeke’s diaper, which has been a two- to three-person job since his surgery for hypospadias last Friday. I was attempting to remove a poopy diaper and clean Zeke while not disturbing the dressing covering his surgical site, Randy was holding down the enormous foam dressing that he and Zoe nicknamed the Devil’s Tower after a rock formation Zoe was reading to us about, and Zoe was holding Zeke’s hands so he didn’t try to yank the dressing or the catheter. We all started singing. The alphabet song, Twinkle Twinkle, You Are My Sunshine, Peace Like a River. We have a good repertoire. And Zeke stopped squirming and writing and screaming and just smiled.

The ironic moment was when Zoe wanted to watch one of her favorite movies, Babies, so we streamed it on the tv for her, trying to amuse her amid days of benign neglect because her brother has required all of our attention. We forgot that in the movie (which we’ve all seen numerous times) there are many occasions where the babies cry. Randy started laughing until he cried. We are taking a break from hearing our baby cry to watch other babies cry?

I was going to write about all this when it is safely behind us and I can reflect back with some wisdom. Unfortunately we’re still entrenched in the middle of it and it’s still really hard, but I needed to write anyway.

I hate feeling like a needy person who’s always having a crisis. I’ve always wondered what was wrong with those people who always seem to have some major issue. And suddenly I feel like one of them. Both my kids and my husband have had surgeries in the past few years. I don’t have a problem accepting help, but somehow it’s frustrating to need help. I realize I need help in many small ways all the time, but I like to think of myself as someone who can take care of things and take care of people and when suddenly I feel incapable of taking care of anything other than keeping myself and family alive, I feel defeated.

Concurrent with his surgery, Zeke has developed his first real cold, which has proven to be fierce. So in addition to giving him meds twice a day, we’re using a nebulizer to help him breathe. As a result of the cold, or the teething that was also happening pre-procedure, and the surgery itself and resulting pain, he has refused to nurse (I’ve just learned it’s actually called a nursing strike, which brings to mind a picket line of babies) since Friday night, except when he is half-asleep at 4am. On the one hand, we have to give him the medication in bottles because he rejects it any other way, but on the other hand it’s really difficult to not be able to nurse him whenever he’s hungry, not be able to soothe him with nursing, not be able to do this fundamental thing for my son. So I’ve been pumping as much as I can, burning through my frozen milk supply. I bought a can of formula to have on hand just in case. I’ve been frustrated too by the online advice about nursing strikes, which assumes the mom stays at home with baby 24/7. They say things like, avoid giving a bottle–instead express milk and feed it to your baby with a spoon or a syringe. My baby has taken a bottle for months, because–as much as I love my son with everything I am–I need to be apart from him sometimes, whether it is to run my business or just to have a minute to myself to be a grown-up human being. I am hoping that when he’s feeling better and returned to a normal routine that he will resume nursing as much as he was before.

I need to sleep, and everyone else in our house is doing that now, but these thoughts have been flooding my brain for a week. I am so thankful to have in my husband a partner who is as committed to taking care of our kids as I am. I am thankful to my parents for being here to help in any way I ask them to, no matter what. I am thankful for the people who’ve brought or sent us meals, some of whom I barely know. I am thankful for the on-call urology resident at Children’s who answered our questions the six times we called, day and night, while he was on duty last weekend. I’m thankful for our surgeon’s nurse who I’ve also talked with many times and who is patient with me every time something goes wrong, which seems to happen about twice a day.

And, as Randy reminded me today, I am thankful for Zeke’s smiles. Despite this all, when he isn’t having his diaper changed or having some other offensive thing done to him, he is so joyful and filled with smiles. He still loves hugs and kisses and playing and he did fall asleep in the car the three times I drove him to the airport and back, at midnight, 4am, and 10am respectively. Midnight is the best time to drive to the airport–the least amount of traffic for sure. And tonight he made my day by laughing and laughing when I imitated the sounds he was making–“aah aah aah aah aah!” enthusiastically. It was the funniest thing he had ever heard. So as far as he’s concerned, he’s doing ok. We’re doing all the worrying for him, which is what’s supposed to happen.

We have five more nights and four more days till the catheter comes out. That coincides with his 6-month birthday. We will all celebrate.

Zoe Expresses the New Normal

September 26, 2013 in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Yesterday while we were eating frozen yogurt outside the froyo shop, Zoe and I had this conversation.

Z: “Did you and Daddy have jobs before you were married?”

Me: “Yes. You have to get a job after your graduate from college, whether or not you’re married. So Daddy and I have both had jobs for a long time.”

Pause

Me: “Why do you ask?”

Z: “I saw those two men go into the frozen yogurt shop and I wondered if they were married. Or if they just worked together. Or if they were married and worked together. They were wearing ties.”

Alternative Sources of Energy

September 20, 2013 in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

I surge through half the day fueled solely by adrenaline.

Must make it to school on time.

Must feed and clothe baby.

Everything else is negotiable.

 

Later, I turn to caffeine.

You decide whether or not it is toxic for you.

For me it is a balm.

 

By 5:30 the screaming starts.

I am spent.

But I cannot stand the screaming.

So I stuff the baby in the carrier and pace.

Up and down the sidewalk in front of the house on a nice day.

If I remember shoes and sunglasses it’s a plus.

Or in circles around 1584 square feet, dodging toys and baby apparatus.

While the first grader snacks and relaxes.

I am fortunate that she is tolerant.

 

When the baby is asleep, I can sit down for a few minutes to talk

Or play with the first grader.

As long as I hold myself in just the right position

So as not to disturb the baby.

 

If only I could sleep. Please please let me sleep.

 

Eventually, he wakes up smiling and it is time to get oatmeal

or the vegetable du jour all over his face and clothes.

What’s Worse than Cleaning Up Bodily Fluids

September 1, 2013 in Uncategorized | 1 comment

Yesterday when I was cleaning Zeke off after he spit up, Zoe said, in an extremely sincere voice, “I can’t wait to be a mom.”

“Really?” I asked, puzzled but not shocked, since she does love to inspect his dirty diapers. “So you can clean up spit-up?”

“I was being sarcastic,” she explained with an eye roll.

“Oh,” I said. “I understand. You’ll love being a mom. But cleaning up spit-up is not nearly the worst part of being a mom.”

“What is?” She asked. “Poopy diapers?”

While it can be unpleasant, none of that stuff is the worst part of being a mom, I told her. So she asked what was so bad.

“Seeing your kid be sick or unhappy or worrying that something is wrong with them. That’s way worse than cleaning up spit-up or poop,” I explained.

“Oh.”

Tonight at bedtime I could hear Zoe telling Randy about how she was scared about starting first grade. I am scared too. I feel like it’s me starting first grade, but with fear multiplied by a thousand because there are so many more things to be worried about than she even knows exist. Which is a good thing. I will resist the urge to tell her about them. I will do my best to be brave, because I know she has to. She’s already in training to be a mom.

Do I Look Like A Grandmother to You?

September 1, 2013 in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

At Target tonight my cashier was a 17-year-old who said I would leave the store feeling better than I had when I came in, thanks to him. He wasn’t clear on how he would accomplish this mood enhancement. Perhaps he thought that simply his dazzling presence would lift my spirits. Then, when he scanned two pairs of size 9m footie pajamas I was buying for Zeke he asked, “do you have grandchildren?”

…

Randy pointed out when I got home that the young man might come from a family where youthful-looking 39-year-olds ARE, in fact, grandmothers. Theoretically I could be a grandmother, if my life had gone very differently. I am thankful it worked out the way it did.

What Zeke Can Do

August 28, 2013 in baby, parenting | Tags: | Leave a comment

When Zoe was a baby I emailed updates about her miraculous development to a large list of people I thought of as fans. Daily or weekly or monthly I sent out these missives because, as a new parent, I was in awe of almost everything Zoe did whenever she did it.

Six years later, Zoe’s brother Zeke is equally wondrous, but decidedly less stunning in his fabulousness, if only because we’ve been through it before and we’re considerably more tired now. Although Zoe’s demands are considerably more articulate than Zeke’s, they seem just as numerous. So I write about Zeke less. But I am still delighted and impressed by him moment by moment.

Tomorrow is Zeke’s four-month birthday. Huzzah! The rhythm of his life and the school year are tied together. I found out I was pregnant last year on Zoe’s first day of school. Tomorrow as we mark four months, Zoe will meet her first-grade teacher and new classmates. And Zeke is so much more of a person than he was not that long ago.

Zoe called him Rolly McRollerson today. He rolls over like crazy. Last night Zoe called me in to their room in the middle of the night and during the few minutes I was tending to her, Zeke rolled over onto his tummy (and had to be rolled back over onto his back) six times. When I walked into the room, he had positioned himself in the northeast corner of his crib, after being placed basically in the center, but nearer to the southern end. I wish I had a video camera trained on him during the night, and someone to edit the footage into a cool two-minute time-lapse little movie.

He thrills at his fingers and toes. For a while he would try to cram his whole hand into his mouth when he wanted to suck on it, but recently he has learned to separate his fingers and he can now more easily satisfy himself by chewing on one or two at a time. And he can pretty easily put his toes in his mouth. Socks on or off–it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t mind a little cloth. He will also happily suck on a burp cloth, the corner of a blanket, the ear of a stuffed animal, and of course, a pacifier. Thank goodness my aunt convinced him of the virtues of a pacifier when she visited and helped take care of him in July. Previously he wouldn’t have it, and now he and the pacifiers that litter every room of our house are old friends.

This boy can snuggle. Of course he loves to snuggle with his family. That’s been true since his first messy moments out of the womb. But in the past couple weeks he has demonstrated an affinity for stuffed animals, in particular a little white bear that Zoe has aptly named Snuggles. When he’s trying to settle down and he’s flailing his arms around, all you have to do is tuck a little animal against his chest and he immediately puts his arm around it and calms down. When Zoe was a baby we tried for months to interest her in the multitude of stuffed animals that had marched into our home. She was largely indifferent until about nine months when she mysteriously claimed one of my old stuffed animals–a gray dog named Ralph–as her special friend, and he remains her main stuffed squeeze. Zeke only has a few animals, and some of them are bigger than him, but he clearly loves his furry friends.

Zeke has a voracious appetite. Whether it’s coming straight from the source or via a bottle, he loves his breastmilk. He seems to be an increasingly efficient consumer, as his feedings seem to have reduced from a dozen a day to about half that. Thank goodness. He stocks up during the day and, as a result, often sleeps through the night. Probably for the past month he’s slept from 8 or 9pm to 6 or 7am for three or four nights in a row. Then he’ll wake up at 2 or 3 or 4 or 5 for three or four nights. Then he’ll sleep through. I have not yet been able to undertake a scientific study to determine why he sleeps longer some nights than others, but I am satisfied that he can sleep through and confident that those nights will eventually outnumber the wakeful ones. Zoe has complained recently that he wakes her up a lot at night, so tonight I let her sleep on the bed in my office, as a temporary measure. I reminded her that she still wakes us up sometimes. She didn’t care.

By far the best thing he can do, however, is smile. He smiles and smiles and sticks his tongue out and makes all kinds of jungle animal or wild bird noises. He is so engaged with people and with the world and obviously quite happy with his place in it right now. Do not think I am saying he never cries or is unhappy. When he is tired he cries a lot and he will resolutely refuse food or anything else until you help him get to sleep. He has mostly overcome his riding in the car misery, thankfully. But when he’s tired, the car is also a bad place to be. But mostly, he smiles. Sometimes he looks serious. He doesn’t want you to have the impression he doesn’t think deep thoughts. Those smiles though, let you know that you’re pretty swell and remind you to be as excited as Zeke is just to be alive.

I Am Nutritious

July 28, 2013 in baby, breastfeeding, child care, day care, nursing, parenting, siblings, working mom | Leave a comment

I’m sure everyone in my family has now seen more of my breasts, and more often, than they ever expected or cared to. My boy Zeke loves to nurse. And why wouldn’t he? Thankfully, he’s a good sleeper, usually going through the night without needing to eat these days. As a result, however, he packs it in during the day, breastfeeding six or eight or a dozen times a day. I lose count. Every day I intend to keep track, but my brain is so cloudy that I forget. He enjoys long, luxurious meals. He appreciates quick snacks. When I’m out in public, especially in a crowded place or if strangers are seated nearby, I feed Zeke under a nursing cover. I can’t imagine it’s very discreet, because anyone would see what I’m doing, but at least my boobs and my belly are not exposed to a room full of people. But at home, or on vacation, I don’t bother. So Family, I hope you haven’t been offended. I am nutritious.

After a long and thorough search for an acceptable day care provider to care for Zeke when I go back to work in earnest, I found someone who has run her home-based day care for 33 years. Her house is five minutes from ours and she seemed conscientious and the kids there seemed happy. Zeke won’t start there until September, and even then he will only be with her two days a week and with my parents for two. I’m sure he’ll be fine, and if I decide I don’t like her, we can always take him out and find someone else. And yet. Putting him in day care at all feels like a colossal betrayal. I am his source of sustenance. Sure, he’s taken bottles of breast milk from his dad and grandparents and great aunt. But it’s me he loves to eat from and with. Sure, there’s some ego involved here. Being the mother of a baby is nothing if not a rush to the ego–look what my body developed and birthed and now I’m feeding him and he’s growing and WOW — I am doing this. Even if it’s basically all happening automatically and you’re not really doing anything yourself, just letting yourself be used as a vessel and a milk factory. Still, it feels impressive and gratifying. Much as you feel pleased with yourself when you take him to the grocery store in the stroller and buy $100 worth of groceries that you shop for with a basket attached to each side of the stroller and then you stroll home the half mile with 9 bags hanging from the hooks on your stroller handlebars. You don’t always have that many opportunities to feel really physically competent–or at least I don’t–but taking care of this baby provides plenty.

I realize that soon after he starts day care, he will likely start eating some solid food, so he won’t be as dependent on nursing as he is now. At some point, that will be a relief to me and certainly to Zoe, who is visibly frustrated with the lack of intimacy she is able to share with me now in terms of snuggles and lap time because Zeke is so often occupying my arms and taking priority. Life will be easier for me, just simpler and less demanding, when I don’t have to nurse so much. But at the same time that intensity of being needed, and being able to provide such an essential service for this wonderful little person, will diminish. And as much as constant breastfeeding has driven me insane, when I just want to eat a sandwich or go to the bathroom, the thought of giving it up makes me equally sad. I know I’m not giving it up just because he’ll be in day care, but it will all be different. And we know change is hard. Although when you have kids, change happens about every five minutes whether you like it or not.

I can see Zoe changing by the minute since her brother was born. While she seems less likely to listen the first time and increasingly able to stand and stare at us when we ask her to do something, or why she did or didn’t do something, wearing this expression of complete intransigence, she is also more independent and both able and willing (if sometimes resigned to doing so with a loud sigh) to amuse herself for long stretches. I guess she realizes it’s either be her own entertainment or stand around being pathetic while we take care of her brother. Last summer I took her to the pool almost every day after camp and played with her in the water. This summer it has proven complicated and exhausting to get in the water with Zeke, although I’ve done it a handful of times, and Zoe has adapted quite nicely. She swims by herself, throwing in pool toys and diving to catch them, or she makes friends, or she plays with kids she’s met before. She’s adapted.

Before Zeke was born, Randy and I easily agreed that we would be sure to spend one-on-one time with Zoe to make sure she got enough attention. Of course that makes sense and is what any good parent would do. But then life happens and it’s harder to do the things that obviously of course you should be doing. I had this idea that I was spending all this time with Zoe because I spend a lot of time driving her places and watching her swim, or do tae kwan do, or what have you. But Zeke is always there. And as often as not, screaming in the car.

So finally, I took Zoe out today for a mommy-daughter outing, to get our nails done. Something definitely not appropriate for babies and something only big girls get to do. She chose neon orange for her toes, and what she called sparkly indigo for her fingernails. And she got flower designs on her thumbs and big toes. Then we went out to lunch, where Randy and Zeke met us. Thoughtfully, Zeke slept through lunch.

Then after lunch I had the opportunity to indulge myself in some mommy-alone-without-kids-and-not-attempting-to-do-work-or-errands time, while Randy hung out with Zoe and Zeke at home. I had a reflexology foot massage, supremely relaxing in its own right, but also just blissful in that I was just on my own, being taken care of, and not taking care of anyone else at all. Even for a minute. My breasts safely cocooned inside my shirt.

It’s good to be needed, even when it’s exhausting. And it’s good to have the chance to give something to other people who need you besides the little one who just likes to suckle and smile. And it’s good to take care of yourself once in a while. And now that it’s bedtime for the grown-ups, that means it’s time for me to pump, to make a bottle for Zeke to enjoy with someone else who loves him.

The Kids Are All Right

June 23, 2013 in breastfeeding, graduation, kindergarten, martial arts, parenting, school, tae kwon do | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

When I arrived at school yesterday to pick Zoe up after her last day of kindergarten, I found her, fully clothed in her Abingdon t-shirt (“I want to wear it on the last day to show everyone how much I like Abingdon,” she said) and some shorts, sitting and splashing in a baby pool with several of her friends to cool off. She was soaked. And why not? What else is there to do after the last day of school? Apparently water games were part of the last day carnival that the extended day teachers creatively and generously put on for the kids but Zoe neglected to tell me about it the night before. Whatever. It’s the last day of school! Getting wet in your clothes makes it easier to not be too sad about the end of a fabulous year.

I saw Zoe’s wonderful teacher in the hallway as I was wheeling Zeke through the school to find Zoe, and thanked her again. Part of me wanted to hug her, but I knew if I did I would cry and I didn’t feel like she needed to deal with me crying. I did tell her, despite myself, that I found out I was pregnant with Zeke on the first day of school. So somehow the last day of school seemed like my little baby bubble was popping. I’ve been very lucky to have a lot of help and support from family and friends over the past eight weeks to make life easier for me and to allow me to focus on Zeke. Randy has driven Zoe to school every day since Zeke was born, which has been huge. On Monday Zoe will start camp which, thankfully, begins an hour and a half later than school starts, so it will be once again up to me to take charge of things in the morning. I am confident I can handle this, but I’m a little sad for the end of my morning repose with Zeke.

But I digress. While Zoe finished splashing with her friends, I nursed Zeke in the hallway, briefly chatting with the strings teacher, greeting other teachers who walked by, and meeting the technology teacher when she came by to admire Zeke. I saw tonight that she had posted a video of the Big Wave, an Abingdon tradition where all the teachers and staff sing and dance and send off the kids on the last afternoon. I love this school. Throughout the year, and especially over the past few weeks when it would seem all learning had ceased, Zoe did so many fun and interesting things at school. Her teachers and the other kindergarten teachers found creative and enriching activities to keep them engaged. She learned about Betsy Ross, magnets, the different between needs and wants, and introductory economics using musical chairs. The extended day teachers brought in a DJ for a dance party and hosted a slumber party. Field day was apparently the most fun Zoe had ever had in her life. Last night we went through a variety of workbooks and projects that Zoe brought home. She read us her end of the year book. She thoughtfully completed the final few pages in the My Kindergarten Year book that we gave her at the beginning of the year. Tonight we took her out for dinner at the restaurant of her choice (Lost Dog) followed by dessert of her choice (Dairy Queen) to celebrate her accomplishments during kindergarten and today’s tae kwan do belt ceremony where she broke her board (on the second try!) and earned her green stripe belt. We made toasts to each other.

Afternoons managing two kids are challenging, and this year has not been without its tough spots, including Zoe’s surgery, a rough pregnancy, and the trying minutiae that gets magnified and seems to consume us sometimes. But it’s lovely to end the year on a good note. We have a delightful rising first-grader and a cute baby boy who now often greets us with smiles. So what if the air conditioner is broken. We are lucky people. Let’s go jump in the baby pool.

In the World of Strangers

June 18, 2013 in baby, breastfeeding, help, nursing, parenting, restaurants | 1 comment

I am constantly worried that people are judging my children (and thereby judging me as a parent). If my baby is crying, I worry that they will judge him to be a bad baby or me to be a bad mother who is unable to soothe her fussy baby. When people ask, “is he a good baby?” I feel like they’re suggesting that if he’s not (what’s a good baby anyway?) that somehow he is defective or I am defective. In my mind there is a great deal of weight attached to well-meaning or innocuous comments or questions from strangers or friends. I’ve wondered for the past several weeks if Zoe’s teachers or other adults at school think she is neglected because her has rarely been brushed since her brother was born. Dad has been taking her to school each day so I can rest or nurse and hairbrushing is often one of the items that gets dropped from the morning to do list. Which is fine, in the scheme of things. She is dressed in clean clothes and she is fed and she usually brings her lunch. But still.

When I am driving and I do something I know is wrong, or slightly illegal, I often compose excuses or justifications in my head as part of imaginary conversations with police officers who might pull me over. I am sincerely repentant and simultaneously indignant about being theoretically called on minor offenses. I don’t think other people have these conversations in their heads. Do they?

I don’t know how long I have felt this shadow of judgment looming over me, but it’s been a long time.

One time at lunch a friend of mine–whose frankness and fierceness I admire and also am a little scared of–said she doesn’t really care what anyone thinks of her. She wondered, but seemingly without too much concern, if that was a bad thing. Instinctively, I think it is. But I am on the other end of the spectrum and that is a bad thing too. I think caring what other people think of you helps you be more compassionate and sympathetic, maybe more reliable. Who knows? But obsessing about what other people think and whether they are evaluating your every move is not helpful.

I’m reading the new book by Glennon Melton, the mom and blogger behind Momastery. Glennon’s whole thing is about how we, as moms, or really as humans, need to love more and judge less. She has plenty of personal history that would be easy to judge, and she freely admits where her faults and imperfections still lie. And she is so reassuring. Clearly this is why thousands of people read her blog and comment on her Facebook posts and show up at her readings. If she is such a mess and still such a wonderful person who is clearly trying to do the right thing, and often succeeding, and bringing so much love into the lives of people around her and the total strangers for whom she organizes “love flash mobs” to help in times of crisis, we must be all right too. Right?

When Zoe was born I struggled with feeling isolated as a new mom. Even though I had friends with babies, they all seemed to be far away. We don’t live in a neighborhood filled with kids. Everyone seemed to work. I went to Moms Club events but didn’t seem to connect with anyone or have the opportunity to have a conversation longer than a few minutes because of all the crying babies. I didn’t take a childbirth class or prenatal yoga class where I bonded with all the other moms. It wasn’t until Zoe started preschool at one-and-a-half that I felt like I started to make some local mom friends. Thankfully I am still friends with some of those moms.

But with one exception, none of them have newborns. And though I swore I’d do it differently this time, when you have a kindergartener already, it’s difficult to do everything you want to do. So I find myself again feeling kind of lonely at home, trying to balance relaxing and nursing and trying to be zen with going out and interacting with people to feel sane. Today at Trader Joe’s I wore Zeke in a baby carrier while I shopped. It took him a while to settle down so I was kind of jiggling and rocking as I pushed the cart along, and frequently slid my hands inside the carrier to adjust him to try to make him more comfortable. The whole time I was wondering if people were looking at me, if they thought I was doing it right or wrong. A few people smiled. There were a couple other moms wearing babies and one of them complimented Zeke’s hair. In the parking lot afterward there was a woman getting out of her car, right next to mine, who was carefully inserting her baby into a carrier on her chest, and then extracting her toddler from the car. I asked the mom about her carrier and we chatted briefly. She was friendly but clearly on her way to shop. Some part of me felt like saying, “hey we’re both wearing our babies and have two kids! Can we be friends?” But I didn’t. A few weeks ago outside the Giant in my neighborhood I was having a snack while Zeke slept in the stroller, and another mom on the next bench over was doing the same, with a baby who turned out to be just a week younger than Zeke. Before we walked away, I was tempted to ask for her email address so we could meet up at the park. But I didn’t.

In her blog post today, Glennon talked about going to the makeup counter at a department store and striking up a conversation with the makeup lady who ended up having an intense personal story to tell, which Glennon generously listened to and witnessed. I admire her ability to reach out to people–strangers–and make those connections. Sometimes I want to talk with someone so much but I can’t bring myself to do it. Or ask for a little–very little–help from a stranger. Today I took Zeke and myself out to lunch and while I ate my cheeseburger with one hand, I was cradling and nursing him in the other. I finished my drink and wanted a refill. There was a table of 8 women right next to me and I was tempted to ask one if she would mind getting me some more soda, but I couldn’t do it. She probably wouldn’t have minded. I would be delighted to do something like that if I were asked. But people don’t usually ask. Part of me was worried, I think, that people in the restaurant would be judging me, wondering why I was bringing my newborn to a restaurant, or why I was drinking soda while breastfeeding, or why I couldn’t take care of things myself. They probably weren’t. But still.

I’m trying to figure out how I can make myself reach out more. And wondering what to tell myself when I worry that people will judge me for reaching out. Who cares what they think? Clearly, I do. But why?

Bebe Au Lait

June 7, 2013 in baby, breastfeeding, nursing, parenting | 3 comments

Do you remember this song from Sesame Street?

This little tune runs through my head often these days, as I lead a milk-soaked existence.

I am a milk machine.

This is miraculous.

And messy.

Yesterday during Zoe’s tae kwan do class I suddenly realized that the left half of my shirt was soaked through with milk. I spent most of class nursing Zeke anyway, so no one could see anyway. When I had to get up, walk across the mat where Zoe’s class was practicing their punches, kicks, and form, to reach the bathroom so I could change Zeke’s diaper, I cleverly draped his flannel frog blanket over my shoulder, obscuring my dampness.

Our sheets are populated by milk stains, either fresh from me or dribbled out of Zeke’s mouth. When I nurse and the milk comes out too fast and Zeke pulls away, the milk gets all over his clothes and me and my pants. I go through so many shirts and bras. Breast pads are of limited utility.

When Zoe was three and a half months old, my sister got married. Zoe was the ring bearer and my husband was the ring bearer bearer. Zoe spent most of the wedding sleeping on the shoulder of my mom or aunt. As you might imagine, a bridesmaid dress doesn’t allow for easy access to nursing, nor is there much opportunity to pump (or express milk, if you prefer) during your sister’s wedding. By the end of the evening, the top of my dress was soaked through with milk. I still have it in my closet, although the dry cleaner was not able to get the stain out of the material. Not sure what use I might have for it, except as a souvenir.

A friend who doesn’t have children and doesn’t expect to recently asked me about nursing. Was it wonderful? Was it terrible? Breastfeeding is amazing. It is spectacular that, without me having to do ANYTHING special, my body produces this perfect food for my baby. How cool is that? And it’s free! AND Zeke loves to drink my milk (as did Zoe) and my body makes a ton of it–maybe even too much?–but it’s a great problem to have.

Breastfeeding is intimate, as you can understand, but also public, because you have to do it all over the place when your baby is hungry. It is sweet and tender, except when your baby is fussing and crying and freaking out for no apparent reason. It is relaxing, especially when you’re doing it at home in a comfortable chair, or stressful, when you’re trying to do it in some crowded place and people are getting in your face. Breastfeeding produces some sort of happy hormones (in the mom). It is impossible for me not to fall asleep almost instantly when I go in during the middle of the night to feed Zeke. I end up sleeping in the glider for hours sometimes, which somehow seems wrong, but I guess it’s fine.

Nursing your baby makes you feel very competent, except when it doesn’t. I am grateful for all the ladies at the Breastfeeding Center for Greater Washington for their guidance. Zeke has been great, and the fact that he gained more than two pounds during his first three weeks of life is evident of his rock star ability to nurse, but that doesn’t mean it’s been without tense moments.

Speaking of which, I hear the siren call from the crib of a hungry baby. Duty calls.

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 817 other subscribers

Archives

Follow You Ask a Lot of Questions on WordPress.com

Listen to my podcast: Five Questions with Betsy Rosenblatt Rosso

http://betsyrosso.podbean.com