1 Mother 2 Another

Since I seem to spend so much time these days talking about Madeleine's eating habits and the inevitable (hopefully!) conclusions therein, I've added a new category on the right - Intake and Output.  I suspect this isn't the last one I'll have to add, either;  I'm guessing "Toddlerhood" is not too far off in the future, and "Teenagers - What the Heck??" will be here before I know it.

Isaiah, my girlfriend Abby’s oldest child, turned three recently.  I was privileged enough to be at his birth and I can’t believe it’s been three years.  He’s definitively left babyhood behind, and is now far less toddler than little boy.  Abby was the first of my girlfriends to have a baby, and I remember being selfishly depressed when she became pregnant; I knew instinctively that the face of our friendship would alter, that motherhood would change her; that there would be a chasm between us of life experiences she had had and I had not.

Only a few more days before Christmas and the big event that accompanies it – the Family Dinner.  I feel duty-bound to remind you all to be on your guard; every family’s got a crazy Uncle Al in their closet who hops the kids up on sugar, teaches them the theory behind building a parachute for jumping off the roof from mommy’s nightgown, then breezes out as you spot your angelic-looking son sidling up to your lingerie drawer.

How do I know this?  I’ve got my own Uncle Al.

Fear not, gentlemen, the deadline for coming up with a brilliant Christmas present has not yet passed you by.  There’s still time to run out and grab a gift that will dazzle your wife and bring her to incoherent cries of joy.

The miracle product?  A home laminating machine.

I’m momentarily putting my holiday ruminations on hold because that’s where Madeleine’s digestive tract is. 

On hold.

Still trying to decide what to get for new parents this year?  Look in your own child’s toychest for inspiration.

For Madeleine’s shower, my girlfriend Abby (and her husband Paul – I sometimes speak as if she acts in a void but he’s a helpful other half) gave us a few of her son Isaiah’s favorite toys.  Not the same ones, of course – as Abby was wrapping them up for us, Isaiah expressed concern that they were the originals and Abby had to dig out his beloveds to reassure him – but shiny new ones for Maddie to break in herself.  Not all the toys were newborn-appropriate, but it gave us something new to look forward to using at a later date.  And as baby girl grows into a stage where she’ll appreciate one of her packed-away toys, I get to 1) remember Paul and Abby’s thoughtfulness all over again, and 2) not have to spend money on new toys.

When the weather turned gorgeous and mild today for no discernable reason, Madeleine and I wisely asked no questions and ran out of the house to enjoy ourselves.  We went to our local greenmarket; our supply of frozen baby food’s pretty low and it’s time to replenish.  Having been on solid foods for about three weeks now, Madeleine’s developing quite the diverse diet; she’s getting the eating thing down, throwing both arms out stiff to her sides like an airplane and opening her mouth wide baby bird-style.  

I got off work a bit early today and decided to get in some “real” Christmas shopping, blatantly taking advantage of my mother’s babysitting.  I spent time earlier going through Maddie’s shopping list and deciding what would be ordered online and what I’d pick up at Buy Buy Baby because it was either cheaper or back-ordered or too big and bulky to ship at a somewhat decent cost.  At last, I’d get the chance to get out there and get my hands dirty!  Let the blissful browsing and impulse-buying begin!

Two hours later, I’m standing on the street in front of Bloomingdale’s with half the population of Manhattan, trying vainly to flag down a cab during 1) the start of rush hour, and 2) the shift change of all taxi drivers in the city.  Twenty minutes of unsuccessful peremptory arm-waving later, I had one question:

Madeleine’s six months now, and I’ve been back working a couple nights a week while Brian watches her since she was four months old.  When I first started back, I really looked forward to leaving the house, getting out and mixing with adults, using a different part of my brain than the area required to do all the silly voices for Bear Snores On.  I also felt liberated to be back in the work force; not in a burn-your-bra, I’m-as-good-as-a-man sort of way, but in an actual released-on-parole sort of way.

This is making me sound like a horrible mother who doesn’t love her child, so let me go back one more step before I go forward.

No, I’m not turning Mama Rose on you; I don’t have any suggestions for the next American Baby Idol auditions.

But I do have a great holiday gift suggestion.  I promised you earlier you'd benefit from the fruits of my labor, and this one is a whopper.

At least, these facts were unknown to me.

Yep, it seems it’s that time now, though truth be told, I feel as if she’s been teething for about three months already.  She’s been gnawing on shoulders and drooling down burp cloths since she was around 12 weeks old; she’s had a drool rash around her mouth on and off now for about two months.  She’s well acquainted with her teething fishie and hand, and believe me, it’s best to have more than one since 1) fishie is a different texture from the hand, and you never know which one she’ll want, and 2) you’ll always have one that’s cold.  Fishie is great because it's got a couple different textures, including a really hard edge when she's in the mood to get out some anger, and hand is the place to go when she needs to get the back teeth: she can fit those long fingers in her mouth and be content.  If you’re holding her while she’s gnawing on either of those, it’s best to be sitting on a drop cloth to catch all the excess drool.  But she’s been doing this for so long now, along with the chomping on her fist and trying to bite off your finger at a knuckle, that we’ve come to view it as a way of life.

Traditions are a big part of my family; as much as I love new situations and challenges, I cling voraciously to the rituals and rites that I’ve grown up with or developed with Brian.  One of the things that excited me most about becoming a mother was the opportunity to introduce my child to these traditions, the anticipation you feel as they approach, and the familiarity and joy you get when they happen.  It’s like snuggling under your favorite down comforter: you look at it, calling to you from your bed; you think longingly about snuggling under it all day, anticipation perhaps even hastening yours steps home; and when you finally do curl up in it at night, it’s even better than you remembered, immediately enfolding you, conforming to you, multiplying your own warmth exponentially in a soft, cushiony kind of heaven.

Not that I like my down comforter or anything.

Back to traditions, though – they’re an important part of our family life, and today Madeleine was introduced to yet another very important one.

Yep, Madeleine met the Big Man himself.

Sure, she’s only six months old, and probably doesn’t have a lot to say to Santa.  But frankly, she didn’t have much choice; Brian and I were going, with or without her.

The 4 a.m. breathing check.

But you can’t.  And now you’re convinced she’s not breathing at all and you’re on your way to a full-blown panic-attack.  So you creep into her room, risking a wake up.

Don’t pretend you haven’t done it.  I’ve practically held a mirror in front of her mouth myself. 

You’re looking at your Christmas shopping list, trying to decide what to get everyone.  As you work, you glance over to your sleeping cherub.  Was there ever such a beautiful baby?  Back to your list: what could you give people that would bring them real joy?  Back to Cherub: who can resist that face?

And so, just as chocolate and peanut butter collided to bring us Reece’s Peanut Butter Cups, your shopping list somehow seamlessly merges with your desire to stare at Cherub’s face for hours at a time.  Pictures of Baby for everyone this year!  Who wouldn’t love it?

The holidays are rapidly gaining momentum and I’m becoming a wee bit scared.  I mean, I knew this year would be different from every other thus far; I knew all my elaborate cookie decorating, our 80+ person Christmas party, our constant entertaining would be severely curtailed.

But I didn’t quite understand I’d have to give up the shopping thing.

We’re plowing ahead with the solid foods thing.  Maddie’s still going with the rice cereal after her “dinner” nursing, enjoying bananas as a mid-morning snack, and today we added sweet potatoes as her afternoon snack.  Interestingly enough, she devoured the sweet potatoes while she’s a bit ambivalent about the bananas. 

We had our first snowfall of the season last night and awoke to the perfect winter morning; with about an inch of snow on the ground, the trees were topped in powdered sugar and the back yard was snug under a lovely white velvet blanket.  Madeleine’s eyes grew as big as saucers when she saw it for the first time, and she turned to me with a smile on her face as if to say, “Did you do this just for me?”

We ran a few errands before church this morning, strolling around the Upper West Side.  Maddie was in her infant car seat / stroller base, so she was seeing everything in reverse.  With her Kangaroo Kuddler tucked up under her chin, she looked like a miniature empress snuggled under a thick blanket on a sleigh ride.  She was clutching the edge of the Kuddler, refusing to keep her hands tucked toastily under the blanket, screaming with glee.

Boppy use number sixty two:

Sitting-practice bumper!

Madeleine’s so eager to be upright.  Give her your thumbs while she’s lying down, and she’ll pull herself up to standing, stiff-legging it so she hinges up like a mummy.  On the advice of our pediatrician and a physical therapist who’s an expert in a child’s physical development, we’re trying to avoid having her take her own weight on her legs for a while, so we support her while she “stands.”  But you can see in her face: why lie when she can sit, and why sit when she can stand with all the big people?

Boppy use number sixty two:

Madeleine’s been eating rice cereal for almost a week now, and she’s on a vitamin supplement with iron.  We just had a diaper insufficiency incident, and I never thought I’d say this, but –

I miss the yellow seedy stool.

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My girlfriend Abby is often fond of saying, “Every decision you make as a parent comes down to this:  Do I want to pay now, or pay later?  Do I enforce a rule now, or do I let it slide and deal with it when it’s a bigger mess later?  Do I lose sleep tonight when I sleep-train my baby, or do I lose sleep for the next three years as I get up to soothe him back to sleep every night?”

I’m starting to really understand what she means.

When I was a ballet dancer, I had the biggest dance bag in the company.  A very large weekend tote bag, my dance bag was stuffed with – aside from the basics like pointe shoes and warmers - everything from a big roll of duct tape to a full-sized hammer.  Everyone teased me, but they all came to me to borrow band-aids or sew on ribbons or – yes – hammer something.

We’ve done it – we’ve successfully navigated our first Holiday Travel Day.  I’m having to start mentally gearing up for the return trip already.

Our living room looks as if a Target exploded.

And on the dining room table (seats eight,) baby gear.

There’s a topic I’ve been avoiding in these postings because I know it’s controversial.  But I know that every parent struggles with this issue and because I’m trying to be open and honest about where I am in this parenting thing, I need to bring it up here and be ready for the email onslaught.

Every once in a while, I read something by another mom and think, “Yeah.  She gets it.”  Today was one of those days.

No, I’m not talking about that spot on her neck which always smells divine and calls to me like a siren, “Come nibble on me!”

Though that is pretty sweet. 

Rather, I’m speaking of the point I’m at in my relationship with my daughter.

Today’s entry won’t captivate the entire country; I want to share my favorite mommy stuff that’s specific to New York.  Not trying to be exclusionary, it’s simply where I live and what I know.  While researching babyhood, I came across some great places and it’d be a shame if I didn’t pass them on. 

We’ve experienced another first in Madeleine Land; the Extended Nap.

Is it wrong of me to want Madeleine to go a little slower in the development department?

My first birthday as a mother.  Here’s what I did:

 I slept late.  I got up and ate pancakes.  I took a long hot bath. 

Then I woke up.

Every mother knows the importance of a good schedule for her baby.

Yesterday, Madeleine took two steps away from me.

1. Madeleine ate her first grown-up food.  True, it was only a tablespoon of rice cereal mixed with a lot of breast milk, but it was the first time she put anything in her body that I didn’t make.
2. Brian and I both left the house.  Together.  Without her.  For four hours, she was in my mother’s care, and not within earshot of at least one of her parents, again for the first time.  And what was worse, when I called to check in, I could hear her cooing and giggling in the background!  No crying, no anguish, no loneliness.  Which is good, right?

Josh, my girlfriend Abby’s newest babe, has officially hit two weeks old, and while Abby seems to have gotten off remarkably easy emotion-wise – no real heavy post-partum blues – she is definitely experiencing post- post-partum-doula blues.

Anybody know any private security firms that specialize in stroller walks?

Pacifier or thumb; the age-old debate never ends.  Unfortunately (or fortunately), many times the child decides for herself.

Brian and I originally decided to try for the pacifier; we reasoned it would be easier for us to control, and help her to use it for comfort rather than habit.  When Madeleine was just a few weeks old, it became clear she occasionally needed to comfort suck at not always workable times, and my finger just wasn’t cutting it.  We tried several different brands and types of pacifier, and she would have none of them.

I’d like to talk about the country all parents dread; the place no one will admit to visiting but where all strangers seem to be from – the Land of Uninvited Opinions.

Stroller envy is not a pretty thing.

Cupholder envy is even worse.

Our good friends Matt and Sandra lent us their infant car seat and stroller base so we wouldn’t need to spend money on yet another piece of baby gear.  The stroller base had a cupholder attached to it, but I didn’t think much about it until I started getting inquiries from parents on the street.  “Nice cupholder,”  they’d say wistfully.  “Where’d you get it?”  I’d always have to apologize and explain it was a loaner with no written history.  I didn’t get what the big deal was until it was gone.

So yesterday I mentioned some of my favorite nursing clothing brands.  Today I want to finish off with my favorite places on the Internet to find these brands, plus a few websites that carry their own clothing:

Because Madeleine was breech (despite my trying everything, from lying upside down to chiropractic help to acupuncture), I had a scheduled c-section.  As we talked over the procedure in my doctor’s office the day before, my husband Brian, who had been reading up on the procedure, asked my doctor what method she used to close the incision.  She paused, laughed, then said, “That depends.  Are you paid up?”

Because Madeleine was breech (despite my trying everything, from lying upside down to chiropractic help to acupuncture), I had a scheduled c-section.  As we talked over the procedure in my doctor’s office the day before, my husband Brian, who had been reading up on the procedure, asked my doctor what method she used to close the incision.  She paused, laughed, then said, “That depends.  Are you paid up?”

All right, I know I said I’d give myself three months of not worrying at all about what I look like, but it’s not working.  Isn’t all this stretchy tummy stuff supposed to just go, I don’t know, back in already???  What is all of it, anyway??  I asked my doctor at my 6-week checkup, and she just laughed at me, talking about loose skin and stretched muscles.  She's hiding something, I know it.

We took Madeleine for her 8-week visit a few days ago, and all the shots that go with it.  I can’t believe the pediatrician’s office doesn’t have a shot of whiskey on hand for such an occasion, but that’s another story.  I had the doctor look at this red patch on Maddie’s hiney, and she said, “Oh, that’s not too bad a case of diaper rash.”  Huh.  So that’s what it looks like!

Under the “Who Knew?” category –

After complaining about Madeleine’s all-day crying jags to my girlfriend Renee, I learned yet another fussy baby trick.  Seems that sometimes fussiness is just from sensory overload, and oddly enough white noise somehow helps press a “reset” button on baby.  Renee discovered the sound of the hairdryer or vacuum worked wonders with her son Eli, and since her husband’s a record producer with an in-home studio, he made a CD of the noise for them to play.  Next time Maddie started up and couldn’t stop, we went into a dark bathroom and ran the hairdryer.  It worked like a charm, and she even fell asleep.  The running faucet worked just as well, but I think I’ll use the CD rather than run up a high utilities bill!  Girlfriend knowledge strikes again.

Yep, definitely reflux.  And she’s got a food intolerance, but it’s not milk and soy, which is where the doctor suggested we start.  It’s nuts.  You know how we figured it out?  I eliminated all milk and soy from my diet, and added in nuts to help with the protein deficit.  Definitely not the way to go.   Nuts make baby very angry.

Hooray!  Hooray!  It’s not just colic!  My daughter has an actual medical condition!!!

I never thought I’d be so happy to find out she’s got something going on, but to me diagnosable = treatable = more sleep for mommy and daddy.

Girlfriends to the rescue once again.

So we’ve finally come up with a few tricks that make the colic if not banished, at least bearable.  One is the Baby Bjorn, which my girlfriend Rebecca recommended for colic.  If we lose this I will break down sobbing.  And it has to be the Bjorn; I’ve tried the sling a few times and that simply makes her very angry.  And you don't want to see her very angry.

Ok, I’m going to tell the truth here, and if I get angry emails in response, so be it.

A girlfriend who doesn’t have children asked me today at church what has surprised me most about motherhood.  I thought for a moment, and answered honestly, “How much work it would be to love her sometimes.  Love is an active verb here, something I do, rather than a noun, something that exists on its own.  I didn’t know how hard it can be to continue loving someone and giving endlessly of yourself when she gives nothing in return.  She doesn’t smile at me, she doesn’t say, ‘Thanks, mom’, she doesn’t slip a greeting card shyly under my pillow.  She simply rolls over and goes back to sleep.  And when you come to her in the middle of the night and she’s crying, she doesn’t see you and suddenly stop crying, remembering that you’ve done this before and trusting that food is on the way.  No, she keeps screaming until food is in her mouth.  And she couldn't care less who’s giving it to her.  Unrequited love is tough to maintain.

I don’t think that was the answer she was expecting, but it’s the one I’ve got.

Lucky us.  Colic came early to this household.

It’s official.  We have a baby!

A copy of Madeleine’s birth announcement came in the mail.  Seeing her name in print made everything seem so, I don’t know, unchangeable.  As if we’d only borrowed a baby for a while to play at the parenting thing, but now that we’ve announced it to the world, we’re in this for the long haul, no exchanges, no refunds.  Not that I want to exchange her; but I imagine that now that we’ve announced it, I’ve gone from some hip chick with a baby to a mommy.  Does that make any sense?  A sort of reference point shift for my identity.  I’ve been looking at this whole thing as if she’s my daughter, and now suddenly I’m her mother.

It’s official.  We have a baby!

A copy of Madeleine’s birth announcement came in the mail.  Seeing her name in print made everything seem so, I don’t know, unchangeable.  As if we’d only borrowed a baby for a while to play at the parenting thing, but now that we’ve announced it to the world, we’re in this for the long haul, no exchanges, no refunds.  Not that I want to exchange her; but I imagine that now that we’ve announced it, I’ve gone from some hip chick with a baby to a mommy.  Does that make any sense?  A sort of reference point shift for my identity.  I’ve been looking at this whole thing as if she’s my daughter, and now suddenly I’m her mother.

Hormones suck.

Let’s talk for a sec about what I’d like to call the big breastfeeding lie:  “Breastfeeding shouldn’t hurt!”  I’m not afraid to admit it; I’m ten days into this thing and my nipples are killing me!!!!  And before you all start typing your replies, sending me advice about having an expert observe me and it’s probably Madeleine’s latching, let me just tell you that I’ve been observed by the hospital staff, my OB, Madeleine’s pediatrician, a consultant, and a fellow mother, all of whom tell me Madeleine’s a pro at this and we’re doing everything right.  But I’ve got blood blisters on each side, and it hurts almost unbearably each time she latches on and starts to eat.

Let’s talk for a sec about what I’d like to call the big breastfeeding lie:  “Breastfeeding shouldn’t hurt!”  I’m not afraid to admit it; I’m ten days into this thing and my nipples are killing me!!!!  And before you all start typing your replies, sending me advice about having an expert observe me and it’s probably Madeleine’s latching, let me just tell you that I’ve been observed by the hospital staff, my OB, Madeleine’s pediatrician, a consultant, and a fellow mother, all of whom tell me Madeleine’s a pro at this and we’re doing everything right.  But I’ve got blood blisters on each side, and it hurts almost unbearably each time she latches on and starts to eat.

Home yesterday from the hospital with Madeleine Lucy.  I learned the hard way that when my doctor said, “Don’t lift anything bigger than your baby," the car seat didn’t count as “baby."  I almost died picking her up out of the car.  My mom had the house spotless, clean sink in the kitchen and fresh linens on our beds awaiting our return; those little touches only your mom thinks of that make such a difference.  I can’t believe our little family has grown from two to three.  I’m supposed to be the mommy now; the one with all the answers.  I have no idea what I’m doing.  How long do you think it will take everyone to figure that out?  I look at her squirming obliviously on the changing table; am I supposed to talk to her?  Sing to her?  Tell jokes?  Politely ignore her nakedness?  I thought maybe the mommy instinct would just magically come in, like my milk supply.  Maybe it's on its way.

Ok, I think I’m as ready for this thing as I can be.  All the weeks of exercising and eating right and drinking a ton of water a day and sleeping on my side and passing up the Nyquil (how I miss it!) have all been leading up to tomorrow.  I’ve had my Mommy Focus Group –my girlfriends from church with babies of their own – busy answering all my insane questions, like, “What’s your favorite diaper bag and why?” or “Why do babies have to wear hats inside?”  They laugh, but they’ve been incredibly patient and encouraged me the whole way, sharing maternity clothes and stories and mommy tips.  The whole baby consumer world is incredibly overwhelming, with endless possibilities, and I never would have made it through the baby registry without them.  I’ve got them on a group email list, and I’m certain they’ll be hearing from me with a frantic middle-of-the-night email within days of bringing our daughter home. 

Who am I kidding?  I'm not ready.

Wish me luck.