1 Mother 2 Another

Every mother I know eventually finds herself asking the same question –
 
What now?
 
I don’t mean it in the “I’ve conquered Mt. Everest and cured cancer, so what now?” kind of way.  I mean it in the, “How can I be the best mommy possible and yet not allow who I was before mommyhood to die?” sort of way.
 
Because we all want to be a good mother, and often feel guilty even thinking that it may not be enough for us – that we do not feel whole or content to be simply “mom”.  At the same time, we can’t imagine how we’ll do anything other than stare at our baby’s face, mesmerized, for hours at a time.

Every mother I know eventually finds herself asking the same question –
 
What now?
 
I don’t mean it in the “I’ve conquered Mt. Everest and cured cancer, so what now?” kind of way.  I mean it in the, “How can I be the best mommy possible and yet not allow who I was before mommyhood to die?” sort of way.
 
Because we all want to be a good mother, and often feel guilty even thinking that it may not be enough for us – that we do not feel whole or content to be simply “mom”.  At the same time, we can’t imagine how we’ll do anything other than stare at our baby’s face, mesmerized, for hours at a time.

I’ve mentioned that my husband is a techie, right? 
 
Not to be confused with Trekkie, please.
 
Anyway, he’s always finding these techno gadgets that seem to me to be more trouble than they’re worth, until two years later I look around and wonder how I lived without it.  The ole’ compact disc was one of his first finds in our relationship – about two decades ago.  I scoffed at him and clung vociferously to my cassette tapes.  Now I can’t even find my cassette tapes, but they are somewhere in this house because I’m not throwing away a perfectly good cassette tape.  Ok, a slightly warped cassette tape.

We’re plowing full steam ahead with the solids thing, introducing a new food every few days and slowly but steadily adding to her meal choices.  Since we had to go on an all-fruit diet for her constipation, vegetables fell behind a bit and she’s definitely got a preference for the sweeter foods.  So we’ve been on a veggie binge, adding green beans after peas after pumpkin.  I have to say again that Wholesome Baby Food has been a great website, helping me navigate the “what foods when” minefield.  Madeleine seems to dislike most any food that’s not a fleshy fruit when she first tries it; I serve it every day during the allergy testing phase, then work it into her food rotation, and I find that a week or so out she begins to like most things.  Peas, alas, are still the exception, but we’re working on it.  Fortunately for Maddie, her repertoire is big enough that peas only show up on her chart every couple of days.

Yes, my daughter now eats such a wide variety of foods – granted, they are all fruits or vegetables or oatmeal, but still – that I cannot keep up with what she eats when; so, in an effort to keep all foods rotating through (no pun intended) somewhat regularly (ditto), I’ve gone into my typical over-achiever mode and created a meal chart for her.

I’m working on pulling all my tax info together for our upcoming meeting with our tax accountant.  I know, don’t hate me; it’s a sickness.  I have a compulsive need to have our taxes finished by the beginning of February.
 
But I was noticing a large backlog of filing to be done and receipts to be entered into Quicken; and strangely enough, all the dates start right around June.  Hmmm, what caused me to start falling behind on our family paperwork in June? 
 
Oh, yeah, we had a kid. 
 
And bought a house.

Madeleine’s found something she hates more than peas: mittens.  With the weather being colder recently and her penchant for pushing the stroller blanket down so she can feel the “wind in her face”, mittens have become a must.  Apparently, though, they cramp her style too much; she screams bloody murder every time I put them on, so I try to avoid doing that in public.  Once they’re on at home, they stay on for the duration of the walk.
 
Recently, though, we were stuck at the post office and she was becoming frantic in a search for her thumb -“Where did it go?  It used to be right here!  My thumb is missing!  ARRGHH!” – so I took the mittens off.  Fifteen minutes later, errand completed, we began our friendly wrestling match and the screaming took off.  Behind me, a woman getting mail from her p.o. box suddenly started waving her arms and jumping around, shouting, “Look at me!  Look at me!”  Maddie, startled, stopped crying, I swooped in with the last mitten, and we were off.

Wasn’t it just a week or so ago that I was talking about Madeleine being in a great routine groove?  And didn’t I say I hesitated to say anything because I didn’t want to jinx it?
 
Yep, the no-hitter is officially over.

Babies grow and advance at such an alarming rate their first year of life; I’ve always heard people speak in clichés about their kids growing up so fast and smiled politely, but it’s really true.  What’s more, I never thought about how much of what we do has to be learned – so much of the motor skills we take for granted have to be developed and nurtured.
 
My girlfriend Sandra told me that during Stephen’s first year of life, she tried to read “ahead” one month about his upcoming development so she’d know what to expect.  I loved this idea; since I had no clue what to expect with the whole baby thing, it was like using the Cliff Notes before a major exam.  Perfect!

I went recently to the opening of the newest Giggle store in Manhattan.  Mommies from all over the city were gathered to shop and chat and enjoy some like-minded (read: sleep-deprived) companionship.  I wanted to check out the bi-coastal store’s newest presence as I update my Top 5s Page, but I also looked forward to a chance to mingle with fellow mommies on roughly the same journey as me, sympathize with them, and let’s face it, pick their brains for more great recommendations to pass on to you guys. I’ll confess I was eavesdropping on more than one conversation debating the merits of this diaper bag or that stroller.
 
(On a side note, when I returned from the party, a friend of mine commented that I’m like the Carrie Bradshaw of the New York baby world.  My husband smirked and said, “I guess that makes me Mr. Big.”  There’ll be no living with him now . . .)
 
More on the store itself in an upcoming entry; I wanted to talk today about the company that organized the event, Divalysscious.

I picked up my business cards earlier today for this website.  There, big as life, is the 1Mother2Another logo and web address.  I was looking at it and thinking: Is that who I am now?  The go-to girlfriend?  Is this how I will be defined for the foreseeable future?  It’s kind of a relief to find a label to hang my hat on that doesn’t start and end with mommy (though since it’s a mommy website, it’s a bit debatable!), but is this really who I am?

I just found out a friend of mine is pregnant, and due roughly the same time of year I had Madeleine.  There I was sighing over my maternity clothes a couple days ago, and now I have an excuse to crack open the box and go through them!  I’m very excited they’ll be put to use again, and love having the chance to go through another pregnancy with a friend; just talking with her today brought back a lot of fond memories of my own pregnancy.
 
So fond, in fact, that I began to think that my hindsight had a bit of a rose-colored tint to it.  Was my pregnancy really that fun and trouble-free?  Did I truly enjoy every minute of it?  Or is this a case of mommy amnesia kicking in to sucker me into saying, “Gosh, it wasn’t that bad; let’s have another right now!”

Last summer when Madeleine was in her first few weeks, life was a big blur to me most of the time.  Everything revolved around feedings; whether one had just happened, she was in mid-meal, or about to eat again, it seemed a nursing was never more than half an hour away.  I found myself hiney-bound for a large portion of each 24-hour cycle (calling it “night and day” is laughable when a baby’s that age) and needing some sort of entertainment or escape for part of it.  Too exhausted to read during any of her 12 feedings, I turned occasionally to television to distract me and let my mind wander.  Finding the right television show, though, is crucial; watch one that makes you think too much and you’re exhausted.  Watch cartoons or something and you’re not drawn in at all and end up sitting there staring, unable to even veg out.  So where’s a girl to turn?
 
Hi, my name’s Jennifer, and I watched reality TV.
 
(Hi, Jennifer.)

I was putting away our Christmas decorations earlier – yes, I know, but that’s the subject of a different confessional blog – when I came across my box of maternity clothes, and wave of fond nostalgia swept over me.  Am I the only one who misses my maternity clothes?  I know, it’s a bit sick, but they’re so cute and, let’s face it, comfy. 
 
I freely admit that one of my concerns with getting pregnant was the misconception I had of maternity clothes; I was convinced I’d be wearing smocks with polka-dots and bows for nine months, which are definitely not me.
 
On the other hand, what a great excuse to go shopping.

Why is it that most cds of baby music sound as if they were not just written for babies, but written and recorded by babies as well?
 
I received a cd of “Christmas Music for Infants” last month.  Intrigued, I looked at the songs listing: what new songs had been written with the baby POV for Christmas?  “Aren’t Swaddling Clothes Tight”, perhaps, or “Time to Wake Mommy and Daddy”?  Imagine my surprise when I learned that Christmas music for infants is the exact same music adults listen to, with one very important difference; baby Christmas music is played on rinky-dink instruments and about half speed.  Apparently, that’s what makes it baby music.

I hate to even talk about this, because I don’t want to jinx things.  It’s like talking to your pitcher in the middle of a no-hitter.  But Maddie’s into a routine, and she’s grooving on it right now.
 
Madeleine’s a pretty great sleeper at night: we’ve had our sleep-training (heartbreaking) moments, but all in all she sleeps through the night without much encouragement from us.  The daytime naps, however, are a different story.  Far from the book recommendations of two naps – one about 1 hour, and the other 2-3 hours – a day, Madeleine limits her self to a very ascetic ½ hour nap each time.  She’s jumped back and forth between 2 and 3 a day, and we’ve finally settled at 3 providing Mommy doesn’t drag her back into bed in the morning for a sleep-in cuddle.  And she’s fluctuated between 5 and 6 nursings a day and is sitting right now at 6.

A mother at one of the message boards I frequent posted a question recently about using infant walkers.  Her pediatrician had recommended she not use a walker with her five-month-old and she was wondering the reasoning behind it, since her son seemed to love it so much.

While we are not a co-sleeping family, sometimes there’s nothing more delicious than spending the morning dozing together, and I’ll occasionally get up to nurse Maddie at 7 or 8 and bring her back into bed with us for a few more minutes.  Recently one morning the three of us were snuggling lazily in bed, Madeleine in between us cooing contentedly and looking back and forth happily between Daddy and me.  No one had spoken much yet; Brian and I were desultorily discussing the coming day and murmuring endearments to Baby Girl.  Suddenly she broke from her cooing to launch into an excited and enthusiastic monologue, complete with hand gestures and intense eye contact.  She wasn’t looking at either of us, though; she was speaking intently to a spot on the ceiling.  And when she finished, she broke into peals of laughter, chuckling and bouncing for several seconds before looking back at us, for all the world as if to say, “I’m sorry – where were we then?”
 
Brian looked at me and said, “I’d give anything to know what joke she just told.”

I got the afternoon “off” today to go see a show, and my husband and daughter walked me to the subway station as they do most every evening that I teach.  I kept sneaking glances at my husband as we walked; he was looking pretty fine in his wool peacoat and cute knit hat.   The accessory that makes him look the hottest, though, isn’t a piece of clothing.
 
It’s the stroller.

Four days after my daughter was born my milk came in, and with it came the hormones.  I found myself crying for a whole week for no apparent reason, unable to stop myself.  I was just sad and couldn’t find a way out of it.  I had supportive friends and family around me that got me through it, and fortunately for me, one day, I just wasn’t sad any more.
 
Before I left the hospital, my OB came in and had a very matter-of-fact conversation with me and Brian about what to expect in the coming week.  She talked through feelings I would have and the ways my hormones would send me up and down, and told me it was all very natural.  Then she told us both things to look for that might signal post-partum depression: thoughts I might have, things I might want to do.  She made sure we understood the difference between normal baby blues and post-partum depression, and encouraged me to call if I had any doubts or just wanted to talk.  She armed Brian with information so he didn’t feel so helpless and nervous about the unknown.  As I went through my week of baby blues, Brian gently checked in with me, making sure I was ok, listening to me talk about everything from what a bad mother I’d be to how I’d never be thin again.  He’d calmly ask if I wanted to call my OB but trusted me when I said I was ok.  My girlfriends were there for me (see previous post) and I came out the other side shaken but back to normal (well, newborn mommy normal).

I had the best possible scenario: a supportive husband, a knowledgeable and hands-on OB, and great support network around me, and best of all, I didn’t get post-partum depression.  I’m aware of how lucky I am, and that what I experienced was nothing compared to what many women go through with PPD.  Post-partum depression is a serious illness and I don’t want to make light of it, and since I’ve never had it I didn’t feel qualified to speak on the subject.  But I have had a couple readers ask me to talk about it, so I here goes.

Madeleine’s got a new favorite toy, and all others pale in comparison.  The toy provides hours of fun, keeps her constantly enthralled and moving, and causes her to peal with laughter and get a great workout all at the same time.  Unfortunately for you, I won’t be linking to the wonder toy, because said wonder toy is Mommy.
 
I am now literally lying down and letting my daughter walk all over me.

Madeleine began making vocal noises (other than cries!) around ten weeks of age.  One of the first sounds out of her mouth was “mumumumumum”, and I was convinced it was only a matter of days before she associated those sounds with the face eagerly looming over hers every time she made them.  I knew I had a child genius on my hands.
 
Alas, it was not so.  Her “words” have yet to have any known association with a specific object or idea.  Her verbalizations, however, have grown far beyond “mumumum” and now encompass what might be considered a complex language in its own right.

Recently I was chatting with a childless friend, lamenting Madeleine’s speedy growth out of babyhood.  “Tell me again when her birthday is?” my friend queried.  “She’ll be seven months in two days!  Can you believe it?” I responded.  My friend burst out laughing.  “I meant, when is her year birthday!”  She laughed, claiming I knew at any given moment exactly how many days old Madeleine is.  I’m going to plead the 5^th on that one.
 
But how can I not keep such a close watch on her growing up?  I’m all too well aware of the days slipping through my fingers as she runs from babydom to toddlerhood.  Each month is so different from the one before: learning to smile, learning to sleep through the night, recognizing different people, discovering her feet and the ability to blow raspberries are just a few of the milestones that she’s left in the dust.  When she turned 7 months recently I marveled at how different she is already from the 6-month-old she was.  For a mommy’s heart, 7 months is the start of a downhill slide towards 1 year, a far cry from the safe perch of 6 months smack in the middle of the calendar. 
 
And if six months was all about perpetual discovery and joy in all new things, being 7 months is all about the will.

As Madeleine grows more and more independent (against my wishes, I need not add) we’ve been venturing further and further afar from home base for gradually longer periods of time.  I mean, we’ve flown with her several times and such, but for the most part we’ve kept to our routine whenever possible and tried to fit our life and the attendant errands around her naps and feedings.  It seemed simpler that way, and her daily happiness level has a direct relation to how predictable and “normal” her day is.  And of course, once you throw in the whole solid food thing, the effort feels almost Sisyphean; between nursing time, solids time, and nap time (including the cranky-but-not-ready-to-go-down pre-nap time), you have these little windows of about seven minutes where she’s in a good mood and ready for the unexpected.  It almost doesn’t seem worth it.
 
Sometimes, though, you’ve got no choice, so you just pack well, fasten your seatbelt, and hope for the best.

You know you’re a parent when you hear “Beluga” and don’t automatically think “caviar.”  My girlfriend Abby has a few thoughts on the subject of that baby-culture phenomenon/parental lifesaver known as Raffi – click to read more and enjoy!

Jennifer

When I was a child, I knew for a fact my parents were imbued with magical powers.  I recall one day when I was about 3 or 4 and my mother asked me to clean up my room; I did a swift pick-up, leaving dirty laundry lying on the floor, figuring what Mom didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.  I strolled into the kitchen confidently.  “Did you clean your room?”  My mother asked.  “Yep!”  I replied confidently.  “Did you pick up your underwear?”  She continued.  “No!  I didn’t!”  I replied, astonished that she knew.  (It did not occur to me at this age to bluff.)  I began badgering her; how did she know?  Was there a secret camera?  She just smiled mysteriously and sent me back to finish the job.  For me, that clinched it:  my parents were superheroes.

Christmas gifts have been put through the ringer, and there are some definite favorites shaping up.  Almost anything by Lamaze or Tiny Love is a sure-fire hit; her playmat by Tiny Love is still going strong, embellished by a couple add-on toys she got from Santa.  And Lamaze – what can I say?  They make excellent products.  Anything else in our house probably comes from One Step Ahead. 
 
And by the way, I know you’re probably not in any mood to shop for new gear, but you can tuck this info away for the next birthday or friend’s shower.  At any rate, here’s what’s taking the lead so far:

What’s black and white and fluffy all over?

If you guessed my cat, you’d be wrong.

Now, if the riddle had been, “What’s black and white and condescendingly envious of the baby and fluffy all over except for a few snatched-bald spots and some patches of caked-on sweet potato?” - then the answer would be my cat.

Yes, as Madeleine’s horizon’s have broadened, her eyes have lit upon Kitty.  And it’s love at first site.  On Maddie’s part, that is.  Kitty, the jury’s still out.

When Baby Girl was about 8 weeks old, I began reading ahead on the whole “helping your baby sleep” thing.  Being a chronic over-achiever, I’m much happier when I’ve got a firm plan of attack for anything I do, even if it’s just jotting down how an evening’s going to go (1.  Watch movie; 2.  Go to bed.) on a paper napkin.  So I wanted to have some sort of an idea about what our long-term goal – say, six months old - was for helping Maddie sleep at night.

When Baby Girl was about 8 weeks old, I began reading ahead on the whole “helping your baby sleep” thing.  Being a chronic over-achiever, I’m much happier when I’ve got a firm plan of attack for anything I do, even if it’s just jotting down how an evening’s going to go (1.  Watch movie; 2.  Go to bed.) on a paper napkin.  So I wanted to have some sort of an idea about what our long-term goal – say, six months old - was for helping Maddie sleep at night.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, THE TRAIN HAS LEFT THE STATION!!!
 
Following is what is commonly known as Too Much Information.  You’ve been warned.
 

With the big gift-giving bonanza behind us, chances are you’ve got a lot more baby gear in your house than you did two weeks ago.  Hopefully by now, instruction manuals have been read (hah!), appropriate batteries found, and every toy or item of clothing tried out or tried on.  Your child now has the must-have item of Christmas 2005 and is happily at work destroying it.  You can rest in the knowledge that it’ll take him at least a couple weeks to bring it to a state of dangerously worn out.
 
What happens, though, if you’ve unknowingly got a defective toy or new stroller?  What if you do everything right – supervise the use, read the instructions – but the product itself is inherently bad?  How will you find out?