1 Mother 2 Another

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.

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