My daughter is 14 months old and still has no interest in drinking from anything other than me. While I have been a committed breast-feeder, and never imagined I'd have weaned her at this age, I'm having some issues with how it's taking its toll.
I am one of these women who seems to hang on to 10 or so extra pounds of blubber while nursing. (At least I'm hoping that is the culprit!) I eat well, I exercise regularly, and I have always been slim and healthy. In fact, I have had more issues in the past with keeping weight on than the other way around. So while I indulged in a few extra cups of heavenly gelato during my pregnancy, I really didn't go overboard, and feel that this fatty layer hanging on me isn't making sense. I gained about 25 -30 pounds, most of which was baby and water. And once all of that was gone, it seems as though at times I breastfeed more (when my daughter is sick, or having a growth spurt, etc.) the more jiggly I become. And when we're finally having some luck with the sippy cup, and I'm not forced to be the full time milk-machine, I slim down.
I have tried so many different vessels to feed this kid from. We're talking every kind of straw cup, bottles, hard spouts, squishy spouts, plain old fashioned regular drinking cups, cups and bottles that look like breasts, feel like breasts, cups with the coolest most colourful illustrations, plain cups, etc. I could go on and on. We have quite the collection, and she's not interested in it at all.
And not only have I tried every vessel under the sun, I have tried every juice, milk, smoothie concoction as well. The kid knows what she wants.
So aside from my thinking that I am never going to feel good about my body until I stop breastfeeding, I also can never stray very far and am feeling ready to embrace a bit more freedom in my life. And I can't forget to mention the fact that my nipples are cracked and blistered yet again. Aw, it takes me right back to the early days when my peanut was 6 and a half pounds and devouring my poor virgin breastfeeding nipples. Fond memories, I tell you!
So, this brings me to the subject of my feeling selfish in considering weaning. I feel as though my daughter will never drink from another source until she is presented with no other choice. I'm exhausted. I'm fat. I need a break!
I really would like to continue breastfeeding until she self weans, but it seems that this is a bit of an extreme breastfeeding scenario. I want to do the right thing. I want to give her a sense of security in making the decision herself as to when she's ready to move on from this cuddly feeding relationship. Plus it's winter here, we all just got over H1N1, and I'm sure other flu's and colds will make their way through our systems this season. When she's sick, breast milk is the best thing for her. I am convinced that she would have ended up in the hospital with H1N1 had it not been for breastmilk. She wouldn't eat anything else.
Having said all this, and with all of these feelings of guilt and fear of being a bad mother, should I assume that I am just as not ready as my daughter is to wean?
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Friday, October 16, 2009
Birth Story: Once and For All
I still sometimes tear up when people ask me about the birth of my baby girl. It was a trauma I will never forget (though many women assure me I will), and one which left me feeling like my body let me down, like less of a woman, and like I made some selfish decisions in planning my daughter's birth. With some time and distance, I have come to realize that I have been unnecessarily hard on my self, and that planned home birth or not, nature did not intend for me to have a "normal" birth experience.
The birth of my daughter was something I looked forward to. I was not afraid, and felt that my pain threshold and ability to meditate my way through pretty much anything had me quite prepared for the big event. I planned to have my baby naturally at home. I planned to embrace the intensity of physical sensation that birthing brings rather than numbing myself with drugs.
I have practiced yoga for over a decade, and I studied Hypnobirthing throughout the pregnancy. My control over my breath pulled me through the first 2 and a half days of labour so well that nobody knew I was in active labour. I thought I knew that the time had come, but it was my first pregnancy, so what did I know? When the midwife gave me an internal exam on the first day of active labour, she told me I was only 1 cm dilated. I figured that this was totally bearable, and she must be right, this was pre-labour. Home I went to continue feeling what I was feeling, waiting for more intensity with a promise that I would call my midwife to come to our house for the birth when the contractions were 4 minutes apart, 1 minute long, consistently for 1 hour. "Just remember 411", she said.
Our midwife was 4 months pregnant. She told us that she had an ultrasound booked for the following morning. She said she assumed I would be giving birth any time from later that evening to the next evening. She said she couldn't miss the ultrasound appointment, and if I happened to be giving birth then, our back-up midwife would be there, and she would then resume the role of our health care giver as soon as she came back.
I called pleading 411 later that day... to her voicemail. I called the office and heard the news that our midwife was handing our care over to the back-up. I was hurt, and of course worried. We called the back-up and she came over to examine me. Still 1cm. She said I was 90% effaced, but that this was definitely still pre-labour. She left and told us to relax as much as we could and call her when things began to feel more intense. At that point my contractions were mostly 4 minutes apart, one minute long, but would occasionally miss a beat. She assured us that contractions would be completely consistent when I went into active labour.
That night I "slept" in the basement because I was so uncomfortable and hot that I was tossing and turning and unable to rest at all, and keeping up my husband. I continued with contractions, sometimes timing them, other chunks of time I just went with it. They got stronger, but nothing I couldn't handle. Still I was unable to sleep.
Day 2, we called the midwife in the morning to give her an update. Same story, but the contractions had become stronger. I told her I had been told that they would feel like really strong menstrual cramps, but that this was not at all what I was feeling. The rush of pain was in my back. I couldn't feel anything that seemed to be happening in my uterus. The midwife told me that every woman feels things differently. Some women have back pain during menstruation, and this was all normal. I wasn't scared at that point, but was just letting her know what was happening.
She came to give me an internal exam early in the afternoon, and it revealed that I was still at 1cm. Wow, I couldn't believe it! All this time I thought I would be progressing and nothing was happening. I was tired and disappointed. I started to tear up a bit, feeling discouraged. I really thought that by now things had moved along. That in all this time, with all these contractions, my body would be doing what it needed to to get the baby out. The midwife left telling us to try to walk as much as possible, get some fresh air, eat some comfort food. Ice cream was my answer to that...and toast. On day two I distinctly remember standing at Dairy Queen, hugging the fridge with all the cakes in it (labouring against it), waiting for my ice cream. I thought this was totally insane. I had never seen a woman in labour before, let alone one at Dairy Queen waiting for a Peanut Buster Parfait.
Home we went, and by the evening, the contractions were becoming unbearable. My contractions NEVER stayed with the clock. And my cervix refused to dilate. But the contractions became more and more intense. I called her telling her how I was feeling, bracing myself through each contraction while speaking with her. She said I now sounded like a woman in labour. She was soon at our house again. This time she was here to camp out with us for the big event she (we all) believed to be just hours away. A midwifery student came as well.
The midwife said I seemed to be handling things really well, that I wasn't at that point that it was unbearable yet - despite the fact that I had told her that for me, I thought I was there. We set up the birthing tub and I laboured in there for a while, squatting, hanging on to the handles, begging someone to push on my back. I felt like it was about to blow out, like the baby was going to shoot out of my back, not my vagina.
More toast, more labouring right through the night. Morning came and it was day 3. We were all exhausted. I was beside myself. I kept thinking that I can get through this, that my baby would soon be in my arms. I couldn't wait to meet her. Even then, when I thought of it, tears came to my eyes. I think on some level, I felt the fine line between birth and death.
Late morning on day 3 things started to speed up beyond what I could handle. The contractions were fast and furious. I barely had the strength to get through them. I thought finally, this is what REAL LABOUR is all about, I guess. The midwives must have been right, what was happening before was pre-labour or "practice labour".
We set up the birthing tub and I got in and laboured there a while. I did a lot of squatting and holding onto the handles, pushing hard with my legs. I had my husband pushing on my back. It was only comfortable for a short time, and the temperature of the tub had me sweating one minute and shivering the next. After a while I got out and wanted to go outside, but on my way there I was struck with terrible nausea, and threw up down our hallway. I was holding onto our banister looking down at the staircase, and everything began to spin. Voices started to sound like the teacher on Peanuts, or more accurately, Frank the Tank on tranquilizers in the movie Old School. I was scared. I couldn't even communicate just how crazy the pain was at that time. We managed to get outside, and I walked, contracted, vomited...walked, contracted, vomited. Everyone was pushing water on me, and I'd drink it and vomit. I couldn't keep anything down.
The midwife said she thought the baby would be here soon, so we all moved back into the house, and everyone busied themselves getting ready for the birth. When the warming table was set up and the bed was set up, I had another internal exam (this was mid-afternoon). Still 1 cm. The student suggested that my baby was posterior, and the back-up midwife agreed. (You're noticing this now???, I'm thinking!)
The midwife then said that we need to go to the hospital. We were not going to be able to have our home birth. I was failing to progress, and this was going on too long. The baby's heart was fine at that point, but she didn't want to push it. She said we could go to the hospital and I could be induced to help speed things along. Or we could have a c-section. We could also TRY to do things naturally there, but that didn't seem like a likely outcome. I mustered up the energy to yelp a "get me to the hospital now, and get me all the drugs that I could possibly be given". I had given up on my home birth. The pain I was feeling was insane. I couldn't get through it without throwing up, and I was too exhausted to focus on meditation to get me through.
Off we went to the hospital - the longest most dreadful car-ride I've ever had. Every bump and every turn brought on crazy contractions. I moaned and roared the whole way there. I had tears streaming down my face but couldn't tell whether the wetness was just tears or sweat too. I was on fire.
We got to the hospital in the early evening. There were many stupid questions and lots of stalling on the part of the hospital staff. While we waited for the epidural and pitocin drip, my husband ran down the hall and I could hear him yelling at the nurses telling them "you don't know my wife! She can take pain like nobody I know, and she's in so much pain she looks like she's going to pass out. Get her the drugs NOW!" Each contraction was so bad I thought I was going to die, or perhaps the baby would. I needed this to stop. And with every contraction some dumb ass would tell me that this would be the last one, the drugs would be here any moment.
Finally they came and administered the epidural. They told me to sit on the bed and round my back and said that if I moved while they put it in it could damage the nerve system in my spine. Lovely. Go for it! Just go for it... At that point there was no turning back on my decision. It didn't seem as though there was a choice if I wanted to get through it.
The epidural went in, and the pitocin drip too, and finally I could relax a bit. I still always felt my contractions, but not nearly as badly as without the epidural.
The nurses and doctors checked in on me regularly, and still I was not progressing. They tweaked the pitocin drip and the contractions came fast and hard again. Then they tweaked the epidural, and this went on and on until I was 9 cm dilated. After the baby's heart rate became a concern, the doctors came piling in - I think there were seven of them, plus nurses and the midwife and student. It was a packed house, and I totally didn't care.
One of the doctors checked me again and hour later and said "let's start pushing, you're still at 9 cm, but if you haven't gotten to 10 yet, you may just stay there." So I started pushing, first with each contraction, and the docs would tell me when to go. Then they realized that I could actually feel my contractions and knew when to push. Lord knows, I felt it all. I really don't feel that I need to do a natural birth next time, because I've felt enough, thank you very much! Anyway, with each push, she came down further and further. She would crown and then shoot back up. The nurses got a mirror for me to encourage me. I saw her head! Her little furry head! I touched it and it felt like jelly. Not at all what I expected.
Finally, the docs started coaching me to push without contractions because no matter how far she came out, a breathing break sent her back in. There was talk of meconium being inside, so we'd have to have her lungs suctioned once she was born... this was normal for a traumatic birth. Then there was talk of the umbilical chord being wrapped around her neck twice... finally she was out, and they darted off with her to a warming table nearby in the room. My husband was with her the whole time. The nurses and midwife encouraged me to drink water and relax, the baby was fine. I never heard the nurses say anything about 'healthy baby', and I didn't hear her cry. I thought she was going to die. I was supposed to birth the placenta now. I remember hearing that you don't even feel the placenta being birthed because you have the baby in your arms. I didn't have the baby in my arms, and I definitely felt the placenta.
My neck was cranked to the side, my eyes were on my silent little baby. She was blue. She hadn't made a sound. She was long and limp. I needed to have her in my arms. I needed to warm her and look in her eyes, nurse her. Instead, I was birthing the placenta, and the nurses were trying hard to keep my attention away from the baby. When the placenta was out, it was lying flat on a metal tray. The nurses and the doctors inspected it and told me it looked healthy. They asked me if I wanted to see it. I gagged. No, I don't think so. All I wanted to see was my baby girl.
Forty five minutes after my baby was born, I finally heard her cry. It was the weakest, quietest little sound. My husband was holding her, and she was wrapped in a blanket, wearing a little hat. I saw the two of them gazing at one another with such love. I was so scared, moved, and emotional. He walked towards me with the baby and the nurse assisted him in snuggling her up to my belly. I held her and looked into her eyes. Her eyes rolled back in her head. I was so frightened to see this. My mind was racing. But just moment or two after our meeting, she proceeded to climb her way to my big swollen breast and began suckling. At that moment, I knew she was a fighter. I didn't know if she'd be okay, but I knew she would do whatever she had to to thrive. She wanted to live, to eat, to be warm, and connect with her new family.
I'm crying now as I type this. My, how far we've come. We got through the silent eye-rolling stage, through 4 months of colic, through months and months of fussiness which lead to our relative isolation, to finally having a girl who loves to sing and play with others, who laughs and smiles like no kid I've ever met. And now we've just celebrated her first birthday. She is thriving. She is healthy, beautiful, and a handful of energy, curiosity, happiness and spunk. Thank god.
The birth of my daughter was something I looked forward to. I was not afraid, and felt that my pain threshold and ability to meditate my way through pretty much anything had me quite prepared for the big event. I planned to have my baby naturally at home. I planned to embrace the intensity of physical sensation that birthing brings rather than numbing myself with drugs.
I have practiced yoga for over a decade, and I studied Hypnobirthing throughout the pregnancy. My control over my breath pulled me through the first 2 and a half days of labour so well that nobody knew I was in active labour. I thought I knew that the time had come, but it was my first pregnancy, so what did I know? When the midwife gave me an internal exam on the first day of active labour, she told me I was only 1 cm dilated. I figured that this was totally bearable, and she must be right, this was pre-labour. Home I went to continue feeling what I was feeling, waiting for more intensity with a promise that I would call my midwife to come to our house for the birth when the contractions were 4 minutes apart, 1 minute long, consistently for 1 hour. "Just remember 411", she said.
Our midwife was 4 months pregnant. She told us that she had an ultrasound booked for the following morning. She said she assumed I would be giving birth any time from later that evening to the next evening. She said she couldn't miss the ultrasound appointment, and if I happened to be giving birth then, our back-up midwife would be there, and she would then resume the role of our health care giver as soon as she came back.
I called pleading 411 later that day... to her voicemail. I called the office and heard the news that our midwife was handing our care over to the back-up. I was hurt, and of course worried. We called the back-up and she came over to examine me. Still 1cm. She said I was 90% effaced, but that this was definitely still pre-labour. She left and told us to relax as much as we could and call her when things began to feel more intense. At that point my contractions were mostly 4 minutes apart, one minute long, but would occasionally miss a beat. She assured us that contractions would be completely consistent when I went into active labour.
That night I "slept" in the basement because I was so uncomfortable and hot that I was tossing and turning and unable to rest at all, and keeping up my husband. I continued with contractions, sometimes timing them, other chunks of time I just went with it. They got stronger, but nothing I couldn't handle. Still I was unable to sleep.
Day 2, we called the midwife in the morning to give her an update. Same story, but the contractions had become stronger. I told her I had been told that they would feel like really strong menstrual cramps, but that this was not at all what I was feeling. The rush of pain was in my back. I couldn't feel anything that seemed to be happening in my uterus. The midwife told me that every woman feels things differently. Some women have back pain during menstruation, and this was all normal. I wasn't scared at that point, but was just letting her know what was happening.
She came to give me an internal exam early in the afternoon, and it revealed that I was still at 1cm. Wow, I couldn't believe it! All this time I thought I would be progressing and nothing was happening. I was tired and disappointed. I started to tear up a bit, feeling discouraged. I really thought that by now things had moved along. That in all this time, with all these contractions, my body would be doing what it needed to to get the baby out. The midwife left telling us to try to walk as much as possible, get some fresh air, eat some comfort food. Ice cream was my answer to that...and toast. On day two I distinctly remember standing at Dairy Queen, hugging the fridge with all the cakes in it (labouring against it), waiting for my ice cream. I thought this was totally insane. I had never seen a woman in labour before, let alone one at Dairy Queen waiting for a Peanut Buster Parfait.
Home we went, and by the evening, the contractions were becoming unbearable. My contractions NEVER stayed with the clock. And my cervix refused to dilate. But the contractions became more and more intense. I called her telling her how I was feeling, bracing myself through each contraction while speaking with her. She said I now sounded like a woman in labour. She was soon at our house again. This time she was here to camp out with us for the big event she (we all) believed to be just hours away. A midwifery student came as well.
The midwife said I seemed to be handling things really well, that I wasn't at that point that it was unbearable yet - despite the fact that I had told her that for me, I thought I was there. We set up the birthing tub and I laboured in there for a while, squatting, hanging on to the handles, begging someone to push on my back. I felt like it was about to blow out, like the baby was going to shoot out of my back, not my vagina.
More toast, more labouring right through the night. Morning came and it was day 3. We were all exhausted. I was beside myself. I kept thinking that I can get through this, that my baby would soon be in my arms. I couldn't wait to meet her. Even then, when I thought of it, tears came to my eyes. I think on some level, I felt the fine line between birth and death.
Late morning on day 3 things started to speed up beyond what I could handle. The contractions were fast and furious. I barely had the strength to get through them. I thought finally, this is what REAL LABOUR is all about, I guess. The midwives must have been right, what was happening before was pre-labour or "practice labour".
We set up the birthing tub and I got in and laboured there a while. I did a lot of squatting and holding onto the handles, pushing hard with my legs. I had my husband pushing on my back. It was only comfortable for a short time, and the temperature of the tub had me sweating one minute and shivering the next. After a while I got out and wanted to go outside, but on my way there I was struck with terrible nausea, and threw up down our hallway. I was holding onto our banister looking down at the staircase, and everything began to spin. Voices started to sound like the teacher on Peanuts, or more accurately, Frank the Tank on tranquilizers in the movie Old School. I was scared. I couldn't even communicate just how crazy the pain was at that time. We managed to get outside, and I walked, contracted, vomited...walked, contracted, vomited. Everyone was pushing water on me, and I'd drink it and vomit. I couldn't keep anything down.
The midwife said she thought the baby would be here soon, so we all moved back into the house, and everyone busied themselves getting ready for the birth. When the warming table was set up and the bed was set up, I had another internal exam (this was mid-afternoon). Still 1 cm. The student suggested that my baby was posterior, and the back-up midwife agreed. (You're noticing this now???, I'm thinking!)
The midwife then said that we need to go to the hospital. We were not going to be able to have our home birth. I was failing to progress, and this was going on too long. The baby's heart was fine at that point, but she didn't want to push it. She said we could go to the hospital and I could be induced to help speed things along. Or we could have a c-section. We could also TRY to do things naturally there, but that didn't seem like a likely outcome. I mustered up the energy to yelp a "get me to the hospital now, and get me all the drugs that I could possibly be given". I had given up on my home birth. The pain I was feeling was insane. I couldn't get through it without throwing up, and I was too exhausted to focus on meditation to get me through.
Off we went to the hospital - the longest most dreadful car-ride I've ever had. Every bump and every turn brought on crazy contractions. I moaned and roared the whole way there. I had tears streaming down my face but couldn't tell whether the wetness was just tears or sweat too. I was on fire.
We got to the hospital in the early evening. There were many stupid questions and lots of stalling on the part of the hospital staff. While we waited for the epidural and pitocin drip, my husband ran down the hall and I could hear him yelling at the nurses telling them "you don't know my wife! She can take pain like nobody I know, and she's in so much pain she looks like she's going to pass out. Get her the drugs NOW!" Each contraction was so bad I thought I was going to die, or perhaps the baby would. I needed this to stop. And with every contraction some dumb ass would tell me that this would be the last one, the drugs would be here any moment.
Finally they came and administered the epidural. They told me to sit on the bed and round my back and said that if I moved while they put it in it could damage the nerve system in my spine. Lovely. Go for it! Just go for it... At that point there was no turning back on my decision. It didn't seem as though there was a choice if I wanted to get through it.
The epidural went in, and the pitocin drip too, and finally I could relax a bit. I still always felt my contractions, but not nearly as badly as without the epidural.
The nurses and doctors checked in on me regularly, and still I was not progressing. They tweaked the pitocin drip and the contractions came fast and hard again. Then they tweaked the epidural, and this went on and on until I was 9 cm dilated. After the baby's heart rate became a concern, the doctors came piling in - I think there were seven of them, plus nurses and the midwife and student. It was a packed house, and I totally didn't care.
One of the doctors checked me again and hour later and said "let's start pushing, you're still at 9 cm, but if you haven't gotten to 10 yet, you may just stay there." So I started pushing, first with each contraction, and the docs would tell me when to go. Then they realized that I could actually feel my contractions and knew when to push. Lord knows, I felt it all. I really don't feel that I need to do a natural birth next time, because I've felt enough, thank you very much! Anyway, with each push, she came down further and further. She would crown and then shoot back up. The nurses got a mirror for me to encourage me. I saw her head! Her little furry head! I touched it and it felt like jelly. Not at all what I expected.
Finally, the docs started coaching me to push without contractions because no matter how far she came out, a breathing break sent her back in. There was talk of meconium being inside, so we'd have to have her lungs suctioned once she was born... this was normal for a traumatic birth. Then there was talk of the umbilical chord being wrapped around her neck twice... finally she was out, and they darted off with her to a warming table nearby in the room. My husband was with her the whole time. The nurses and midwife encouraged me to drink water and relax, the baby was fine. I never heard the nurses say anything about 'healthy baby', and I didn't hear her cry. I thought she was going to die. I was supposed to birth the placenta now. I remember hearing that you don't even feel the placenta being birthed because you have the baby in your arms. I didn't have the baby in my arms, and I definitely felt the placenta.
My neck was cranked to the side, my eyes were on my silent little baby. She was blue. She hadn't made a sound. She was long and limp. I needed to have her in my arms. I needed to warm her and look in her eyes, nurse her. Instead, I was birthing the placenta, and the nurses were trying hard to keep my attention away from the baby. When the placenta was out, it was lying flat on a metal tray. The nurses and the doctors inspected it and told me it looked healthy. They asked me if I wanted to see it. I gagged. No, I don't think so. All I wanted to see was my baby girl.
Forty five minutes after my baby was born, I finally heard her cry. It was the weakest, quietest little sound. My husband was holding her, and she was wrapped in a blanket, wearing a little hat. I saw the two of them gazing at one another with such love. I was so scared, moved, and emotional. He walked towards me with the baby and the nurse assisted him in snuggling her up to my belly. I held her and looked into her eyes. Her eyes rolled back in her head. I was so frightened to see this. My mind was racing. But just moment or two after our meeting, she proceeded to climb her way to my big swollen breast and began suckling. At that moment, I knew she was a fighter. I didn't know if she'd be okay, but I knew she would do whatever she had to to thrive. She wanted to live, to eat, to be warm, and connect with her new family.
I'm crying now as I type this. My, how far we've come. We got through the silent eye-rolling stage, through 4 months of colic, through months and months of fussiness which lead to our relative isolation, to finally having a girl who loves to sing and play with others, who laughs and smiles like no kid I've ever met. And now we've just celebrated her first birthday. She is thriving. She is healthy, beautiful, and a handful of energy, curiosity, happiness and spunk. Thank god.
birthing: a long juicy one to come
i haven't posted for a while because i've been FINALLY putting my birth story down in words. it's almost finished, and has been a tremendously difficult but valuable exercise.
it's been over a year now since i gave birth, and writing this out, sorting through the sequence, reminds me of how much time has passed. my life has been filled with a new challenge and a whole lot of love. peanuts birth has scarred me, though i'm sure a unique way, every woman is scarred by their birth. for a while, i felt as though i was the one woman in the world who's body just didn't step up; didn't connect to that ancient rhythm that has brought every new human into the world. i still feel abandoned by my body. i feel ripped off by not getting the birth i had hoped for. and at the time, the words "but it's all irrelevant. i have a beautiful, healthy baby in my arms." would come to mind. these words mocked the thoughts and sentiments of those around me. these words were what i thought i should feel, but didn't.
but now, with a bit more time under my belt, and better understanding of the type of birth i had, i know i will do things differently. and in doing things differently, i mean that i WILL attempt to do it again...
it's been over a year now since i gave birth, and writing this out, sorting through the sequence, reminds me of how much time has passed. my life has been filled with a new challenge and a whole lot of love. peanuts birth has scarred me, though i'm sure a unique way, every woman is scarred by their birth. for a while, i felt as though i was the one woman in the world who's body just didn't step up; didn't connect to that ancient rhythm that has brought every new human into the world. i still feel abandoned by my body. i feel ripped off by not getting the birth i had hoped for. and at the time, the words "but it's all irrelevant. i have a beautiful, healthy baby in my arms." would come to mind. these words mocked the thoughts and sentiments of those around me. these words were what i thought i should feel, but didn't.
but now, with a bit more time under my belt, and better understanding of the type of birth i had, i know i will do things differently. and in doing things differently, i mean that i WILL attempt to do it again...
Monday, October 12, 2009
mama with no strings attached
anyone out there who's reading this (and it seems there are a few of you - thank you!), is probably a mom too. and you probably know all too well what it's like to feel that being a mom, despite the fabulously dynamic person you once were, is all that you are now. i know that feeling all too well. i sometimes feel it like a bag of stones on my back, and other times it just feels like a dull nagging pain.
i love being a mom - i feel like i write this in every post. (it's true!) i think i would love being a mom more if it were a little less full time. like a full time job, not a full time life. like just a little bit of help here and there. a little more me time. just a little - it honestly doesn't take much. i simply crave a new perspective, and the feeling that i am not needed every minute. i crave to fulfill a need, a want, a desire of my own once in a while.
so today after my husband told me he was taking a nap after suggesting going out for some sort of nature hike as a family, leaving the refusing to nap baby to me, leaving the fairness of giving the woman who was up for 2.5 hours the night before with the baby a nap instead of taking one himself... (i make him sound like a jerk, but really he's not. he's exhausted and run down just like me but doesn't seem to see just how much i give and how little i take. it's partially my fault for not being more forthcoming with this information.) anyway, after a walk and playing, i finally got my baby to sleep and told my husband he's on his own.
i left the house (gasp!) and went to a movie by myself. totally spontaneous. totally awesome. i saw julie and julia. it was quite inspiring and cute. he would have hated it. and really, that was part of the beauty of my self-date. i didn't have to explain why i liked it, what i liked about it. it just was. there was no need for anything. it was pure delight being surrounded by a new set of walls, meeting new characters, and not having anyone asking me for anything.
i am most certainly going to do this more often.
i love being a mom - i feel like i write this in every post. (it's true!) i think i would love being a mom more if it were a little less full time. like a full time job, not a full time life. like just a little bit of help here and there. a little more me time. just a little - it honestly doesn't take much. i simply crave a new perspective, and the feeling that i am not needed every minute. i crave to fulfill a need, a want, a desire of my own once in a while.
so today after my husband told me he was taking a nap after suggesting going out for some sort of nature hike as a family, leaving the refusing to nap baby to me, leaving the fairness of giving the woman who was up for 2.5 hours the night before with the baby a nap instead of taking one himself... (i make him sound like a jerk, but really he's not. he's exhausted and run down just like me but doesn't seem to see just how much i give and how little i take. it's partially my fault for not being more forthcoming with this information.) anyway, after a walk and playing, i finally got my baby to sleep and told my husband he's on his own.
i left the house (gasp!) and went to a movie by myself. totally spontaneous. totally awesome. i saw julie and julia. it was quite inspiring and cute. he would have hated it. and really, that was part of the beauty of my self-date. i didn't have to explain why i liked it, what i liked about it. it just was. there was no need for anything. it was pure delight being surrounded by a new set of walls, meeting new characters, and not having anyone asking me for anything.
i am most certainly going to do this more often.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Oatmeal Bran Banana Apple Muffins for Toddlers and Big People Alike
I would have photographed the whole batch, but they got gobbled up too quickly. Peanut loved them plain, with peanut butter, and with regular butter (I try to smear good fatty stuff on whatever I give her... good for her brain.) Oh, and my husband was the glutton who is mostly responsible for the disappearance of the batch. Without the butter or peanut butter, these are essentially fat free.
Oatmeal Bran Banana Apple Muffins:
makes approx 20 muffins
Preheat oven to 350 degrees
2 cups rolled oats
1 cup whole wheat or multigrain flour
1 cup bran
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 cup applesauce
1/2 cup molasses
4 ripe bananas
1/4 cup chopped dried apples
1/4 cup flax seeds
2 teaspoons vanilla
2 tbsp baking powder
2 eggs
mix wet ingredients together in large mixing bowl, sift dry ingredients in separate bowl. slowly add dry ingredients to wet. grease muffin tins, and pop 'em in the oven. they'll be ready in 20 - 25 minutes. mmmmmm....
my first post-partum period
a couple of weeks ago, i started writing the post below but got interrupted by something or other. i think it's an important personal issue that nobody seems to talk about. important enough that i am resurrecting and finishing it now. i hope that if there are any readers out there going through something similar, or different but still intense, that you will leave a comment.
"uggh... i woke up this morning to a yucky surprise. it's been nearly two years with no menstrual cycle. i had grown accustomed to not having to think about pads, tampons or menstrual cups. i had expected this nuisance to return to my life along with the cramps, the irritability, the stained underwear. what i didn't expect to come along with my postpartum period is a general sense of grieving my self as a fresh new mother whose body is working completely for my new baby, to produce milk, to keep me from having another child to care for, to be hormonally in tune with her. i didn't realize that it would be so emotional."
it seemed to take quite a bit of time for me to grieve my old pre-mom self. i missed and still miss the independence of being without a child, doing as i please without the various reminders, like engorgement for instance, telling me there is a tiny little being i need to get home for. but all in all, i'm loving being a mother. i wouldn't trade it for anything. and there's something about the intimacy of being the mother of an infant, the breastfeeding, the connectedness that i guess i'm facing a near future departure of.
as peanut grows older, she becomes more independent, and my body is slowly finding it's way back to its old state. a reproducing state! maybe i'm emotional about it because i don't feel nearly ready to try for a second child yet, though my body is saying i should be ready for it. mentally, i'm a million miles away. i'm still at home with my baby. she just turned one and i'm wondering how i could possibly go back to work full time right now, as most women (in canada) do. i guess i'm being a bit hard on myself for not transitioning well from one stage to the next.
getting my cycle back is not something i had looked forward to, but i simply thought it would be a nuisance, rather than an emotional milestone in a new mother's life.
"uggh... i woke up this morning to a yucky surprise. it's been nearly two years with no menstrual cycle. i had grown accustomed to not having to think about pads, tampons or menstrual cups. i had expected this nuisance to return to my life along with the cramps, the irritability, the stained underwear. what i didn't expect to come along with my postpartum period is a general sense of grieving my self as a fresh new mother whose body is working completely for my new baby, to produce milk, to keep me from having another child to care for, to be hormonally in tune with her. i didn't realize that it would be so emotional."
it seemed to take quite a bit of time for me to grieve my old pre-mom self. i missed and still miss the independence of being without a child, doing as i please without the various reminders, like engorgement for instance, telling me there is a tiny little being i need to get home for. but all in all, i'm loving being a mother. i wouldn't trade it for anything. and there's something about the intimacy of being the mother of an infant, the breastfeeding, the connectedness that i guess i'm facing a near future departure of.
as peanut grows older, she becomes more independent, and my body is slowly finding it's way back to its old state. a reproducing state! maybe i'm emotional about it because i don't feel nearly ready to try for a second child yet, though my body is saying i should be ready for it. mentally, i'm a million miles away. i'm still at home with my baby. she just turned one and i'm wondering how i could possibly go back to work full time right now, as most women (in canada) do. i guess i'm being a bit hard on myself for not transitioning well from one stage to the next.
getting my cycle back is not something i had looked forward to, but i simply thought it would be a nuisance, rather than an emotional milestone in a new mother's life.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
breastfeeding my toddler
my friend s just posted this great bit on breastfeeding her toddler, which inspired me to write on the topic as well.
i've always thought that i'd want to breastfeed as long as my daughter wanted to. i love breastfeeding her, and i love knowing that she's getting the best food there is. the past couple of weeks i've wondered whether i should start weaning her. her pediatrician says that she's the kind of kid who will need to be weaned, that she probably won't self wean until she's old enough to be "embarrassed" by it. (doc said this simply because of how much and often peanut feeds, given her age. she shows no signs of slowing down.) i don't know how much i believe that, but it sure seems that these days, she wants the boob more than i'd expected her to at this stage. i keep saying she must be going through a growth spurt, but perhaps she's just needing extra loving and comfort these days as she's being sleep trained. all i can say is that if i let her nurse as much as she wants to, we would do nothing else all day. i have to pull her off in order to get her to stop, and i've let her feed for close to an hour several times this week - to the point where i am completely empty and dehydrated. ridiculous!
i told my husband today that i really can't think of weaning right now because i feel that she needs the security it gives her during this time. considering weaning her previously was more about getting some freedom back, shedding the last 10 pounds, not having my nipples chewed on, and reclaiming my body. the reclaiming my body part seems to have a lot to do with some difficult things i'm facing in my personal life. i want to TRY to feel sexual again. i've had a horrible time of that since giving birth. it's becoming a bit easier, but i still have some pain. i just want my hormones to go back to normal so that i can feel myself again. i also feel so lacking in energy and feel particularly tired when breastfeeding a lot. but then i feel guilty. i feel that she needs me. i want to nourish and nurture her. breastmilk is amazing stuff. a miracle really.
i have recently experience a couple of incidents where people were taken aback to learn or see that i still breastfeed my one year old. that my toothy grinned toddler crawls up to my lap, and snuggles in for a bit of shookie. "you're still breastfeeding her?", they ask. and rather than feeling pressure to stop, it actually makes me want to stick to my guns and keep on keeping on. i believe in it. what's not to believe in? it's nature at its finest.
for now, i'm breastfeeding a toddler, and will continue to do so until her sleep becomes a bit more normal, and until this clingy, booby focused stage passes. whatever it's about, i don't want to push her away. breastfeeding is not just about the nourishment, but also security. i want her to feel secure always. i feel that if i hang on just a little longer, she will self wean, and will feel secure in that transition because she was the one who took the lead.
meanwhile, i'm exhausted as ever and dream of the day when i'm free of this. (funny, because i actually love our breastfeeding relationship.) and i know that when it's over and she continues to grow more and more independent each day, that i will miss her being my cuddly little peanut.
Oatmeal and Flax Whole Wheat Bread
so christmas came early this year! (i don't actually celebrate christmas, but it feels like what i imagine christmas to be right now...) -and i needed a little bit of christmas after what i'd been thinking about re: my last post. i splurged on a new bread machine! i love to make fresh bread, but being the mother of a one year old, i am far too scattered, tired and busy to keep my eye on rising dough. so, first i bought a crappy machine on craig's list, and then resold it because it sounded like a tornado was lifting our house out of the ground. plus it made crap bread. i knew i wanted a good one and that i'd use it a lot. so i went for the creme de la creme: the zojirushi bbcc x20. it's amazing. i'm in love!
i'm particularly enthralled with the idea of making my own bread because it's an easy snack for my babe (or part of a meal). I don't feel good about giving her store bought bread - have you read the list of ingredients on that stuff?! i KNOW what goes into my bread. i know it's healthy. no funny oils and preservatives. she loves the stuff, and i feel great about giving it to her. this morning we shared a piece of home made toast with natural peanut butter and banana slices on it, and she couldn't get enough.
my first loaf was adapted from one of zojirushi's recipes (i can never follow a recipe, always have to add my own touch)... but it turned out beautifully.
Bobcat's Oatmeal and Flax Whole Wheat Bread (can be adapted for the real bakers too!)
1 7/8 cups water
4 cups whole wheat flour
1 cup bread flour
3 tbsp. cane sugar
2 tsp. salt
2 tbsp. butter
2 tsp. active dry yeast
1/4 cup oats
2 tbsp. flax seeds
(Basic Wheat Setting on the Zojirushi Machine)
enjoy...
i'm particularly enthralled with the idea of making my own bread because it's an easy snack for my babe (or part of a meal). I don't feel good about giving her store bought bread - have you read the list of ingredients on that stuff?! i KNOW what goes into my bread. i know it's healthy. no funny oils and preservatives. she loves the stuff, and i feel great about giving it to her. this morning we shared a piece of home made toast with natural peanut butter and banana slices on it, and she couldn't get enough.
my first loaf was adapted from one of zojirushi's recipes (i can never follow a recipe, always have to add my own touch)... but it turned out beautifully.
Bobcat's Oatmeal and Flax Whole Wheat Bread (can be adapted for the real bakers too!)
1 7/8 cups water
4 cups whole wheat flour
1 cup bread flour
3 tbsp. cane sugar
2 tsp. salt
2 tbsp. butter
2 tsp. active dry yeast
1/4 cup oats
2 tbsp. flax seeds
(Basic Wheat Setting on the Zojirushi Machine)
enjoy...
Monday, September 28, 2009
sleep training is not for the faint of heart
as with all sleep transitions my daughter has gone through - being swaddled, being unswaddled, being sung to, rocked, bathed, then massaged (not in this order!), we have followed her cue and have tried something new when the old tricks stopped working. or more accurately, when the old tricks started to frustrate her to no end.
peanut is now a year old. she has gone in and out of routines, and in and out of short bursts of good sleeping. i'd say in general though, sleeping has always been an issue with her.
for the last couple of months until about a week ago, i would give her a bath, wrap her up in a nice thick towel and have a big hug and sing a song, change her into new diaper and jammies, breastfeed her and then put her down. sometimes after a bit of a drink she'd even point to the crib "asking" me to put her down. at any rate, she'd soon be asleep, and if she wasn't i or my husband would pick her up and sing to her a bit, and put her down again. and off she'd go... until she'd wake up a few hours later for a feed and and snuggle, and i'd curse myself for not having done anything about this sleep thing yet. i can't be up every couple or few hours any more! i'm falling apart! my hair is grey! this has been going on for a year for god's sake!
about a week ago, she started to resist sleep again altogether. the old routine didn;t work. in fact, my husband's or my presence seemed to frustrate her even more. we tried to do the gentle "cry it out" simply because it seemed more our speed, more assuring, less traumatizing for her (and for us!) she didn't want this. she'd cry even harder. finally, at the end of my rope, through a big yawn i told my husband that i can't live like this anymore. though the last thing i want to do is let her "cry it out", i really can't think of another solution. and so last night, poor peanut cried it out, and successfully put herself to sleep after an hour and a half. (this is a shorter crying period than what we were facing previously). she woke up at 5:30am for a feed, i fed her and put her back in her crib. i thought she'd just drift off with milk in her belly, but up she got, lungs full blast. i'm crying as i write this! it's killing me! but she did get to sleep on her own again, and in a shorter amount of time.
now today, naps have been another story. she hasn't had one yet... i broke down and retrieved her from her crib for a nap this morning because two hours were rolling around and i just couldn't take it anymore. now we're trying it again... and guess what my soundtrack is this very moment. my nerves are shot. all i can think of is the massage i'm going to need after this episode.
anyway, everyone says this is going to get easier and it's an amazingly valuable lesson for peanut. she needs to learn to self soothe, and she needs to learn to sleep through the night. my doctor has been telling me this for a long time. psychologists say that children are not traumatized by sleep training. and truly, peanut was happy as ever this morning after two bouts of it. but when i "saved her" this morning from her nap, she refused to leave my arms. she ate her lunch in my arms, when i read her books, she snuggled into me, if i broke our physical connection for but a moment, she'd cry. perhaps "saving her" was the worst thing i could have done. because now she thinks i'll do it again. consistency is important. i just don't know how i'm going to be strong enough to do this.
so far the strength comes from telling myself that this is good for her, that there is no other solution we could come up with, that the whole family needs to sleep... but meanwhile, back in reality, my heart is broken for feeling as though i've broken her heart.
peanut is now a year old. she has gone in and out of routines, and in and out of short bursts of good sleeping. i'd say in general though, sleeping has always been an issue with her.
for the last couple of months until about a week ago, i would give her a bath, wrap her up in a nice thick towel and have a big hug and sing a song, change her into new diaper and jammies, breastfeed her and then put her down. sometimes after a bit of a drink she'd even point to the crib "asking" me to put her down. at any rate, she'd soon be asleep, and if she wasn't i or my husband would pick her up and sing to her a bit, and put her down again. and off she'd go... until she'd wake up a few hours later for a feed and and snuggle, and i'd curse myself for not having done anything about this sleep thing yet. i can't be up every couple or few hours any more! i'm falling apart! my hair is grey! this has been going on for a year for god's sake!
about a week ago, she started to resist sleep again altogether. the old routine didn;t work. in fact, my husband's or my presence seemed to frustrate her even more. we tried to do the gentle "cry it out" simply because it seemed more our speed, more assuring, less traumatizing for her (and for us!) she didn't want this. she'd cry even harder. finally, at the end of my rope, through a big yawn i told my husband that i can't live like this anymore. though the last thing i want to do is let her "cry it out", i really can't think of another solution. and so last night, poor peanut cried it out, and successfully put herself to sleep after an hour and a half. (this is a shorter crying period than what we were facing previously). she woke up at 5:30am for a feed, i fed her and put her back in her crib. i thought she'd just drift off with milk in her belly, but up she got, lungs full blast. i'm crying as i write this! it's killing me! but she did get to sleep on her own again, and in a shorter amount of time.
now today, naps have been another story. she hasn't had one yet... i broke down and retrieved her from her crib for a nap this morning because two hours were rolling around and i just couldn't take it anymore. now we're trying it again... and guess what my soundtrack is this very moment. my nerves are shot. all i can think of is the massage i'm going to need after this episode.
anyway, everyone says this is going to get easier and it's an amazingly valuable lesson for peanut. she needs to learn to self soothe, and she needs to learn to sleep through the night. my doctor has been telling me this for a long time. psychologists say that children are not traumatized by sleep training. and truly, peanut was happy as ever this morning after two bouts of it. but when i "saved her" this morning from her nap, she refused to leave my arms. she ate her lunch in my arms, when i read her books, she snuggled into me, if i broke our physical connection for but a moment, she'd cry. perhaps "saving her" was the worst thing i could have done. because now she thinks i'll do it again. consistency is important. i just don't know how i'm going to be strong enough to do this.
so far the strength comes from telling myself that this is good for her, that there is no other solution we could come up with, that the whole family needs to sleep... but meanwhile, back in reality, my heart is broken for feeling as though i've broken her heart.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
enjoying "every minute" with the kids
this post is in response to enjoying time with the kids, posted by my good friend who is far too hard on herself!
if the time spent with one's children were similar to any activity in my life, i would say it would be likened to painting, where time as i know it ceases to exist. some moments i'm frustrated beyond belief trying to invent some sort of solution for my own brand of painting problem. those moments time stands still in a dark, beating my head against the wall over and over again kind of way. other times it's pure bliss, and i'm so happy and content to just push colour around that i forget to eat or sleep...
spending time with your kids is like no other. nothing nor no one is more dependent or demanding. some blocks of time go by slowly as a snail and you wish to god the kid would go to sleep already. when i notice those feelings in myself, i think i am in some serious need of some me time. i have no patience, nurturing, or even fun left to give. i tune out and do the dishes and convince myself it's good for my daughter to play by herself.
other blocks of time are dedicated to the baby crying at a frequency that seems to buzz through my nervous system and turn back the clock at once. ten minutes has passed by, but it feels like the longest hour EVER.
and at times, when your child is displaying putting together a new skill, or a few at once, or just laughing and enjoying the simplicity of digging a hole in the sand, time flies and dinner gets served an hour late. we are all completely in the moment and don't want that moment to end.
it seems that in my "routine" there is no time that is predictable, or anything close to how time existed before i became a parent. I have no idea what the ratio of enjoying the moment to complete frustration time is. It just is. And sure, I feel badly about it too at times. It's this constant battle within me to feel as though I am at once creating a free environment for my peanut to thrive and express herself confidently, while also keeping the equilibrium and disciplining the peanut without feeling like a cop. Sometimes the patience isn't there because I'm too tired, and I do feel like I'm a cop, simply controlling things rather than nurturing too.
this has been quite the rant, but really, all i want to say is that s, i've seen you totally engaged with your kids, and i'm sure that hasn't changed. enjoying every moment will never be realistic. these days when peanut is whining like a dying calf and driving me crazy i've taken to fast-forwarding in my mind to the teenage years when complete dismissal, shrugging shoulders, and a general 'parents are diseased' kind of attitude reigns, and i savour these tough moments too. but i'd never say they are always enjoyable.
if the time spent with one's children were similar to any activity in my life, i would say it would be likened to painting, where time as i know it ceases to exist. some moments i'm frustrated beyond belief trying to invent some sort of solution for my own brand of painting problem. those moments time stands still in a dark, beating my head against the wall over and over again kind of way. other times it's pure bliss, and i'm so happy and content to just push colour around that i forget to eat or sleep...
spending time with your kids is like no other. nothing nor no one is more dependent or demanding. some blocks of time go by slowly as a snail and you wish to god the kid would go to sleep already. when i notice those feelings in myself, i think i am in some serious need of some me time. i have no patience, nurturing, or even fun left to give. i tune out and do the dishes and convince myself it's good for my daughter to play by herself.
other blocks of time are dedicated to the baby crying at a frequency that seems to buzz through my nervous system and turn back the clock at once. ten minutes has passed by, but it feels like the longest hour EVER.
and at times, when your child is displaying putting together a new skill, or a few at once, or just laughing and enjoying the simplicity of digging a hole in the sand, time flies and dinner gets served an hour late. we are all completely in the moment and don't want that moment to end.
it seems that in my "routine" there is no time that is predictable, or anything close to how time existed before i became a parent. I have no idea what the ratio of enjoying the moment to complete frustration time is. It just is. And sure, I feel badly about it too at times. It's this constant battle within me to feel as though I am at once creating a free environment for my peanut to thrive and express herself confidently, while also keeping the equilibrium and disciplining the peanut without feeling like a cop. Sometimes the patience isn't there because I'm too tired, and I do feel like I'm a cop, simply controlling things rather than nurturing too.
this has been quite the rant, but really, all i want to say is that s, i've seen you totally engaged with your kids, and i'm sure that hasn't changed. enjoying every moment will never be realistic. these days when peanut is whining like a dying calf and driving me crazy i've taken to fast-forwarding in my mind to the teenage years when complete dismissal, shrugging shoulders, and a general 'parents are diseased' kind of attitude reigns, and i savour these tough moments too. but i'd never say they are always enjoyable.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
A letter Regarding SLEEP ISSUES that I will never send... (a rant, a kvetch!)
dear i,
the last three nights have been rough on this mama. our little bundle of cuteness has been waking up every 45 minutes or so. i get up to soothe her back to sleep (without the boob as i am weaning her from night feeds), which means i'm standing up with her in my arms bouncing her up and down for a half an hour, humming the itsy bitsy spider over and over again until she reaches for the crib, when i finally lay her down for another 45 minute sleep, only to be awoken again to go through it all again. she's getting new teeth, but she's also just excited that she can stand in her crib by herself. she calls out to me to come and see, and if i don't come she gets scared that she's alone and cries. keeping my head about encouraging her to explore and feel confident in her new tricks, as well as trying to not stimulate her through the night and encourage sleep has been hard. and i'm doing it all alone.
while all this has been going on, you have been sleeping in the basement again. and while it doesn't make any sense for both of us to be up through all this, i'm still feeling angry. i'm angry when in the morning after you take her for a couple of hours so that i can have at least 2 hours of sleep under my belt to get through the day, when i thank you and take the baby, you feel the need to let me know you didn't sleep well either. and the way you put it bothers me. you say "if it makes you feel any better, i didn't sleep well either". ummm, no, it doesn't make me feel any better. and stating 'if it makes me feel any better' i feel is a passive aggressive way of being competitive in the woe is me department. i'm not too happy about it. i don't want to complain. i don't want to be tired, and i don't want you to be either. so why would it make me feel better? it would make me feel better if in the middle of the night you showed up and said, 'hey my love, why don't i take over with the baby so you can get some sleep'. it would make me feel better if you didn't complain about your own lack of sleep and you just simply recognized mine. it would make me feel better if you even did feel the need to complain by stating that you see that it's quite different when i'm being woken up by a dependent little being throughout the night who i have to get up for, who i have to put my own needs aside for, compared to when you are having trouble sleeping for your own reasons, and are frustrated staring at the ceiling (but are still comfortable lying down in your bed with the blanket over you).
what bothers me most is that you always make a stink about passive aggressive behavior but don't see it in yourself. we're both tired for entirely different reasons. i guess i would just like to hear you say that you think i'm doing a good job, that the giving on my part is so huge and that you appreciate that i'm doing it. i dunno what would make me feel better. i just need to get this out. i'm frustrated and feeling like a single mom in nighttime parenting. and yet you continue to ask me for my sympathy... and massages. i honestly am to tired and worn out to give anything right now and i wish you could see that and RESPECT it.
the last three nights have been rough on this mama. our little bundle of cuteness has been waking up every 45 minutes or so. i get up to soothe her back to sleep (without the boob as i am weaning her from night feeds), which means i'm standing up with her in my arms bouncing her up and down for a half an hour, humming the itsy bitsy spider over and over again until she reaches for the crib, when i finally lay her down for another 45 minute sleep, only to be awoken again to go through it all again. she's getting new teeth, but she's also just excited that she can stand in her crib by herself. she calls out to me to come and see, and if i don't come she gets scared that she's alone and cries. keeping my head about encouraging her to explore and feel confident in her new tricks, as well as trying to not stimulate her through the night and encourage sleep has been hard. and i'm doing it all alone.
while all this has been going on, you have been sleeping in the basement again. and while it doesn't make any sense for both of us to be up through all this, i'm still feeling angry. i'm angry when in the morning after you take her for a couple of hours so that i can have at least 2 hours of sleep under my belt to get through the day, when i thank you and take the baby, you feel the need to let me know you didn't sleep well either. and the way you put it bothers me. you say "if it makes you feel any better, i didn't sleep well either". ummm, no, it doesn't make me feel any better. and stating 'if it makes me feel any better' i feel is a passive aggressive way of being competitive in the woe is me department. i'm not too happy about it. i don't want to complain. i don't want to be tired, and i don't want you to be either. so why would it make me feel better? it would make me feel better if in the middle of the night you showed up and said, 'hey my love, why don't i take over with the baby so you can get some sleep'. it would make me feel better if you didn't complain about your own lack of sleep and you just simply recognized mine. it would make me feel better if you even did feel the need to complain by stating that you see that it's quite different when i'm being woken up by a dependent little being throughout the night who i have to get up for, who i have to put my own needs aside for, compared to when you are having trouble sleeping for your own reasons, and are frustrated staring at the ceiling (but are still comfortable lying down in your bed with the blanket over you).
what bothers me most is that you always make a stink about passive aggressive behavior but don't see it in yourself. we're both tired for entirely different reasons. i guess i would just like to hear you say that you think i'm doing a good job, that the giving on my part is so huge and that you appreciate that i'm doing it. i dunno what would make me feel better. i just need to get this out. i'm frustrated and feeling like a single mom in nighttime parenting. and yet you continue to ask me for my sympathy... and massages. i honestly am to tired and worn out to give anything right now and i wish you could see that and RESPECT it.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
identity crisis revisited in my dreams
last night i dreamed that i had a show and was at the gallery setting up. there were several artists showing in the space. we each had our own little area to exhibit our work. i was unpacking my work, only to realize it wasn't my work at all. i looked at it and thought, 'ah well, close enough', and began to hang the work. as i started to arrange it i realized there were 2 pieces that had several parts to them. the paintings were like a puzzle of various sized canvases that all fit together somehow. the gallery director was walking by looking at me while i obviously had no idea how to put "my own" work together. i realized that i'd better go home and get my own paintings when the director asked me a couple of questions about the work and i didn't even know how to talk about it.
i started heading home when i saw other artists from the show lining up in some yard and figured i'd better do the same. i was thinking of how soon i'd be home and i'd get this all sorted out with the work, and i'd get to see peanut (my daughter) too. it is still very rare that i spend a couple of hours away from her. i was missing her so much. thinking about all this, i sat on a chair in this line up. my legs were apart and i was wearing a short skirt with no underwear. the director spotted me, and i ran to my car in embarrassment.
the end.
p.s. s, we are so in sync, no?
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Identity Crisis Revisited
A few days ago, while I had my camera at my side to record sweet moments of my daughter crawling and exploring, I was busy cooking, baking and doing laundry. It was one of those days that I felt as though there must be something I'm doing incorrectly if there's this much to do at once.
I was making a curry inspired by the fresh corn I had just bought at the market. The peppers were arranged artfully on the cutting board. I grabbed my camera and snapped a couple of shots. I thought it was a good idea to document the work I do in a day to make myself feel better about the work I'm not doing in a day.
Then came the muffins. These were a successful try at inventing a healthful baked good for my almost 11 month old daughter. I had been feeling as though I had been feeding her the same old thing day after day, and not feeling good about giving her store bought breads etc. I still give her cereals, but want to include more grains in her diet. Baking was the answer, and here was the result:
I'm going to share the recipe with you before I get into why I think I must be insane, and how this all has to do with the identity crisis at hand...
Corn and Oat Baby Muffin Recipe (Mom and Dad love them too!)
1/2 cup old-fashioned rolled oats
3/4 cup boiling water
1/2 cup raisins
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/4 cup unsweetened apple sauce
1 cup whole yellow cornmeal
1 cup whole wheat flour
1/2 cup oat flour
2 tbsp flax seeds
1 tbsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/4 cup plain yogurt
1/2 cup milk
2 large eggs
-preheat oven to 375 degrees F.
-greast muffin tin
-place oats in mixing bowl and pour boiling water over them. add raisins and butter. -stir to combine, then set aside to cool.
-whisk together cornmeal, flours, baking powder and soda, salt.
-stir buttermilk and eggs into the cooled oat mixture
-add dry ingredients and mix until everything is moist
-bake for 25 minutes.
-adapted from King Arthur Flour's Whole Grain Baking Book
Okay, so my insanity has brought us a new recipe which my kid looooooves. Honestly, she went nuts over these. It was hard to get her to eat anything else once the muffins were introduced.
But in looking at my photos, I see a perfectionist. A perfectionist that I don't normally associate with myself. Then I feel sad and I mourn the creator in me who just enjoys making things. In the days before the baby came along, it would have warmed my heart just to make a nice meal for friends. Now I'm documenting it to prove something to myself about productivity. I'm producing a human being over here for god's sakes! What the hell am I doing to myself?
And in that day that I baked the perfect muffins, made the awesome and artful curry, I did 3 loads of laundry, washed dishes, took my kid to the park, ran for half an hour, and did 3 hours of money earning work.
My therapist and I have been talking about this at length. I have been crying about this at length. As it turns out, I am realizing that not only am I trying to be the great and present parent that my parents were not, I'm also listening to a voice in my head that isn't altogether my own.
My dad passed away almost 2 years ago. He was a tough guy. Lovely in some ways, and particularly if I were "hitting home runs", as he used to call it. In other ways, he could be very hard on me, particularly if I wasn't doing what he considered productive (aka making moolah.) Apparently when a parent passes away, the negative or positive voices they once spoke become stronger as a way of keeping them alive. And while I had some very positive words from him, I was very sensitive to the negative, and that's what I hear.
I have no doubt that I'm being hard on myself for several reasons, many of which I blame Hollywood and the boob-tube for. But I can't ignore the fact that my dad's voice creeps up the moment I find myself relaxing. I remedy the voice echo by getting up and working my ass off. This is nothing new, but has become worse since I have become a mother. It's a many layered problem with reasons feeding reasons.
I'm glad to know that though the millions of baby books out there don't usually touch on this subject, there are others out there who are experiencing the same thing. My bestest friend S sent me to this blog entry, and I was happy to read that my insanity in this respect is not altogether unusual.
I was making a curry inspired by the fresh corn I had just bought at the market. The peppers were arranged artfully on the cutting board. I grabbed my camera and snapped a couple of shots. I thought it was a good idea to document the work I do in a day to make myself feel better about the work I'm not doing in a day.
Then came the muffins. These were a successful try at inventing a healthful baked good for my almost 11 month old daughter. I had been feeling as though I had been feeding her the same old thing day after day, and not feeling good about giving her store bought breads etc. I still give her cereals, but want to include more grains in her diet. Baking was the answer, and here was the result:
I'm going to share the recipe with you before I get into why I think I must be insane, and how this all has to do with the identity crisis at hand...
Corn and Oat Baby Muffin Recipe (Mom and Dad love them too!)
1/2 cup old-fashioned rolled oats
3/4 cup boiling water
1/2 cup raisins
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/4 cup unsweetened apple sauce
1 cup whole yellow cornmeal
1 cup whole wheat flour
1/2 cup oat flour
2 tbsp flax seeds
1 tbsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/4 cup plain yogurt
1/2 cup milk
2 large eggs
-preheat oven to 375 degrees F.
-greast muffin tin
-place oats in mixing bowl and pour boiling water over them. add raisins and butter. -stir to combine, then set aside to cool.
-whisk together cornmeal, flours, baking powder and soda, salt.
-stir buttermilk and eggs into the cooled oat mixture
-add dry ingredients and mix until everything is moist
-bake for 25 minutes.
-adapted from King Arthur Flour's Whole Grain Baking Book
Okay, so my insanity has brought us a new recipe which my kid looooooves. Honestly, she went nuts over these. It was hard to get her to eat anything else once the muffins were introduced.
But in looking at my photos, I see a perfectionist. A perfectionist that I don't normally associate with myself. Then I feel sad and I mourn the creator in me who just enjoys making things. In the days before the baby came along, it would have warmed my heart just to make a nice meal for friends. Now I'm documenting it to prove something to myself about productivity. I'm producing a human being over here for god's sakes! What the hell am I doing to myself?
And in that day that I baked the perfect muffins, made the awesome and artful curry, I did 3 loads of laundry, washed dishes, took my kid to the park, ran for half an hour, and did 3 hours of money earning work.
My therapist and I have been talking about this at length. I have been crying about this at length. As it turns out, I am realizing that not only am I trying to be the great and present parent that my parents were not, I'm also listening to a voice in my head that isn't altogether my own.
My dad passed away almost 2 years ago. He was a tough guy. Lovely in some ways, and particularly if I were "hitting home runs", as he used to call it. In other ways, he could be very hard on me, particularly if I wasn't doing what he considered productive (aka making moolah.) Apparently when a parent passes away, the negative or positive voices they once spoke become stronger as a way of keeping them alive. And while I had some very positive words from him, I was very sensitive to the negative, and that's what I hear.
I have no doubt that I'm being hard on myself for several reasons, many of which I blame Hollywood and the boob-tube for. But I can't ignore the fact that my dad's voice creeps up the moment I find myself relaxing. I remedy the voice echo by getting up and working my ass off. This is nothing new, but has become worse since I have become a mother. It's a many layered problem with reasons feeding reasons.
I'm glad to know that though the millions of baby books out there don't usually touch on this subject, there are others out there who are experiencing the same thing. My bestest friend S sent me to this blog entry, and I was happy to read that my insanity in this respect is not altogether unusual.
Friday, August 21, 2009
First Time Mom = Major Identity Crisis
I never thought it would happen to me. I always thought I was pretty secure in knowing who I am. As it turns out, I have taken the societal myth of the "Super Mom" quite seriously on a subconscious level. I feel that I have to be the best at everything, that I need to wow myself and the world at large by being a fantastic parent, housekeeper, cook, artist, designer, breadwinner, daughter, sister, friend, etc. The pressure I have put on myself since becoming a mother is unreal and unbearable.
I have a daughter that doesn't sleep. I am with her during the day, and am up with her through the nights often as well. (I have just started to wean her from her night feeds, so hopefully this will change soon! Please let it change soon!) For several months now, I have been working every moment that she sleeps. I have taken on contracts beyond what I feel to be reasonable, work my butt off to impress my clients, all so that I can feel as though I am not only a mother, but also surpassing clients expectations of a job well done.
What is bizarre about this is that I somehow have forgotten to pat myself on the back for a job well done as a parent. I'm not perfect by any means, but I know I am a thoughtful parent; that I try my very best to provide as much love, support, patience, stimulation and empathy I can muster for my daughter to thrive. As any mother knows, it is a full time job. Overtime, in fact. It's a job that I love. I adore my daughter and am so happy to be home with her, caring for her, watching her grow into a thinking individual. It's the most wonderful job I could imagine.
So why am I trying to prove to myself that I am so much more when being this I love? I guess I find it hard to drop my old identity. It's hard to stop seeing myself as being self sufficient - to admit that I am so stretched thin that I can't expect myself to make a good income right now. And if I am taking on work, I may not wow them every time.
I never realized how hard I am on myself until recently. I only really started to see it when it became so bad that it stopped making sense even to me. I couldn't justify my actions. I couldn't explain to myself how or why I was taking on more.
I've promised myself to break the pattern of this madness. I need to rely on my husband more and not feel terribly about it. I need to feel great about my new identity because it truly is a wonderful thing, and an important job. When new jobs present themselves I need to assess why I feel like taking it, if I feel pressure to do so - from within or otherwise. I need to keep my eye on the ball - the ball being my baby and my health. What am I teaching my little girl by running myself into the ground. I don't want her to follow this example. I want her to be happy, to enjoy life. And enjoy life she will!
In the last week with this identity crisis on the brain, a few great opportunities in my art career have come to fruition. I am now being represented by another gallery here in my city, was invited to exhibit in a group show that is pretty darned exclusive, and then another invitation to a group show as well. Doors are opening in the areas that are important to me. I don't want to be a business lady. If I have baby barf on my shoulder and paint on my hands, I'm all the happier.
I have a daughter that doesn't sleep. I am with her during the day, and am up with her through the nights often as well. (I have just started to wean her from her night feeds, so hopefully this will change soon! Please let it change soon!) For several months now, I have been working every moment that she sleeps. I have taken on contracts beyond what I feel to be reasonable, work my butt off to impress my clients, all so that I can feel as though I am not only a mother, but also surpassing clients expectations of a job well done.
What is bizarre about this is that I somehow have forgotten to pat myself on the back for a job well done as a parent. I'm not perfect by any means, but I know I am a thoughtful parent; that I try my very best to provide as much love, support, patience, stimulation and empathy I can muster for my daughter to thrive. As any mother knows, it is a full time job. Overtime, in fact. It's a job that I love. I adore my daughter and am so happy to be home with her, caring for her, watching her grow into a thinking individual. It's the most wonderful job I could imagine.
So why am I trying to prove to myself that I am so much more when being this I love? I guess I find it hard to drop my old identity. It's hard to stop seeing myself as being self sufficient - to admit that I am so stretched thin that I can't expect myself to make a good income right now. And if I am taking on work, I may not wow them every time.
I never realized how hard I am on myself until recently. I only really started to see it when it became so bad that it stopped making sense even to me. I couldn't justify my actions. I couldn't explain to myself how or why I was taking on more.
I've promised myself to break the pattern of this madness. I need to rely on my husband more and not feel terribly about it. I need to feel great about my new identity because it truly is a wonderful thing, and an important job. When new jobs present themselves I need to assess why I feel like taking it, if I feel pressure to do so - from within or otherwise. I need to keep my eye on the ball - the ball being my baby and my health. What am I teaching my little girl by running myself into the ground. I don't want her to follow this example. I want her to be happy, to enjoy life. And enjoy life she will!
In the last week with this identity crisis on the brain, a few great opportunities in my art career have come to fruition. I am now being represented by another gallery here in my city, was invited to exhibit in a group show that is pretty darned exclusive, and then another invitation to a group show as well. Doors are opening in the areas that are important to me. I don't want to be a business lady. If I have baby barf on my shoulder and paint on my hands, I'm all the happier.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
to have or not to have, that is the question
today i witnessed my daughter's jealousy for the first time while i had another baby in my arms. later i mentioned to i (my husband), that it was interesting to see that, and that i guess we're in trouble when we have another baby. 'i' quickly stated that he didn't think having another would be a good idea for us - he didn't think our relationship would survive it. he didn't think it would be good for either of us individually. one baby is enough of a strain.
we had had a particularly difficult day with our baby girl. she's teething, she's not sleeping, she doesn't want to play on her own and only wants to be in our arms. she's going through some growing pains - yet another trying stage. i have accepted that this is what parenthood is about. and despite how hard it can be, it's the most rewarding thing i can imagine. i do want another. i don't wait my girl to grow up an only child. i want her to share her life with another kid. to share in general. i want a family - not a family that is so small that we can try to pretend it isn't there. i want birthday parties, celebration, creativity, craziness, and even the growing pains.
my husband clearly thinks that this is all too much. i often find myself frustrated with him for seeing the glass half empty. i feel as though he's hard on us as a couple. yes, we've had some tough times, but we also have always had a lot of good. i also have heard of many men saying for a while after the first one that they aren't interested in having another, but change their minds. i really don't know if that is the case with i. i sometimes wonder if he has the capacity at all to be happy. i've only seen moments of it, and it really scares me that it's never been sustained.
here i am, kvetching about his unhappiness while just a couple of days ago i wrote an entry about depression. but i think that even if i have a bit of a case of the blues, i still see the sun shining, listen to kids laughter, pleasure in cooking up a storm, being creative, smell the roses and let it all warm my heart.
the worst is that i feel that all of i's reasons for why things have been difficult are because of me: i got sick on our trip to india and the virus hung on for nearly a year, then my dad died, then i got pregnant and was sick through that, then the baby came and was colicky. it's all my fault. what about his extreme moodiness, his lack of flexibility, his inability to deal with change. what about his disappointment in his family, his struggle to feel good about himself and what he is doing in his life. there are so many things that he has been dealing with since i met him. and yet the things i have struggled through are the reasons why he is not happy.
i'm feeling so sad, angry, frustrated. hopeless really. i'm sad for my daughter, sad for me, sad for him. life is so hard. brutally hard sometimes. but so beautiful too. i think of parenthood and particularly the process of birthing to then beginning a life with your child as the epitome of the pain and beauty of life. it's so contrasting; black and white, pain and pleasure.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
A list of topics I'd like to write about...
my birth story
postpartum body image issues
finding the time and inspiration to be creative
a new mother's identity crisis - who the hell am i?!
my mother's style of "mothering"
raising a child when you come from a severely dysfunctional family
baby sleep issues
competitive moms at the park
everyone's an expert when it comes to someone else's child
dreaming of freedom from the daily grind - missing going on dates with my guy, traveling, late nights out with girlfriends, shopping without worrying about my dependents, talking about something other than the baby with my partner
making parental decisions and sticking to them
postpartum body image issues
finding the time and inspiration to be creative
a new mother's identity crisis - who the hell am i?!
my mother's style of "mothering"
raising a child when you come from a severely dysfunctional family
baby sleep issues
competitive moms at the park
everyone's an expert when it comes to someone else's child
dreaming of freedom from the daily grind - missing going on dates with my guy, traveling, late nights out with girlfriends, shopping without worrying about my dependents, talking about something other than the baby with my partner
making parental decisions and sticking to them
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Unswaddled!
So the swaddling issue has finally come to an end. It took a little over a week to get Sasha used to sleeping without being wrapped up. She would wake many times in a night at first, but slowly, slowly, the wakings became normalized. Now she normally just awakens for her 3am feed. I'm so pleased.
I had asked my doctor a while ago if swaddling inhibited a babies' physical development, and she said no, not to worry about it. If I had to do it all again, I'd still have swaddled Sasha, but I do believe that the swaddling did slow things down for her in some ways. She is now quickly catching up, and it's amazing to see. She's rediscovered her hands, and seems to be far more in control of them. She's rolling around and pulling herself all over the place. She's just far more physical in general. It might be her age, but even a couple of weeks ago before she was unswaddled, in the daytime she had no interest in "exercise".
Now the problem (it's always SOMETHING!) is that she's so excited to be physical, that it's hard to get her to settle down in her crib. Once she does, she rarely wakes up through the night, but she spends a good 45 minutes to an hour flipping around in there! Ah, my little acrobat.
I had asked my doctor a while ago if swaddling inhibited a babies' physical development, and she said no, not to worry about it. If I had to do it all again, I'd still have swaddled Sasha, but I do believe that the swaddling did slow things down for her in some ways. She is now quickly catching up, and it's amazing to see. She's rediscovered her hands, and seems to be far more in control of them. She's rolling around and pulling herself all over the place. She's just far more physical in general. It might be her age, but even a couple of weeks ago before she was unswaddled, in the daytime she had no interest in "exercise".
Now the problem (it's always SOMETHING!) is that she's so excited to be physical, that it's hard to get her to settle down in her crib. Once she does, she rarely wakes up through the night, but she spends a good 45 minutes to an hour flipping around in there! Ah, my little acrobat.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Unswaddle or Bust.
I’m currently battling the sleep issue yet again. A week shy of 8 months old, and she just won’t sleep without being swaddled. We feel it’s time to get her out of her cocoon or we may be stuck swaddling her well into her teens. It’s now or never, or so it feels.
It took us a whole lot of patience and effort to get her into the swaddle in the first place. At that point we were at our end with her lack of sleeping and had hoped swaddling would do the trick. We tried swaddling when she was a month old and she hated it. She cried, screamed, and protested until we took her out and put up with more endless nights of night waking. My husband moved into the basement so that he could function. I remained in the “family bed”, co-sleeping with my little bundle of awakeness. And became desperate enough a couple of months later to try again. Bags under my eyes, a constant haze before my eyes, and a “Miracle Blanket” in hand, and I proceeded to wrap my daughter in this “swaddle” that seemed like more of a baby straight jacket to me. It felt cruel, but it worked. Tears and obvious discontentment for 20 minutes the first time, then she settled into it and slept… like a baby. The next time the tears lasted 10 minutes, and on we went. She nursed better in the swaddle, she slept longer than she ever had before, and she was less grumpy during the day because of it. Hallelujah! The swaddle turned out to be the answer we were looking for after all… until we realized she couldn’t sleep without it, and had visions of wrapping her up forever.
Trudging onward, I referred to the internet a number of times in my search for ‘the answer’. How on earth would I get this kid to sleep on her own without the swaddle.
1. Loosen the Miracle Blanket each night. (She got out of it on her own at a certain point and then it was just too loose for her to fall asleep in… More sleepless nights.)
2. Take her out of the Miracle Blanket completely, put in sleep sack with a receiving blanket under her back and sides folded over her arms and under her back. (Legs are more loosely covered, gets her used to less of a wrapped feeling.)
3. Slowly loosen the receiving blanket. (She consistently gets out of the “half swaddle” and bonks herself on the head or wakes herself up by grabbing onto the rungs of her crib… More sleepless nights.)
4. “Cold Turkey”. Put her in the crib with no swaddle, no half swaddle, no nothing. Try holding her arms beside her body until she falls asleep. (Acting as a human swaddle.) Let go when she’s in her slumber and go back over and over again to calm her when she wakes herself up by bonking herself in the head.)
5. Nurse. Give up the idea of training her to self-sooth, give her the boob until she falls asleep. Place her back in the crib until she wakes up bonking herself in the head.)
6. Read Story and give up when she goes bonkers trying to grab the book.
7. Sing the itsy bitsy spider complete with hand motions on the mattress so she has to look down and close her eyelids a bit. Watch her grab at my hands, let her hold my hand and continue to sing quieting to a whisper. Watch her fall fast asleep.
It’s 9pm. I’ll assume this will carry on until the wee hours of the morning. However, it will pay off, just as the swaddling did at one point. I remember when I was pregnant and people gave me the advice that I should just do whatever works. I totally know what they were talking about. This business of parenting is not for the faint of heart. Sometimes you have to go against your gut instinct and try things that don’t seem right for you, but as it turns out, it’s right for your kid. Whatever works.
Thanks www.groovystyle.co.uk for the image!
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