July 10, 2009

Tick Tock

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I originally posted this the night my water broke with Atticus, before it broke. Someone may even have read it before I took it down and posted “Belaboring My Labor.” instead.

I think one of the reasons journaling (our blog is one part journal, one part baby book and one part exhibitionism for me) is so precious is that it allows us to step back into a moment forever gone, into a part of ourselves a little more innocent. In that look back, we are an older sibling to ourselves. We are spectators yelling at the characters on a movie screen, “Don’t go in there!”

I’m grateful, now, that I recorded this chapter’s unknowingness, because in just eight weeks, I already have answers to some of these questions. I already know Atticus some, even though there is so much more to know.

But on May 10th:

MC, who are you in there? I really can’t imagine. Right now you are still a hazy profile, some feet curled under my rib cage, a tiny elbow stretching outward against my belly. Someone very thirsty. A huge fan of balsamic vinaigrette.

Will you have your father’s hair? His excellent sense of direction? I’m sorry that it looks like you have my feet but maybe there’s a genetic connection between square feet and a good memory. 

Will you be arriving in the next couple of days, or will you have to be coaxed out in a couple of weeks?  Just let me know when you’ve had a chance to look at your day planner.  I can clear my schedule.

I have been watching the clock for days. At this point in my pregnancy with The Dervish…scratch that. I wasn’t pregnant anymore. I was holding The Dervish, having just met her. I’ve never been this pregnant before, and I start doing mental newborn head size calculations based on the calendar date.  Best not to think too deeply on this one.

I’m jarred from these thoughts by a jab, slow and deliberate, as MC stretches, and remember that time really is crawling by. I am antsy, but I am very lucky to see this time as precious, to squeeze The Dervish despite her protests. To watch her pad across the wood floor sporting pjs and bedhead, determined to have pancakes for breakfast.

Before she rounds the corner, I take a mental picture of her, of us, before this next step, which will change us and our perspectives, forever.

Everyone says that before we know it, we’ll never remember what it was like before we were a family of four. I simply can’t picture MC in my arms, strapped to my chest, sleeping in a crib or peeking at me from the  swing that currently stands stationary, expectant, in the corner of our living room.

Still harder to imagine:  Personality. Preferences. Another little voice. Another point of view. Tendencies that are already in place, waiting to unfold. 

I put a hand on my belly. MC pushes back with teeny tiny toes. It’s so quiet. It’s so close.

 

July 8, 2009

Evolution

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I learned a lot about myself over the long, glorious weekend.  We spent most of our time at a nearby beach, playing in the sand, jumping the waves, sucking in the stomach, and reveling in seeing the ocean through The Bean’s eyes.  I often found myself playing the role of the anxious parent, watching to make sure that Beanie stayed ultra safe.  The girl had her hand held whenever she was in a millimeter of water, was under constant surveillance to make sure the sand didn’t go into her mouth, and was lubed up in the thickest layer of sunscreen a baby ever did see.  We had fun – safe fun – at the beach, and it was one of the greatest weekends we’ve had together as a family.

In addition to the fun we had, the experience was a reminder of how much things have changed in my life.  Going to the beach has always been my favorite thing: plunked down in a comfy chair with a little bikini and a big book, I logged countless hours in the sun with minimal SPF.  I didn’t think of bringing healthy snacks or big beach hats; instead, my goals were to be as tan and relaxed as possible at the end of the day so I could go out with my friends.  Life was so simple, and absolutely beautiful in its simplicity.  I loved it.

You moms out there know that I didn’t get much reading done this weekend, and I now know better about slathering on the SPF, um, O (and wearing a tiny bikini, for that matter).  Things have changed: I’ve grown up, and I’m a mom now.  It’s my job to be the entertainer at the beach, not the entertained…and while I love that too, it’s certainly different.   

It’s hard sometimes to get that reality check.  To remember that you’re not that carefree girl anymore, but a woman with a child of her own.  To know better than to be reckless with your skin and your safety, and to be on high alert to make sure those around you are safe.  I miss that old, young girl sometimes…I longed for her this weekend. 

To quench my thirst for days gone by, I went out in the yard during naptime and settled into a chaise, ready to spend a couple of hours lost in a book and the sun.  After about 20 minutes, I was bored out of my mind.  I started planning menus, thinking of The Bean, and making a list of To Do’s in my hot little head.  After 30 minutes, I couldn’t take it anymore – I headed inside with a resolve to get things done so I could enjoy my time with The Bean when she woke up, abandoning my chair and my book for some other young girl who has the time and inclination to spend her afternoon in total relaxation mode.   Because, now, I’m a wife and a mom, and my definition of what makes a great weekend has changed.   And that’s a reality check that I was most grateful to receive.

 

July 5, 2009

Father-Daughter Dance

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Sometimes there are moments that stop your heart.   On the heels of a great Fourth of July weekend, I must share an instance, a blip, really, in our long holiday weekend.  Our holiday was filled with great friends and lots of kids, barbeques and swimming, sun tans and roasting marshmallows.  It was a 10.  However, my favorite moment of all was not participating in, but being a witness to my husband and daughter interacting.

And this was the moment that made my heart skip:

My husband injured his knee pretty badly last week.  It was touch and go about whether our plans  to go out to our vacation home with friends and family for the weekend would be scratched all together.   I decided to leave early and my husband would make the call about whether he was in any shape for sun and fun festivities.  On Friday morning he called to say he was coming.  We were out by the pool all day swimming and laughing – but he was missed, by all of us, and mostly by my daughter.  As the afternoon waned on and the sun was high, I saw him come through the doors out to the backyard pool area.  Lovey ran to greet him, screaming, “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”  In one quick motion, he scooped her up (knee be damned!), gave her a huge hug and said, “You smell like sunshine, Lovey.  I missed you.”  Two little sentences, and I realized -  I’m the luckiest girl in the world.

 

July 3, 2009

MomInsomnia

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Man, I’ve been tired lately. Like, so tired, I don’t even feel tired anymore. When I lie down at the end of the day for my first pre-night shift nap, I feel wired. Christmas Eve wired. Night before the first day of school wired. What a waste.

Somewhere between tired and wired is the secret to easily falling asleep. I’m afraid I won’t hear Atticus until he is hysterical and/or has woken up The Dervish, because when I do knock out, I sleep like a stone, locked in a foot locker, buried in the ocean, and the walk to Atticus’ room is akin to skipping that stone to the desert. I find myself crib-side with no memory of having gotten there.

The other night I couldn’t sleep because I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck going against the grain. A few minutes later, I wasn’t sure I’d paid my credit card bill and had to search for the statement which ended up arriving in the mail the next day.

So sometimes, instead of lying down, I straighten my hair. Unload the dishwasher. Pack The Dervish’s pre-school lunch.  I stop short of true productivity: organization and the completion of projects, because I panic, thinking I won’t get enough sleep, assuming I could fall asleep. Atticus is a loud and light sleeper, sending me grunty nastygrams from the imprisonment of a crib he seems to hate.

I have been through this with his sister. I remain hopeful that one night, he’ll sleep more than two hours, on his back, in his crib. Right?

I’m lying. I panic that he will be sleeping on my chest or in his swing in middle school.

Eventually, I get tired-on-top-of-overtired enough to sleep. Standing up. With my eyes open.

And then the impossible happens. Atticus sleeps through the night. Once, but it’s a start. Mostly on my chest, but that means a solid block of sleep for the both of us, even if the knot in my neck makes it impossible to turn my head. And while I’m still hallucinating that my cats are in my peripheral vision when they aren’t, I can actually visualize a time in the future, when there is no more sleep training, no more teething, and awake pre-dawn is the exception rather than the rule.

But for now, the spicy adrenaline of survival mode.

 

 

July 1, 2009

Momgenius: Diapers.com

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I’ve been going back and forth for days now trying to figure out which of my awesome new products to recommend to you all, and haven’t been able to decide which one is better than the next.  In a fit of genius, it came to me: recommend all of the products, and the site from which they came!  So, ladies and gentlemen, I am thrilled to present my favorite baby and kids website to you: Diapers.com.

For those of you who aren’t aware of this fantastic online mecca, Diapers.com has everything you could possibly need for your little one.   Everything from diapers (cloth, disposable, organic, you name it) to clothes (Robeez and Zutano, to name a couple of brands) is easily purchased with a click of a button and delivered to your doorstep.   Here are a few of my latest and greatest finds:

  • Gerber Spill Proof Water Spouts:  I don’t know about your kid, but the Bean would prefer to drink out of whatever I’m having versus whatever is in her pink princess cup.  These nifty little sippy cup tops fit right onto any average-sized water bottle, making my Bean feel grown up while keeping both of us dry.  These are also great to keep in your car or bag for “Oops, I forgot the sippy!’ moments that we seem to be having a lot of lately.
  • Foogo Leak Proof Straw Bottle: Continuing with our thirsty theme, this Foogo bottle by Thermos is great.  It holds enough liquid to satisfy a little one on a hot day or a long trip, and keeps said liquid cold forever.  Your kid needs to be able to use a straw to get much use out of this, but mine loves the straw and the pop-top that provides hours of entertainment.  Oh, and this bottle hasn’t leaked like that no good Foogo sippy that I bought a few months back.
  • Burt’s Bees Insect Repellent:  I hate the Bean to get bitten by little, nasty bugs, but hated the thought of spraying her with chemicals just as much.  Enter Burt’s Bees, an all natural brand that has developed a good-smelling herbal insect repellent that is good for the whole family.  We all used it this weekend, and escaped unbitten!
  • Kee-Ka Organic Body Suits: The bean doesn’t wear these anymore, but they make great gifts – and are as cute as can be!

Now that you know what you want to order, let’s talk price.  Overall, I’ve found diapers.com to be reasonable and on par, with say, Target stuff that isn’t on sale.  The convenience of having it shipped – usually within 24 hours – makes any price differential worth it to me, though.  First-time customers usually get $10 off, other promotions abound, and you get free shipping on any order over $49.

This summer, be sure to make your life a little easier and check out this site.  Please report back with any other great finds!

 

June 28, 2009

Women Hold Up This World

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I have a confession.  I resent my husband.  Actually, let me take that back.  I resent all men, my husband just happened to be born a man of no fault of his own.  My reason for this gripe stems from maternity leave and my career.  It’s rarely a question when a couple has a child about who is going to be the one to take extended leave.  It’s the woman.  My husband and I both work full time, both put in years of schooling and working our way up ladders to get where we are in our careers today.  My career means as much to me as his does to him.  Please don’t misread this, I am thrilled to be able to be home and bond with my newborn for three months.  THRILLED and lucky – I know many women wish they had the luxury to do this.  However, if the universe were listening to my wants and desires, it would have timed this pregnancy to deliver this baby at the end of May.  As a development professional in a school, the summer, when the students and parents are away, is our slow time – and the perfect time for me to be away from the office.  However, you can’t control it all, and after three months of trying, I am instead having this baby at the end of August – thus, entering our busiest time of year.  In fact, my first day back at work will be the Monday before Thanksgiving.  The optics are just bad, bad, bad. While I’m on leave, amidst the diapers and bottles and adjustment, I will also be worrying about what’s happening at the office.  I am incredibly blessed to work with a team of outstanding women, most of whom have children at all ages and stages, and have been where I am.

I rarely hear men grappling with this dilemma.  And I resent that.  Do I need this added layer of guilt on top of everything else? After suffering all the pains and trials of pregnancy?  I’ll take it, I guess.  Left with no other choice, I guess I’ll take it.

Just once, I’d like to see the tables turned.  Just for kicks, you know? In my imagined world, men are the ones who have morning sickness and back pain.  They’re getting kicked in the bladder and the ribs.  They need to wear flip flops in October because their ankles and feet make it impossible to fit into their regular shoes.  I want to see men waddling down the street, nine months pregnant, pulling down their shirt that inadequately covers their stretch-mark-laden bellies.  I am trying to imagine my own husband, who complains for hours about a hangnail, screaming for an epidural.  And he would be screaming, trust me.  And let’s not even go there about how men would handle actually getting a baby out of their loins.  After all this, to then take a career hit?  I imagine the population would be steadily on the decline, don’t you?

 

June 25, 2009

Like Deja Vu

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There is a huge relief that comes with validation. That makes you feel like maybe you weren’t crazy when you had to have your mom come over to help you deal with your second newborn’s unending cries and insomnia. Or that there was good reason to sink to the floor in frustration when you can’t go to the bathroom without it starting a revolution in the bouncy seat.

Thank you, Dr. McLean.

Yep, despite the odds, Atticus has colic. Ya-hoo.

Three formulas, reflux medication, the whole rigamarole of soothing methods. Let’s face it. The kid wants to be held all day, all night, mostly with a bottle in his mouth, please. Oftentimes even that falls short. We have tried every binky on the market, swaddling, womb sounds, shushing, rocking, burping, and what I used to try on The Dervish that sometimes worked – sobbing alongside her. (Expletive).

Yesterday I was opening our first can of hypoallergenic formula and saw on the cover “Fast colic relief.” And I actually laughed. At least someone was willing to admit defeat. No one would ever use the c-word when it came to The Dervish, and it made me want to scream louder than she did. Did they not SEE the elephant in the room? Did they think I couldn’t take it?

If there is any good to be gained from colic, it’s that once you’ve experienced it, you’ll be far more supportive of anyone else who does. You will offer to come over and listen to the baby cry so his/her parents can shower or eor walk around the block with free hands and listen to the ringing in their ears.

Thank you, mom.

I will tell you, I had a premonition when The Dervish was an infant and we asked our former pediatrician’who feared owning up to the c-word) if this could happen to two children in a row. She, who had said time was the only cure, said, “It happened with both of mine.” And I saw the scar tissue on her nerves in that statement. As if someone clapped too loudly in her presence I’d have to scrape her off the ceiling.

The good news is, Atticus seems to want things to be different. Has whole moments of serenity, between 7:10 and 7:15 am. He will get older. He will find something he likes. Even if right now it’s not carriers that get me hands-free or any of the many other recommended cures.

He likes the vaccuum, but The Dervish is afraid of it. The flarking irony off which will be especially funny when this phase of our family’s story has passed.

I know I sound like a whiner. Please keep in mind that I think of the following when I walk away from Atticus to get perspective (usually while peeing or trying to eat against my natural drive to soothe him).

We have two healthy children. Some aren’t able to have any, or they aren’t healthy. Thank you, powers that be.

We have a boy and a girl. Which many consider the ideal – though I was glad I didn’t get to choose.

Babies aren’t babies forever, and we knew going in that we had babies to have children, not infants, and especially not newborns.

The Dervish is already a spectacular big sister.

I’m even grateful to have experienced both vaginal birth and a c-section, because I’m all about gaining life experience.

Except we already experienced colic once, so the only positive thing I can say about it this time is that once I admitted it to myself, and today, when my new pediatrician copped to the diagnosis AND acted like he genuinely felt my disillusion, it felt not so  ‘not so bad’ that I ever want to experience it again, but at least like I’m not lunatic for feeling so unraveled as a second time parent.

So. Next time someone tells you their baby has colic, you could say you’re sorry. Or, that it sucks and it will pass. Or you might ask what you can do. But you will be the best friend ever in the world if you force your way into her home with an agenda of how you plan to offer some relief.

And also, tell her she doesn’t have a muffin top. But feel free to bring some muffins.

 

June 24, 2009

Futures and Bonds

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Last week, I got a scary peek into the future – namely, adolescence.  My sweet Bean, who showers me with “huggies” and “kishes” throughout the day and night, engaged me in the following conversation:

Bean: “Beanie cuppycake.  Eat.”

Me: “Yes, Beanie will share a cupcake with Mimi after we change your diaper!”

Bean: “Share.  Cuppycake.  Yummy, yummy!”

Me: “Can Mommy share the cupcake, too?”

Bean: “No.”

Me: “Well, what will Mommy eat?”

Bean: “Poopies.”

Crumbs' Artie Lange Cupcake

Crumbs' Artie Lange Cupcake

OK, have you stopped laughing yet?

I know – or at least, am telling myself – that this was a perfectly innocent comment, coming from a girl who has months to go before her second birthday.  She was in no way telling me that I should actually eat poopies, but instead was telling me that I would have to find something else to snack on – there was no way I was getting in the mix with her, Mimi, and the cupcake.  I can’t blame her – the cupcake was from Crumbs - but a teensy little part of me got a little nervous. 

What if The Bean, the light of my life, hates me when she’s a teenager?  I can handle the normal fights about clothes and boyfriends and going to the mall too often, but I couldn’t handle it if we were a mother/daughter combo that truly cannot get along.  I love her so much, and I so want to have an open, loving relationship with her at all stages of our lives – like the one I have with my mom.

As a parent, I’ve found myself constantly on high alert.  Am I saying the right thing to The Bean when under pressure?  Am I kind enough, generous enough, stern enough, strict enough?  Despite this one incident, I’ve worked hard to try to focus on the day to day of my behavior rather than thinking too far into the future (a sure recipe for a Haagen-Dasz freakout).  I hope beyond hope that the baby steps I take with my daughter will help both of us get on the path to a relationship that is strong, meaningful, FUN, and based on mutual respect.  I’m the only one trying to get us there right now, and that’s the way it should be with a small child.  When The Bean can play a part, though, I’m hoping she chooses to do so.  I’ll certainly buy her a cupcake or two for her effort.

 

June 21, 2009

Zootopia

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On Friday, my best friend and I took our daughters to the Bronx Zoo.  Growing up 15 minutes away, I have been to the Bronx Zoo many times and have fantastic memories of my parents taking my sister and me through the House of Birds, seeing the zebra, screaming in the Reptile House, you name it.

Seeing the zoo through my Lovey’s eyes was an incredible experience.  It was her first visit, and she made the most of it.  We made our way through many of the exhibits, but her two favorite were by far the Butterfly House and the Children’s Zoo.  We stepped into the balmy Butterfly House to literally thousands of brilliant, fluttery, butterflies whirling around us.  Lovey immediately put her finger out and said (and repeated a few dozen times), “Mommy?  I need one on my finger!”  The bright wings fluttered around her, flirting, but never landing, and she took it in stride.  As we left the exhibit, she said, “I loved that, Mommy!”  I loved it too, Lovey.  I loved watching you.

Onward to the Children’s Zoo – the zoo within the zoo for the littlest guests in the park.  We walked into the area and I instantly panicked when I saw the goats, sheep, and alpacas that were eating little pellets out of kids’ hands.  I thought, “Ewww.  Alpaca lips and goat germs.  Gross.”  Not Lovey.  She jumped right in.  Against my instincts, I bought her some food for the beasts and off she went – fearless as always.  As her mother stood and worried that her little daughter would get nipped by sheep teeth and contract some odd, incurable disease (yes, I’m that mom), Lovey did not hesitate to hold her hand right up to the animals’ hungry mouths.  And away they chomped.

Whose child is this?  I never considered myself a “joiner.”  Even now, before I really try something, I need to be relatively comfortable, weighing the risks and benefits.  I like a sure thing.  Lovey takes risks, and I’m so happy she does.  All truly successful people do.  My job is to not break her of that (while still keeping her safe).  I have a lot to learn from my daughter.  At the end of our outing, as we made our way to the parking lot, Lovey was fast asleep in her stroller, exhausted from a day of discovery.   I can’t wait to take her back.

 

June 19, 2009

You CAN Handle the Truth

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It’s the middle of the night, and I’ve awakened on schedule for Atticus, only he is still sleeping. For four hours.  There  just might be a light at the end of the newborn tunnel. I may be able to put a coherent thought together before my maternity leave ends. Maybe. If I can just sleep while the baby sleeps.

Obviously I haven’t done so yet, because it’s pre-dawn, he’s asleep, and I’m still awake.

I’m thinking back to when Atticus was still MC, when my husband’s colleague said, “Two is not one,” and how he wasn’t at all specific. And since I know so many moms about to add Number Two to their families, I thought they, and you, deserved to know what that means in the day to day.

Exhibit A:

My husband has gone for his first run in two weeks, and I am alone, for the first time, with a 3 year old and a 3 week old. They have simultaneous bowel movements, require help getting cleaned up, and instantly get hungry at the same time. Neither is willing to concede to the other being priority. Tears, all around. When my husband gets back, I am sweating more than he is. He was only gone for 30 minutes.

Exhibit B:

We are in the process of potty training The Dervish. As part of the process, we flush all poop, even diaper-borne, to instill the proper associations. Only, the toilet clogs. Whatever, I think. I’ll tackle that lovely job after I get The Dervish down for a nap. (My husband is on the couch trying to co-nap with Atticus). The Dervish then informs me that her bed is all wet. I assume a diaper mishap, but sleep-deprived me had handed her a sippy cup without a stopper, and voila. She dutifully stands by the foot of the bed as I change the sheets and despite the disturbance, she takes a nap on her dry sheets. And I am free to spend quality time with a plunger while everyone else in my house sleeps.

Exhibit C:

It’s the middle of the night, Atticus awakens. Then I hear The Dervish making an unholy sound. I find her kneeling, delirious, over a pillow, having sweated out a high fever and now cushioning herself against a deep cough, which turn out to be bronchitis. As I administer medication and comfort, Atticus screams his wee head off for a fresh diaper and bottle. On this night, I am sole caregiver, struggling to help them both while keeping them separate to keep Atticus safe from infection. I would cry, but there is no time.

Exhibit D:

Without provocation, The Dervish rewrites “This Little Piggy” to include all members of our immediate family. Daddy goes to market. Mommy stays home. The Dervish has roast beef. Luckily, no one is punished with none. And Atticus goes wee wee wee all the way home.

She has accepted him as one of us, in five weeks has not questioned it. Has not asked me to put the baby down even when it means I can’t play as interactively because he wants to be held during all daylight hours. I could just squish her with appreciation.

Exhibit D is why people have kids, and have more than one. Exhibits A, B and C are the stuff of future holiday dinner anecdotes, fodder for buzzed summer picnic exchanges of parenting war stories, and blog posts.

 You can’t make this stuff up.

 

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