Always, with the sickness!

I wish life came with a button I could press and everything would just stop for a minute or two. Or fifteen. So I could pee, or get a sandwich or maybe just cough my fucking lungs out.

Being sick sucks.

What does this have to do with motherhood? Everything. Cause when you cough at night so hard you make the walls shake, you wake the (also sick) toddler. Who then wants his most comforting comfort: mama's milk. Which you would want to, if you could have something that warm and satisfying when your chest feels like a pile of cold dog shit that's been stepped in by fifteen different people and dragged all around the block.

But the mama who provides said milk also feels like said shit, so...

"Life is pain, princess. Anyone who tells you differently is trying to sell you something."
~ The Princess Bride

This is why Woman invented the Mommyblog

Scene: Crowded suburban kitchen. Decor 1970s but dress is contemporary.

MAMA & POPS are in the kitchen teaming on pizza creation.

MOLLYBIRD: "Can I help?"
POPS: "Sure. Bring in the chair."

MOLLYBIRD drags/pushes a full-size adult chair into the tiny kitchen. MAMA & POPS finish the pizza and MAMA puts it in the oven. As they wait, MOLLYBIRD climbs onto chair and starts to sing and dance:

"Robot makin' pancakes on the roo-oof

Robot makin' pancakes on the roo-oof, yeah man!

Pop 'em in the o-ven for to-nigh-ight

Shake your booty behind your bu-utt

Shake your booty 'hind your bu-utt"

MAMA & POPS laugh until they nearly pee. MAMA suggests a synth-pop accompaniment, possibly trip-hop. MAMA & POPS continue to watch the concert, in spasms of laughter.

Blogger FAIL!

Here we have a beautiful, awesome blog. And two mamas who are totally into the idea of imperfect parenting... and then there is me, who is just TOTAL FAIL when it comes to maintaining more than one blog. (I also let my son's blog go to seed...)

January resolution: I am going to reaffirm my commitment to this blog. I shall post at least once a week. I shall fail and bounce back!

This week's imperfection: I could not let my husband handle one night on his own. For fuck's sake! I have been the go-to night parent for so fucking long, and I couldn't just try to see if my husband could handle one night? I am afraid of becoming my mother, afraid of abandoning my child, afraid of being abandoned all over again...

My triumph is that I am considering going away for a weekend by myself. I haven't committed to it (we're still maybe going as a family) but I think that going on my own would be a Very Good Thing. Totally wabi sabi because I will be terrified at the huge change, but... I need it. And Rems could use a lot more daddy time.

Weaning Theory Part 1: The Summit and the Wisdom of Doc G.

The Bu and I held another Parenting and Wellness Summit in our Art + Junk Room. As all such meetings have been, it was chaired by Mr. E after finding his Mz. R.E. in full-on wigging mode while attempting to sketch a little bit during the Our Miss E.'s nap. Like all Parenting and Wellness talks, the conclusion reached is that a massive amount of my stress is due to sleep issues. The only strategy that seems available to us is to night wean at the least. The mister is gently lobbying for a total embargo of boobie exports to babybellyland in order to bolster relations between the elder E's and create a New Sleep Deal for mama.

As most weaning discussions happen on days of strung-out craziness, my side of the dialogue is a tearful chaos of IDUNNOWHATTODO! Only that's the crazy talking because it's clear what I need to do:

1. Determine if, indeed, my own sanity is a priority. If yes, then
2. Realize I must wean her at night.
   

OK. Only I don't know hoooowwwww. But that's more crazy, because, my doods, I totally did it. Successfully. I then caved during a tummy bug and nursed her back to health and back to our time-honored habit of night wakings. My tactic was Dr. Gordon's plan, which is tailored for crunchy, weepy, worn-the-fuck-out, toddler-nursing mommy-messes. His plan has logical steps and gentle, supportive language and theory. It worked beautifully at 18 months. I'm a little fretful that my 27 month old will be a harder sell, but I'll get into that in my next weaning post. I have several. Perhaps, for balance, Lexi can weigh in on life as a toddler nurser who does not have Teh Crazy?

Meditation on Meaning and Mothering

I had an insight this morning. Or a couple. Yes. I had two poignant insights that might be important only to the mind of a mom who was awake no fewer than six times to nurse her toddler then had to go to work.

My first insight was a little diagram image of my priorities that popped up all visual and organized in my head. It went Tiny Her, Him, Work, Art, Housework, Money.... on downward in increasingly small fonts until the tiny, squeaky-meek little 'me' box at the bottom of the pile was microscopic. Oh, I thought. The "oh" of the dawning realization variety. Mentally I tried to imagine a pretty graph of overlapping circles where the ME section was a warm pale color- possibly peach- that gently blended in perfect graph harmony with all the other neat little divisions of life. It fell apart a little bit because immediately the next epiphany slapped me and was more grounded and more describable. (It came with a blog post fully written and edited, and almost hit the publish button for me.)

Weary Hippie Mother in Appalachia Insight the Second:

Here's what bugs about my own little parenting zeitgeist: it's the lack of value given to my choices. I've never encountered hostility directly in my family, neighbors, or out in my town. No one has asked me to cover my nursing child or reprimanded me about the dangers of co-sleeping. Instead I get these amused little reactions like I am the most adorable little eccentric- just about completely harmless- when people find out the barely-touched crib was Freecycled before the baby was walking, or see us nursing, or ask me if my handmade sling is safe. I'm thrilled that I've had a comfortable time of it- I was braced (after too many hours of web-based mamadrama) to be assaulted with judgmental people.

My complaint, now that my new insight has helped me articulate it, is that my parenting choices are seen as indulgent. (Also, I can hear people scoffing: 'parenting choices' is a phrase full of pretentious over-thinking.) It's in the way doctors presume that breast milk is of no nutritive importance after six months or a year. It's the way people just warn sleep sharers that the kids will never leave the bed. It's the convenient loss of the history of midwives. and ignoring C-section rates.

I won't pretend for politics or good press that night nursing isn't exhausting me, or that my husband isn't dying to have me back in our bed full-time. I just want to own my reasons. I want to say, yes my mother-milk is important to my small picky-eating baby. I want to acknowledge my belief that small children need a warm, comforting body next to theirs at night. Now that I'm moving toward a new phase with weaning I need to express that nursing for two years has been a gift to Molly. My waiting to wean at an age that's radical in my neighborhood isn't a sentimental avoidance of choice- it's a real decision. It's all so complex with ideas of sacrifice (and motherhood culturally is far too tangled up in that for me to even scratch the surface) but my reasons, and my choices, are expressions of love and of careful thought, and of intention.

"Words and Music, Communicaton"

in this warm moment
there is only us
i am curled around you
as if you are a small turtle
and i am your shell

----

you sang your first song tonight,
our lullaby became a
little melody sung
in the round, you
making soft words
into a rolling chant
sohn, sohn, sohn,
dee, dee, dee
sonnez les matinas,
sonnez les matinas,
dee, dee, dee

Her language has just exploded into being. At the beach she seemed to make a quantum leap. She learned "my turn" and "moh-monst" for monster, started making sentences. Tonight while I worked on my art, she was at the grandies' saying "Home. Take. Take me." When I picked her up she said "Go home. Bye! Mama, home."

On the drive down south, she insisted on sitting on the potty on her own. "Potty! Own! Peepee!" She didn't pee, but sat two times for several minutes. She also immediately removed a poop diaper (first thing in the morning, pre-coffee) along with her pajama bottoms and announced the poop. Exciting happenings.

The post title's from a Mother Love Bone song I haven't thought of in ages.

And on her arrival I will set free the birds
It's a pretty time of year
when the mountains sing out loud.

It's been two weeks (three?) since my last post...

I feel like I should make confession or something! (I'm Jewish, in case you haven't noticed, but still...)

What can I say, the weeks have just flown by. I saw a mama friend from LLL this evening and her son -- who was so teeny tiny when we met, is now so big! It was shocking... I realized I hadn't seen her in a month, already!

What's keeping me so busy? Life. With. Toddler.

For all that I love my son (and oh. I. do.), I realize keenly how much busier I am now that he is here and so so so so so active! And then when we're not busy, we are chilling, toddler style, which means no computer (or if there's a computer, Elmo is definitely involved, which limits mommy's brain power/ laptop usage to checking email and keeping up with my LJ).

Plus, the second year molars (which are almost all in, Thank G-d!) have been keeping him from either sleeping well at night or taking naps. We're doing OK, but I just have to keep the important stuff in mind: staying afloat and making sure my life isn't revolving around the 'nets. That I get some me time that doesn't include typing. (hahahahahahaha)

Next week, we're traveling again. This time for six weeks -- 3 without my husband :(((( . I'm not sure I'm ready.

And yet, I will be.

That, my friends, is the essence of my life. And it is good.

my bee girl

Mollybird started getting really scared of bees a few weeks ago, when the evil little fucking wasps living in our car port sprang to buzzing, vile life with the advent of spring. I'm allowing my seething hatred of the nasty creatures bias to show because I want some kudos for the zen aloofness that I'll affect here in this next part of the story: So, we launched a massive PR campaign about how Bees Are Great and They Do Not Hurt Us If We Leave Them Alone. We reinforced the effort by cute idyllic little stories about hives and honey and ooh! candle wax, too! "You know how you love little candle flames, Bird? That's a bee gift, too! Bees rock!" I was integral in the bee love mission- when the buzzy little demons came near me, I sat with perfect patient stillness and beamed at my frightened toddler, radiating my love of all things with wings and stingers. She wasn't buying it, but the insta-panic seemed at least to relax into hesitant sobs.

Two weeks ago, we were in the dining room having our morning coffee/sodapop/sippy and breakfast and the baby suddenly screamed and burst into tears. Immediately after, a huge wasp flew away from her arm. We weren't sure if she was scared or stung for a minute, but then a little welp popped up. Bu smashed the wasp and I dialed 911 called the pediatrician to get her dosing for Benadryl- my mom had a deadly allergy so I was panicked. (See, there is a rational explanation for a nature worshipper to detest insects. It's allowed.) We got her dosed and calmed, and then The Story was told for the first time.

Now, it's not the same without sound effects and gestures, but she says: "Bee! Hot! Boo (this is her nickname) and she points to her elbow where the sting was, then she pushes her hand out to show where the bee went. "Dada! Oof!" and she shows how Dada smashed the offending wasp. She beams when she gets to that part- her Daddy is a Superhero. A Bee Slayer. Protector of the Innocent. It is awesome to watch his face when she tells her story.

And she is still telling it. She's learned to say "sting" just to improve the story. The site of the boo-boo keeps moving; it's now on her hand. We are muchly amused by all the storytelling, and are pretty blown away that she remembers it and recounts it well enough that a new audience can follow the plot. It's positively amazing that my girl has such a grasp on language now. She is just... fluent almost. Storybooks are even more important lately, too, as she decided last week she is no longer nursing to sleep.

It's so much fun right now. And fascinating. She's like a time-lapse video of a flower blooming on fast forward. The development seems to be tripping over itself as she learns stuff. The other day I remarked to Bu that she's a lot more personey now.

Interestingly, she is much tougher now about bees.

As you're nearing two...

My darling boy, I can't believe you're going to be two so soon!

Big changes in your life, this past year: you're talking and walking and jumping and eating a lot more solid food!

You're still very much a "boobie baby," loving the mama's milk and not showing many signs of slowing down (unlike your wabi-sabi-sister, Molly). You have gone longer between nursings, but that's still a few hours instead of a day!

You are, however, getting closer to your daddy, and that makes mommy so happy! Waving goodbye and giving you a bighug and kiss as you cheerfully walk out the door with your dad makes me proud -- it is the biggest sign to me that you're growing up.

I am looking forward to your potty learning, though. I could be done with washing diapers tomorrow and be a very happy woman!

Wabi Sabi Mamas Podcast!

I created a free (and rather extensively and strangely ad-heavy, sorry...) podcast for the Wabi Sabi Mamas. Here is the inaugural post: Heidi muses about mommy-led weaning with baby cues:)

Letter to my Nursling

Molly,

You (and Remy- yay!) are so close to two it's unbelievable. I'm proud of us for being so close to my breastfeeding goal. After your birthday, we can feel things out together, see where our relationship takes us in this next year. Some days I wish that day would somehow be a magic switch, and you'd decide you've had enough. I'm still so worn out with your night-time routine, although it's livable. Other days I can't imagine not nursing, and I feel a little twinge of worry about how we'll interact when you are no longer breastfeeding.

I think the biggest benefit for me has been the confidence it's given me as a mama. I "own" my role of motherhood in a palpable, primal way because of our connection through nursing. It solidly establishes that you and I have a singular, unique bond, and more than anything else that has helped me with the separation from you when I'm working. One time our friend V., a LLL leader, told me she uses our reverse cycling story as a tool to help other working moms who want to nurse, and the pride made the breaks in my sleep seem very worthwhile.

Tonight we ate out at a steakhouse with your grandies and we nursed at the table- something we haven't done in a while. Your Mamaw was visibly embarrassed but smiling, and she made me smile. I got nostalgic, remembering when I used to get anxious about nursing you in public. I thought of how new we were to it- and all the challenges we had. I saw my pump, with the first pea sized drops of colostrum I carefully stirred into your formula and remembered your NP weighing you at two weeks old and happily announcing that you were gaining weight and we could stop the supplements. I remember tapering off the Reglan prescription and the relief at still feeling full and heavy a little while after your feedings.

Two years of wild, radical changes in us both, my Birdy. I celebrate every bit of growth and newness and wonder. I loved newborn mothering so much with its dreamy, constant newness, but the daily amazement we have now is even more fun. I see your personality materialize and grow in depth and breadth with every new word and new game. You're teaching me to live in the here and now. I know I have to be aware of every sweet day, because you change so quickly.

Thanks for all of this, little Pea. We think so much about the benefits of breastfeeding for our children, but so much that has been the physical thread that weaves the tapestry of our little family.

Muddling through the day...

Yesterday was one of those shitty days where almost nothing goes right. The weather sucks, you can't go to the park, you (accidentally) wake the toddler up because there isn't a binky in the bed (and his need to comfort nurse is outweighed by your need to eat). You howl in frustration and worry you are damaging your toddler for life.

You go to the store and buy too much stuff, but it was stuff you think you needed and toys. You don't think you're buying toys out of guilt (you had decided to buy a doll stroller weeks ago, in fact, and your child has NO cars and corvettes are cool!) but you don't really know, do you? At least you can say to yourself that you didn't buy everything he wanted, nor did you buy everything you wanted ($400 blow up spa, anybody?)

Then you go to choir practice and right at the end, after another amazing rehearsal of cuteness and joy, your toddler pulls down a hand-thrown, one of a kind, bowl that gets smashed into thirty kajillion pieces. And although the owner of the bowl doesn't get mad, she repeats several times that the bowl was "irreplaceable" and makes you feel like an ass for not keeping hawk-eyes on your child the entire time.

And then you get home, you wipe yourself off, and you watch Battlestar Galactica on DVD while your child finally sleeps. And then you put on your new (apparently sexy!) pajamas and go to bed. After some "cuddling" with your spouse, who also had a shitty day.

You just muddle through, as best you can. And then you wake up and you do it all over again.

How to Deal with an "Underweight" Baby

Mollybird was named before she was even born for her in-utero hummingbird flutters, but it is appropriate enough now to describe her weight and eating habits. She's looking forward to her second birthday this spring and has hovered at a pixie-ish twenty pounds for nearly six months. During our daily breakfast ordeal, I wrote this post in my head. Knowing my experience is not that uncommon, I wanted to share my thoughts.

Breastfeed, Breastfeed, Breastfeed

Do not (and this is as preachy as I'll ever get, pinky swear) let anyone tell you that breast milk is not the ideal food for your itty baby. If your supply is a little low, the best known way to remedy that is to nurse like crazy. Chances are, though, your supply is fine. If you're concerned, there are lots of articles at Kellymom that will ease your mind. Breast milk is much, much richer in nutrients and the fats are better absorbed than with artificial feeding.

Infants need only breast milk until around six months. Doctors or grandmas who encourage cereals or other foods before baby is ready may be politely ignored:) Six months is an estimate- here is a good guide (and as a bonus, recipes!) to when your child is ready for this milestone. After baby starts sampling foods, continue to offer the breast first until she eats pretty regularly. If that's still not happening at a year- that's fine. Some parents don't even offer solids until nearly a year.

Continue to breastfeed as much as you can stand as long as you and your child want to. If your baby is on the skinny side or is a really picky eater, I really encourage you to nurse her as long and as often as she wishes. The all-night, all-you-can-eat dairy buffet can be trying, but it helps me to remember that at night milk is higher in fat and denser in calories. While it's definitely appropriate to set limits on nursing after good eating habits are established, for the smaller toddler the nutritional excellence of breast milk is really important. And because it's so easily digested, you needn't worry that you'll spoil his appetite for solid food if you leave a little time between nursing and a meal.

Medical Stuff

There is a gaping hole in medical school where there should be training about lactation. Unless your pediatrician is very familiar with breastfeeding (we actually see a nurse practitioner who is also an IBLC certified lactation consultant) you may well know more than he does about nursing. Find a lactation consultant (LC) for feeding questions. WIC offices and La Leche League (LLL) groups are great starting points.

Self-education is important for parents, especially for breastfeeding moms. It's beneficial to find a balance between trusting the training and skill of your health care providers and owning your own power to make decisions. You have the right to refuse or modify treatments that don't make sense to you. We were sent for blood work on Molly to rule out any metabolic disorders. We weighed the fact that she has no symptoms besides being small against our own worries and the relative simplicity of a blood test. We decided to have the test and it showed that she was fine. The nurse suggested we come in for weight check every few weeks after that and we declined. We'll take her for her check up when she turns two.

Foods

Our relationship with toddler foods teeters between totally laid back and riddled with frustration. On the laid back end of the spectrum, we decided without discussion or thought, that we never met a calorie we didn't like. When Molly was an infant, I was the nutrition police, shooing away candy bearing grandparents and religiously watching for allergens. After we introduced a variety of foods that were well tolerated, we stopped worrying about it. As long as there's no choking hazard, we let Molly eat pretty much whatever she wants to. (I still try to keep dyes out of her diet, but am not a stickler.) So my child eats sausage, and her vegetarian mama shrugs. Protein? Good. Fat? Good.

On the subject of fats: calorically, all fats are equal. Olive oil = chicken fat = almonds = steak. Plant fats are much higher in the brain boosting Omega-3's, (pretty much the whole reason that we are all so keen on getting fats into these skinny kids) so if you can get your child to eat a higher percentage of these fats than animal fats, good on you. It is not true that animal fats will bulk her up better/faster than plant fats. Molly hates nuts and avocados, so that's a struggle for us- bringing me back to the "whatever..." approach to toddler feeding.

Go with the Flow

The thing about toddlers is um, they have their own will. However much I'd prefer a child who sleeps through the night after a sumptuous vegan dinner, it's not happening. Surrender is a beautiful lesson to learn. Watch your baby's eating patterns and offer food when he seems to eat best. Molly will not eat breakfast, beyond a few Cheerios. She will, however, eat all evening if we offer one food at a time. So I've given up on the early bedtime and hearty early breakfast.

Try to stay positive if new foods are refused, and try them again frequently. The "experts" literature says it can take 12 exposures to a new food before a baby will eat it. Be creative and don't stress it. Just offer new flavors and see what happens.

The toddler experience is an initiation into a whole new realm of mothering for me. Every little developmental step brings a new challenge and obstacles, and the answer always seems to be to open a little more. The lessons I learned from pregnancy and birth are coming into play, too, though. The idea of trusting my body to labor as it would flows into my trusting that Molly is the size and shape her body is supposed to me. Seeing her eyes sparkle and watching her mad fairy energy tell me more than the lab reports did. At the same time, I know the test eased my mind, so I'm confident about that decision, too. I'm happy I'm striking a balance between intuition and information, between concern and trust.

Fear of Flying...

"I can't stand to fly, I'm not that naive..."

Yeah, I have always had a healthy fear of airplanes. Are we really meant to be traveling above the Earth in aging boxes of steel? My fears are not bad enough to keep me from flying or even to paralyze me, but I do spend a lot of time on board praying/ reciting mantras.

With a toddler flying as a lap child, our upcoming trip is bound to include me praying for a lot more than just safety, though. Sanity, for starters. Sleep, for another. A free seat that we can use to strap our child into his own car seat would be the trifecta of perfect.

A mama can dream.

And bring Elmo. Lots and lots of Elmo.

Easter, the Day of The. Biggest. Meltdown. Ever!

I was one of the pair in charge of planning Ostara (pagan, spring equinox, reason for term "easter") and had a blast. I drew a beautiful, colorful banner with our Persephone chant, baked orange honey muffins from scratch, created Faery chalices with little blessings, and generally poured my little pagan heart into the ceremony. We created a ritual role for the Little One- she was to be in ladybug costume and scatter petals around the circle and lend the wild faery-ish energy native to the toddler aura to our goings-on.

That was the dream I had- Earth mama and her adorable baby-daughter charming her friends and fellow celebrants with her mind-blowing cuteness. REality? Was not so much with the cute, more with the screechy awful toddler rage. We missed the entire ritual, instead watching Beauty and the Beast on the (Thank You Goddess It Works!) VCR in the kids' room at church and doing some Olympic level rocking and soothing.

I was so annoyed- it was My Ritual! I was its author, artist, mother, and I was missing it because my child was misbehaving. After the sitting and swaddling (yes, my 22 month old likes to be swaddled again) and nursing, the effects of all that soothing finally sank into me too. I got my real brain back and realized that I don't believe in the concept of an under-two baby "misbehaving." I felt it go, all the tension melting and I thought of You. You, blog; and You Alexis; and you readers. You, all moms who are learning to let go of parenting pressures. I thought, "I am a perfect wabi sabi mama in this moment. I am here, spending ritual time mothering, giving into the dissolving of plans and expectations, and I am the Goddess here, comforting my freaked out, overwhelmed young, who is my little Teacher."

* * *

I'd planned to go back to the UU Church this morning for our Socinian Communion, bringing Molly, and my Aunt, and my Grandma. Aunt P was sick, so I decided to go alone. (I'm always worried I can't watch over Grandma and the baby together.) Then I thought I'd try to taker with me, and I waffled back and forth, spinning my wheels for a while. I finally told her she would stay with Daddy, and she exploded. She was so angry she couldn't express or cope. She was beet red and shaking and tearing at the air around her. I said, "Molly is real mad at mommy, huh?" I don't know what else to do- I freak out when she is that upset. I almost stayed home. Bu urged me to just go, he promised she'd be OK once I left. (She was, totally.) We talked for a quick minute about how my indecision made her meltdown worse- completely agreeing here.

I drove to church quiet, and reflective. I worried in the back of my mind that my sweetpea was home screaming still, but forced myself to trust that her father could console her. I meditated on being calm but firm when I have to tell her things that I expect to upset her. During prayer/meditation during the service, I asked my GoddessMama to help me find a way to be her gentle guide and help her find her own coping skills. I focused on balancing being a loving, gentle mother but being consistent and learning to say no.

Blessed be on this day of renewal and newness:)

Why I really nurse my toddler

Here is a conversation from earlier this evening with another nursing mama:

Me: So, is MK still nursing?

Other mama: Yeah, just at night though.

Me: Aww... awesome! *proceeds to tell long story about nursing Molly in public*

Other mama: Yeah... they'll just pull your shirt right off, huh? It's annoying. I hate that part... it's different with toddlers, I mean... I see why people are annoyed about it. It is a little bit different than an infant, when it's their only source of nutrition.

Me: Yeah, but sometimes it's their only source of Shut The Fuck Up;)

(I do feel compelled to note, and hopefully it's painfully obvious, that actually telling my baby to STFU is not something I do. Because I have the boobs.)