Life Intervenes... Again

Well, so much for my year of sipping lattes and blogging blithely while my angel baby suckles, snuggled in his organic cotton wrap carrier. That's not exactly how being a new mother has worked out, at least for me! Reality check: sleep deprivation, bottle refusal, cluster nursing, blocked ducts, diaper blowouts, sippy cup refusal. Yeah, that's for realz.

Also for realz: sloppy baby kisses, cuddles,

INTERMISSION

Haha! It was 4:30 a.m. when I started writing; Baby R was nursing, lying on his nursing pillow. I was actually in a good mood, because this was his first wakeup of the night, and I thought I'd be able to get another couple of hours of sleep before getting up for work. But reality intervenes once more! Baby R lifted his head, leaned over the arm of the chair and PUKED. And PUKED. And PUKED again! Woo! At least he was considerate enough to puke mostly on the floor and not on us.

I had to wake up poor SO -- who had worked until midnight -- to hold Baby R so I could clean up. At least he hadn’t puked on himself or me. But when I turned on the light in his room I realized there was poop on his sheet and blankets, so I had to change those too. Then I nursed Baby R again. When he was finished, I stood up to put him in the crib, and he puked. And puked. And puked again. This time it was all over my shoulder, his arm and the floor. I got poor SO out of bed to change Baby R ’s clothes while I cleaned up again. Then we were all exhausted so we all went to bed together. But of course I couldn’t sleep and I had to get up at 6:45 anyway. So essentially I have been up since 4:30.


I still came to work today because SO is home until 1:00 and his parents, who are visiting from the Maritimes, are perfectly capable of taking care of him until I get home. Also, I thought it would be gauche to skip work considering my first day back was just 2 days ago. But I’m still worried, of course. I wonder if I should have stayed home just so Baby R can nurse instead of having to eat food. I hope he doesn’t refuse to drink again like he did yesterday; he hates his sippy cup. (WHY WON’T HE DRINK?? ARGH!!!! DARN KIDS THESE DAYS, WITH THEIR VIDEO GAMES AND THEIR TEXT MESSAGES AND REFUSING THEIR SIPPY CUPS! shakes fist) At least he didn’t have a fever and he seemed to be in a good mood when I left.

Also, I slipped and fell on some ice yesterday and effed up my right arm real good, so there’s that too. Boo hoo!

Motherhood: The New Oppression

I recently read an article called "Motherhood: The new oppression" by Margaret Wente. You know, there's nothing more dull and unoriginal than a Boomer whinging about how much better things were back in her day.

But by modern standards [my mother] was a mediocre parent. She smoked. She drank. She drove us around without seatbelts, while she smoked. ... Now we know better. The obligations of responsible mothering have been ratcheted way up. They start before conception, when you must swear off alcohol and tobacco so as not to harm your hypothetical embryo. Abstinence from all things, including ice cream (you can’t gain too much weight!) extends through pregnancy. Natural childbirth? Of course, preferably at home. Epidurals are for losers.

Sure, Peggy. Let's all go back to the good ol' days when smoking was good for you, nobody's life had ever been saved by a seatbelt, everyone sprayed DDT in their backyards and a good wife and mother always had a martini in one hand and Father's slippers in the other when he got home from work... and a bottle of Valium in her flowered apron pocket. Ah, nostalgia!

I have to agree, though. Man, it was oppressive to quit drinking for nine months! I don't know how I lived like that! The cold sweats, the shakes... it was like detoxing in prison, lordy be! And smoking... I quit smoking 3 years before I got pregnant because it's, ya know, bad for you. But ironically, when I got pregnant, the first thing I wanted to do was light up a fag, dude. However, The Man (The Woman?) stood in my way, tsk-tsking about birth defects and junk. Like being in freaking chains, I tell ya.

Mothers are our own worst critics; we don't really give a crap what the other mothers are doing, we worry about what we should be doing. And we usually end up choosing whatever works. We don't take other mothers out into the street and shoot them for letting their kids leave the house without sunscreen. Who has the time? I have yet to be chastised by anyone for buying disposable diapers. Neither is there a Cloth Diaper Mommy of the Year Award, and I have never met a CD'ing mother who expects to win one. Yes, we plan to make our own baby food... because we're cheap and pre-packaged baby food is a scam. We can mash up what we eat and feed it to the baby; isn't that just being savvy? If you think we're all trying to live up to this laughably high standard, you're wrong. We're just doing what makes sense and works for our families. If the fact that we are educated about the products we buy bothers you, I'm guessing your retirement portfolio contains a lot of Monsanto stock or something. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Heck, I enjoy a worm-free apple as much as the next guy.

By the way, Peg, don't you think your own mother had some impossibly high standards to live up to in her day? In your mother's day, a "good" mom would never dream of working outside the home. She would never feed her family frozen dinners or pre-packaged cookies. She would always be caught up on the laundry, ironing and dishwashing. She would be a skilled seamstress and sew the latest fashionable outfits for herself and her children. The list goes on and on. Did your mother live up to all these standards? If she was a reasonably happy human being -- and it sounds like she was -- she probably didn't. What makes you think it's any different now just because the criteria for "good mom" have changed? We all still "cheat." It's mostly the people looking at motherhood from the outside who think we're all killing ourselves to live up to this impossible standard. Trust me, we're not all like that. Most of us are like your mom.

So, thanks for worrying about me, but I don't feel oppressed, sorry. Yes, I gave birth without an epidural... because I wanted to. I also breastfeed because I want to, it's free and I'm too lazy to mix formula. I also use disposables because I want to. Oops, I'm a bad mom! Except, nobody has said this to me, so I'm not sure why you're worried about it.

I wish I could say I don't know whether my baby's bottles have BPA, but I know they don't because it was banned. I guess I should get on the Internets and find some cheap Chinese bottles just to prove I don't care about my kid ingesting fake estrogens? But I'm sure you're not saying I should, nor should I be blowing second-hand smoke in my child's face like I don't know what could result from that, and I'm sure you're not saying I shouldn't use a car seat when the baby is in a car. So I guess I'm not sure what you are saying. Maybe you're saying we women these days are too darn educated for our own good. OK, guilty as charged.

Baby Love

Nobody ever had a baby because they wanted to be appreciated... by the baby. In terms of being thanked by the person you're waiting on hand and foot, mothering a newborn is the most thankless job on the planet. Or so it would seem.

Tonight I put Baby R down for the night before he was asleep and left the room. I did this the night before and for naps today, and I discovered that he will go to sleep on his own, as long as his tummy is completely full and he is generally content. Tonight, though, he wasn't quite done his evening nursing marathon yet, so he stayed awake and fussed. CV and I could hear him on the monitor. At first the fussing was mild, and I thought he might still drift off, but then he started to get a little louder, and I knew he wasn't done with me. So I went upstairs, even though I had wanted to spend some more time downstairs with CV.

So, I was feeling a little put out, but when Baby R saw me leaning over him, he broke out into a huge happy smile. Suddenly I realized, I'm this kid's favourite person! All I have to do is make eye contact with him, and he's thrilled. When I picked him up out of the playpen and sat him on my bed propped against my pillow as I changed my clothes, he smiled at me the whole time. It made me think, maybe the babies do thank us, after all. They thank us with helpless love and total trust.

When I got into bed and started nursing Baby R, I realized the TV remote was too far away for me to reach. I knew it could be the netter part of an hour of nursing, so I really wanted that remote. I had no choice but to interrupt Baby R just as he was vetting into his groove. I was afraid he'd be upset, be he wasn't. He just waited for me to lie back down and continue feeding him. It was like he had perfect confidence that I'd take care of him. Now that's trust!

So I guess I'll take that as my thanks, at least for now.

Boob Man

So Baby R -- a.k.a. Milk Monster, a.k.a. Milkface -- has been attached to my boob seemingly once an hour for the past two days and part of the nights, too. And it's not the blissful, peaceful nursing you see in baby stock photography where a cherubic infant nurses serenely while gazing deeply into his lovely, white-gowned, perfectly made-up, perfectly coiffed mama's eyes while they cuddle comfortably in a plushy chair in a light-filled room with gauzy curtains billowing softly behind them. No, much of this nursing has been a sweaty, squirmy, fussy, messy, frustrating struggle for both of us. Plus, it has proved nigh impossible to get the Milk Monster to nap for more than half an hour at a stretch during the day... if he naps at all.

Gone is the predictable newborn who would nurse happily for 30 or 40 minutes and then crash for 2 hours. Now he nurses fussily, latching and unlatching, kicking and punching me for 10 minutes and then wants more 15 minutes later, or he nurses happily for half an hour and wants more half an hour later. I pray to Bob this is just one of those growth spurts I keep hearing about and that it will be over soon. Then again, I heard that evening cluster feeding and fussiness were growth-spurt things, but Baby R has been doing that for... oh... 9 weeks now. So THAT's pretty much bullshit.

I find that many of the things "they" say about breastfeeding are pretty much bullshit, at least for me. For example, I don't feel any deep, mystical connection to Baby R while he's nursing... not moreso than at any other time anyway. He's nursing right now, as a matter of fact, and I'm writing this post, not establishing a psychic link with him. I'm thinking about how hungry I'm getting and wondering whether he'll sleep for a while after he's done so I can make myself some dinner. But given how things have been going lately, he'll wake up as soon as I try to put him down and he'll squawk if I don't carry him around while I do my thing one-handed. That stuff about a sling being a bfing mom's best friend? Also BS. Baby R hates the sling... and forget about nursing in it! Don't make me laugh! Although I have ordered a new one in the hopes that the one we have was just the wrong size. Yeah, I probably wasted my money, but I'm nothing if not desperate to be able to free myself to eat, at least.

Oh, and just 'cause he's nothing if not a comedian, Baby R almost completely rejects bottles, so I'm the only one who can feed him 99% of the time. I've gone out without him precisely twice since he was born, because it's so hard for anyone else to feed him. We started having CV give him a bottle of expressed breastmilk once a night when he was about 2 weeks old so that I could get a little more sleep and therefore not burst into tears of exhaustion at random times anymore. It worked like a charm for a while. Then at around 6 weeks, Baby R suddenly started rejecting the bottle. I guess he realized he was getting ripped off. CV still tries every night, but at most Baby R will drink an ounce and then refuse any more until he's presented with boob. So much for mommy's sleep. I think now I've become immune to the crazy-making effects of sleep deprivation, though. I just plow through the day.

Man, if Baby R would take a bottle, he'd be getting at least one during these all-day nursing marathons, let me tell ya!

I think I keep bfing out of pure stubbornness. I said I would bf exclusively until 6 months, therefore that is what I'm going to do, dammit! In fact, I don't plan to have him completely weaned until between 10 and 12 months. My mom, sister and doctor seem to assume I'll be giving him cereal at 4 months, but I intend to do no such thing, barring unforeseen circumstances.

Also, I'm cheap. Have you seen how much formula costs?? The way this kid eats, I'd be in the poorhouse by now if I were feeding him formula! Also, I'm lazy. I read the instructions for preparing, storing and feeding formula and... yeah... no. I'm a mom, not a freaking lab tech! They make it sound like if you do one thing wrong, your kid's head will explode!

Still... I can't help but be a leeeeetle bit jealous of formula-feeding moms who have babies who eat predictably, sleep longer, don't hang off the boob 18 hours a day and can be fed in public without awkwardness. I know "breast is best," but still... le sigh. I'll never be the poster woman for breastfeeding, I guess.

I'm a mom. (Pray for humanity.)

I can haz crotchfruit? Apparently, yes. It wasn't easy getting preggers, but after 20 months and several thousand dollars, CV and I finally managed it (thanks, Modern Technology!). The result is the insanely cute bouncing Baby R:

 Mmm... this DNA cocktail is pretty tasty, if I do say so myself. Those cheeks! So nommable! Nom, nom, nom...

Needless to say, I'm totally smitten. And because he's 10 weeks old, it's also needless to say that I am totally sleep-deprived, and every day is pretty much a rollercoaster. This kid is hungry every 2 hours or less, swear to Dog. Maaaaybe 3 hours at night. I have the feeling that I'm trapped in the house with a ticking time bomb; I spend every moment wondering when he's going to want to eat next. I plan each trip out of the house around the possibility that this could be one of those days where he wants to eat basically constantly. For better or worse, this kid is so in love with the boob that it's a major struggle to get him to eat from a bottle, so it's not worth it to try unless absolutely necessary. So I have to be prepared to whip out a boob at a moment's notice, no matter where I am. I find myself mentally mapping out places between my home and my destination where I could conceivably duck in and nurse him if he explodes on the way there or back (for a trip to the grocery store, there's the library and Shoppers Drug Mart).

I figured I should be a Mommy Who Blogs. Why not? My trials and tribulations probably can't be any more or less entertaining than anyone else's, so what the heck?

Hmm... what to blog, what to blog... Oh, here's something weird. On Wednesday I went to the dentist, and I showed a picture of Baby R to the receptionist and a couple of hygienists who were standing nearby. I know the receptionist from years of being a client, but I don't know these hygienists. Anyway, one of them asked how old Baby R was. I replied that he was 10 weeks. They all started exclaiming about how great I looked, and they couldn't believe it, etc. Then one of the hygienists stepped up to me and patted my belly! WTF? I managed to go my whole pregnancy without having my belly rubbed by a stranger, and they're doing it now? Hellz naw.

Well! I'm still recovering from the trauma of having my non-pg belly rubbed by a stranger. Ye godz.

The time bomb has been dormant on the couch next to me, but it's twitching now. How much time do I have? It has been a whole hour and 45 minutes since he last ate... I give it 15 more minutes.

Introducing Ayla!

Yesterday, I had the privilege of being present for the birth of my first niece, Ayla!

I was my sister's support person during the birth, along with her husband. At 4:00 in the afternoon on September 3, my brother-in-law called me and said that my sister was in labour. Due to a certain medical condition, my sis already had an epidural in by the time I arrived at the hospital at 4:45. At that time, she was only 4 cm dilated, and her contractions were 3-4 minutes apart. She was also being given a small dose of Pictocin which her doctor raised by small increments every couple of hours.

At first we thought the baby would be born on the 3rd, but as the evening wore on, my sis did not dilate much further. At one point she started to cry because she thought she would have to have a cesarean.

My BIL managed to get about 2 hours of sleep, but my sis and I couldn't really sleep. Some family members came and went in the waiting room, but the hospital wouldn't allow anyone but me and BIL into the labour room, so they couldn't really be a part of what was happening, sadly. By midnight, the only one left waiting was my mom.

Finally, at 4:30 a.m. on the 4th, the doctor checked and confirmed my sis was 10 cm dilated. Woo! There was a flurry of activity as nurses came in and set up for the birth. They propped my sister up and the doc took another look and said, "Whoa, the baby's right there!" And sure enough, there was the head practically out already without any pushing! So the doctor asked her to push, and sploosh! There was the baby! One push, if you can believe it! And here she is!

Born at 4:47 a.m., 6lbs, 2oz. At the baby shower, we had all guessed the gender and weight. Guess who was right on both counts? Yours truly! :-)

They moved my sis and the baby to a regular room about an hour later, which is when my mom finally got to see them. Then, since it was not visiting hours, she had to leave. BIL also had to go to get their sons who were being babysat by his mother and take them to school. So I stayed with my sis and helped her out until he got back. By the time I left it was 9:30 in the morning. When I fell into bed at last, I had been awake for almost 28 hours. I felt like dying!! But yes, it was worth it! I finally have a niece to fuss over. Let the spoiling begin! LOL

Mom Material?

Even though Mr. Pandora and I are ttc (trying to conceive), I don't really think I'm the typical maternal type (or stereotypical maternal type, I should say). Like the kind of woman you look at and talk to and just KNOW that someday she'll have a bunch of kids and totally love being a mom. As a kid, I played with Transformers, not baby dolls. I feel awkward when I hold a baby, and I suck at changing diapers. Young kids intimidate me, they see right through people and I'm afraid they'll think I'm weird. I don't think I would put my kid's pics in my forum sig, or a ticker showing how long until their third birthday. I don't browse in baby stores just because. I haven't started decorating the baby's room in my mind or choosing my favourite names or keeping track of where on the planet Brangelina's latest addition is coming from (she's preggers, right?).

My sister has been a great mom from day 1. And I'm not used to looking up to her because she's younger than me. Talk about an inferiority complex.

I'm not particularly looking forward to sleep deprivation, changing poopy diapers (gag), wiping noses and spit-up, a messy house, breaking up sibling fights, going to parent-teacher conferences, helping with homework (especially math, ha ha), taking them to crappy "kid-friendly" movies, being half an hour late for everything because it takes forever to get out of the house, etc., etc. Not to mention the larger issues surrounding raising kids, like stressing out over whether we'll get a daycare spot, arguing with Mr. Pandora about how to answer tricky questions like "is there a God?", trying to prevent my mom from smothering them (seriously), and whatnot.

I've had dozens of dreams where I was responsible for a child or baby, and something terrible happens and I have to rescue her. But in these dreams, the child is not mine. It's either my half-sister (she was born when I was 18) or one of my nephews, or sometimes they're not even related to me. But I'm terrified because I'm responsible for them and if anything happens, it will be my fault. Why haven't I ever had a dream where the child was mine? I always thought that meant something negative about me, maybe.

It makes me feel bad that I can't just think, "Babies, yay!" It makes me think that maybe I'm not "maternal enough." Is it a mistake for someone like me to have a baby?

But then this morning as I was getting ready for work, I suddenly remembered that I had a dream last night that I was lying in bed and next to me was my baby, and I turned on my side to breastfeed her, and she was looking right into my eyes. When I remembered that this morning, the extreme love that I felt in the dream came rushing back, and I realized that is why I'm ttc.