finger food... or you can just use your mouth, whatever

right about when he was nine months old, we started giving august his first finger foods. {i have to interrupt the story here for a moment to go slightly off topic and address the awkward fact that i've been referring to my son as "the baby" ever since the privacy issue was brought to question weeks ago. i've been trying to be more careful about the details i share here, but after some consideration, i'm not so sure that using his name poses a serious threat to our privacy. plus, those vague references are wordy and exhausting. so. back to august it is. and hey! that wasn't such a tangent after all because i'm eating my words, so we're still kind of talking about food} anyway.

so we started giving august solid food - that is, bits of non-pureed whole food - about three weeks ago. on our first attempt, i cut up a banana into baby-sized chunks and placed them in front of him. he looked at it, recognized it, and made the connection: i eat that. or maybe he didn't make the banana = food, food = something-you-eat connection (every new thing is first discovered by his mouth these days). either way, i had my camera at the ready for this momentous event of "baby's first". what was captured though, was very different from what i had imagined. i envisioned his little thumb and index finger delicately pinching a tiny morsel, examining it, and then very deliberately putting it in his mouth. he would then pause, smack his lips and nod in approval. yes, yes! i taste notes of honey, maybe a hint of pineapple? but this was not the curious-little-finger-pinching-of-morsels that i had pictured. no, this was MUCH better. instead, he made a nose dive right into the table with the banana his target. it makes sense really. up to that point food had very conveniently been coming to him either by breast or by spoon - all he had to do is open his mouth. 

after letting him hoover up that first piece though, i decided to be a good mom and teach him better dining etiquette. no, no, no. don't use your MOUTH, use your HANDS. but gosh darn if those bananas aren't the slipperiest suckers! he fumbled and prodded mostly. then he developed a system of grabbing the food, squishing it in his fist, and smashing it on his face. some of it would eventually make it's way into his mouth - i'd say one out of five - along with rogue dog hairs and some dust probably. FIVE-SECOND RULE! no? how about, "it builds a strong immune system"? hmm. well, we try. and so does august. he REALLY tries, scrunching up his forehead in concentration and pawing at the food.  that's when we brought out the fine cutlery. and wouldn't you know it, aside from a little help with piercing the food, the boy was a natural. i tell ya', if he isn't barbaric, he is totally refined because there's no in-between for a gentleman caught in baby's body. 

It's a zoo

The Chicago Marathon was last Sunday and man, did it take me back. It was only a year ago that I ran that same race while eight weeks pregnant. Wait. What the what? How has it been only been a year? Time acts like all kinds of crazy when you stop and really think about it.

There I was, with a baby on my lap, watching the last bit of the race as it streamed live on the computer while only twelve months earlier he was barely a piece of creation inside me and I was running the dang thing. I know it's a big cliché and all, but I had my first wow-it-really-does-go-by-in-a-flash moment. 

 
I can't help but keep breaking the whole thing down in my head. It's such a mind-bending contrast: first he was two pink lines on a stick; then he is this blond velvety-head on which I rest my chin as we watch the lead woman drop a 5:10 for her third-to-last mile. I don't think I could run one 5:10 mile right now - even if I had spikes and a rabbit to pace me through it. I roll my eyes and laugh at how my mind instinctively goes to running. and splits. and marathons. I'm sitting in my pajamas, with no hope of stringing together 26 consecutive miles and I'm thinking about marathon pace with A BABY ON MY LAP. And he's not even a baby so much any more. He's SITTING on my lap. The bobble head is gone, replaced by a strong neck and supported by a straight back. It's all just moving too fast.

Ugh, I know. New parent. Time flies. Yadda, yadda. Before I know it he'll be 5 years old and boarding the school bus. Then I'll blink again and he'll be off to college. And all this when he's just 4.5 months old. Right. So I picked my big baby up, raising him over my head -  which made him squeal with laughter, revealing that gummy smile of his - and it was a relief: he doesn't even have teeth yet. Then we played with his zoo toys the rest of the morning. Because whales that sing “twinkle twinkle” and lions that rattle are exactly what these real moments call for. 

On Nursing

Hi. So this post is a bit, um, revealing.  I want to be open about the topic of nursing because well, it's totally natural. But it can be a taboo issue. I know, in this day and age? Yup, a woman's bosom still makes some people squeamish. Unfortunately, I think the association will always be sexual; "breasts" are "boobs" and boobs are lusty. Despite that, I'm willing to write about my experience breastfeeding (with a certain amount of modesty, of course). I mean, I hardly know you. bat, bat, bat. *blush*  So please go easy on me as I bear my, er, soul and please avoid the temptation to direct conversation to my breasts next time we have a casual run-in. 

When I was pregnant, breastfeeding was not something I really thought about. More weighty on my mind were the day-to-day changes going on with my body and, of course, the actual childbirth. I knew that I wanted to nurse and for as long as possible, but that was about it. For me, it was an afterthought that didn't require attention until my baby had already arrived. One step at a time. Get through delivery, then worry about how you're going to care for him. "Mother's instinct" should get you pretty far on your own, I reasoned.  Kinda backwards, I know. We did cover newborn care in our birth classes, so I had a bit of that knowledge. And I did have resources in the way of my older sisters, who had all nursed their children. So with the combination of those two, I figured I had the elemental information needed to make my way through the rest.

I knew that there were loads of advantages to breastfeeding, that went beyond basic nutrition. I also learned that in addition to providing baby with the essential vitamins and nutrients required for early development, a mother's milk also can also protect her baby from a long list of illnesses. Breastfed babies are also less likely to develop allergies or become obese. Nursing also lowers the baby's risk of SIDS and reduces the chances of a woman developing postpartum depression, as well as some types of cancer. As if those benefits weren't enough, it is also cheaper than buying formula and way easier than preparing bottles(as long as you're with baby). Plus, I'm an organic kind of gal and it's all natural so, you know. What I hadn't considered were the logistics. I had the what and why but was missing the how, when, and where (listed in order of complication).

HOW: Things were tenuous at first. It was a case of the blind leading the blind with 'little a' and I. You know that party game where one player has their hands tied behind their back while the other player is blindfolded and has to spoon feed the restrained one? That was us in the beginning: him, voraciously rooting and me clumsily attempting at a latch. We made a meager connection though and, much to my peace of mind, it was validated by soiled diapers. But then, at his first pediatric check-up, 'little a' had lost nearly 12% of his initial birth weight. Clunk. My heart fell to the bottom of my stomach. Clearly, I wasn't doing something quite right. It wasn't for lack of milk that he lost the weight though - I was engorged from an oversupply (which, by the way, ranks right up under the actual birth in terms of pain). Our challenge was in the delivery and consumption of the goods. I was like one of those Hula Girl Dashboard Dolls with a coconut bra, only I couldn't enjoy the connotation of that analogy because my little, weak-jawed baby didn't have the strength to crack the hard shell containing the sweet, sweet life-sustaining milk. I'm not going to put it all on him though. It was, after all, my cups that runneth over. I just had NO idea how to handle the spillage. We needed some help. Enter my multi-talented pediatrician/lactation consultant. (A twofer!) She was attentive and encouraging - all essential traits in the kind of people you want to surround yourself with if you plan on nursing. I was ready to abandon my convictions about exclusively breastfeeding because let's face it, when it comes down to your child's safety or health, all goes out the window. But thanks to her and the rest of my support-group, I didn't have to make that compromise. Turns out the solution was simple: the boy needed a straw. Let's just say that the puzzle pieces weren't fitting quite right, anatomically speaking. So we left her office armed with a breast pump and a nipple shield and, long story short, 'little a' was not only back to his birth weight in five quick days, but well beyond it by his follow-up visit. 

The next challenge was ensuring 'little a' was getting the nourishment he needed. Since breasts don't come with ounce measurements tattooed on the side, I had no idea how much he was consuming. As long as he was healthy and gaining weight at his checkups, I knew he was getting enough. But what about between doctor's visits? It's hard to quantify how much he's getting when it goes straight from the source into his mouth. I had to rely on other indicators. I already mentioned how output is a good, tangible measurement. If your trashcan is overflowing with little stinky packages, then baby is probably getting the food he needs. Mood is another reliable indicator - a happy baby is usually a satiated baby. A baby's animations are another thing to pay attention to. If he's still hungry, 'little a' will cover my chest with drool while his open mouth desperately searches for more food. If he's had enough, I'm covered in milk that has dribbled out the side of his mouth or he's spit up. Either way it's a sticky mess. When energy levels begin to run low, 'little a' will also give warning signs like dinosaur noises. Ignore them and he resorts to crying out his demands. That's what's amazing about babies; they're actually GREAT communicators. We adults just need to learn to speak their language and pick up on their cues, which can be subtle at times. Fathers should be at an advantage because women expect men to read our minds all the time - you guys should be used to it. 
 
WHEN: Again I have to give credit to my pediatrician here. She suggested an aggressive feeding schedule during the day and one that was more strung out at night. That way, 'little a' would learn to differentiate between night and day. When it's light, we're up and eating; when it's dark we're tired and sleeping. But that mean nursing every two hours during the waking hours, which gave me all of forty-five minutes detached from the little sucker (a term I now endearingly use, but which may have been said with the slightest hint of sarcasm at the time). On the flip side, I'm pretty sure 'little a' was more than annoyed by my constant disruption of his napping. But it was a very logical schedule and an effective one too because he was sleeping 4.5 hour stretches at night as a two-week old. Baby thinks; Good God, Woman. Can't a baby get some sleep around here? I'm DONE with your milk. Get off my grill.  And so, at the end of the day, baby is happy to finally be left alone to sleep. Now that 'little a' is more sturdy, we're at 3.5 hours between daytime feedings and a full seven hours at night. What's more amazing is that his and my bodies have synced up too. In other words, supply meets demand. I can tell the time of day merely by groping myself. Squeeze, squeeze. Yup, it's 7 o'clock. The boy must be getting hungry. As he continues to grow, he's become more efficient too, so what used to take us 45-60 minutes, is now accomplished in twenty. 
 
WHERE: I defer to Hollie McNish who says it more poetically and poignantly that I ever could. Her delivery was so well done, it gave me goosebumps. Watch it. 

The stages of milk induced coma

There is SO much more I could write about with regards to breastfeeding, which would probably make for an obscenely robust post so instead, I highly recommend Start Here: Breastfeeding and Infant Care with Humor and Common Sense, which was written by my pediatrician. (I know, I thought the same thing: Geeze, she's published too?) I read it cover-to-cover during a couple of nighttime nursing sessions and now I unabashedly endorse it. There are so many commonsensical pearls of wisdom in there, that it's sure to address any situation.

The Bradley Bunch

We went on a trip down (short-term) Memory Lane this week when Andy and I were invited back to our birth instructor's house to share August's story with her new class of soon-to-be's. If you're thinking, Psht! Brownnose. To that I say, "Why yes, yes I am." I will very proudly own that title if it gives me the opportunity to impart some wisdom on future parents and "share the wealth" (if you can call my knowledge that). Mostly though, I'm so freakin' jazzed about my whole experience that I can't shut up about it. You guys, it was the most empowering, challenging, intense, emotional, and awe-inspiring thing I've ever done. And what's the point of doing something if you can't share it with others? Personal fulfillment? Maybe. But my thinking is that this stuff is so good, you've GOT to try it.

It wasn't so long ago that I was scared out of mind about the physical act of bringing a child into the world and now that my baby and I have triumphantly come out on the other side (him, literally and me, more figuratively), I am happy to provide any information that might make a couple more comfortable about the whole shabangabang.

So quick back story: In the years between marriage and conception, I was so uninterested in babyhood. Call it youngest child syndrome - which is just a euphemism for immaturity - but, I considered myself too selfish yet for the job and needed more time to ripen. It wasn't an anti-children thing; I had six nieces and nephews at the time. Loved 'em all. But I could always hand them back to mom and dad when I was done. Can't do that with your own. 

When my twin sister had her first child it hit me, Well, it's not like I don't want children and I AM almost thirty... Besides, Claudin is doing all right. One perk of being the youngest (and less confident) twin is that she's been my "Guinea pig". Seriously though, I've always admired Claudin's courage and am often inspired by her. It should be of no surprise then that when I witnessed the birth of her second that my fascination with pregnancy was also born. By the time I was expecting, I was all in. I was fanatical about researching my condition and with each bit of knowledge I became more fascinated with the whole process. I admired what my body was doing and steadily grew curious of what else it was capable of. 

Right on point, Claudin recommended taking a course in the Bradley Method of childbirth, which suited the nerd in me because it is twelve weeks long - aka an ENTIRE trimester. (Andy about lost his shit when he found that out.) I kid. But only about the former statement because, at first, Andy really did raise a stink about three months of baby classes. The real reasons I chose the Bradley way were because 1) it's based on the thought that childbirth is a normal process and with the proper preparations, most women are able to avoid medical inventions during labor and delivery and 2) it emphasizes teaching partners on how to be effective coaches. Ding, ding, ding! Preparation and Coaching. What could be more appropriate for a former student-athlete? What we learned during those birthing sessions not only contributed to my physical and mental confidence, but put me in the running for "Most Likely to Succeed" (along with "Teacher's Pet"). Coach Andy, by the way, was a shoo-in for "Class Clown."

When my teacher contacted me about the guest appearance, I was all about it. Part of the deal was: "You get to tell your tale and then we get to lambaste you with questions." Deal! I'm down with making everyone privy to our experiences as new parents. Full disclosure. After a quick introduction, I took off with my lengthy narrative, which was then followed by Q&A. The first couple of questions were about laboring techniques and pain management. I gave a list of positions I used to manage the labor pains, along with my take on what was effective and what wasn't. Basically, you want gravity working in your favor to get baby traveling in the right direction, so walking, squatting, slow-dancing are all good examples. Also, as a woman progresses through the stages of labor, some positions may feel better than others. That's why it's good to keep trying different ones and switching things up. For example, I loved being on all fours and swaying in the early part of labor, but once the contractions were strong and I was ready to push, it was the last thing I wanted (and I emphatically let the entire birth team know when they tried getting me back into it.) Communication is key.

Another question I got was on the physical recovery from birth and postpartum activity. My stance in that regard is that you should work backwards out of pregnancy for nine months, they way you worked into it. In other words, the things you were doing in the third trimester, you should continue doing in the three months following birth (the fourth trimester); what you do in the fifth trimester should mirror what you were doing in the second; and the sixth will be like the first. That includes diet, physical activity, rest, etc. It just makes so much sense to me that way and it's what I've been doing. I hardly ran the last two weeks before Auggie was born and after he came, I didn't do a thing for two weeks. Then I started walking and after a month, I worked runs in a couple of times during the week. Now that we're nearly four months removed, I'm comfortable and strong enough to get five short runs in weekly. Nutritionally, I'm still taking my prenatal vitamins and limiting the consumption of certain things like caffeine, alcohol, dairy, and nuts. And I'm doing the best I can with sleep, taking naps, and getting to bed early. Luckily, I've got a cooperative baby who lets me have six hours uninterrupted at night. By addressing the FAQs I felt like we weren't leaving those couples to re-invent the wheel. If I had developed the clunky solid wheel, then they could improve it by adding spokes.

We addressed so many of the pregnancy questions that we barely got to touch on postpartum issues though and since that's where I'm at right now, it's more fresh in my mind than the birth stuff. There's some valuable material that I really wanted to share, particularly regarding breastfeeding. Then I thought that if I couldn't do it in class, then I could, at least share it here. With that said and at the risk of losing a bunch of you dear readers in the next couple of posts, I plan to finally get some things off my chest so peep back soon! (Unbelievable, double pun!)

"Where do babies come from? Well. I think a stork, he umm, he drops it down and then, and then, a hole goes in your body and there's blood everywhere, coming out of your head and then you push your belly button and then your butt falls off and then you hold your butt and you have to dig and you find the little baby." -Knocked Up

This post is not endorsed and I'm not trying to push the Bradley product on anyone. I don't mean to idealize natural childbirth and don't claim it to be THE way for all women. I know and totally appreciate how each woman is different and every situation (even when pertaining to the same woman) is unique, but by being open and honest maybe there could be something for everyone to take away for their benefit. These are just my humble thoughts and should be taken with a grain of salt. Most of all it's been provided for your entertainment and probably a bit to my husband's embarrassment.

Letting go

A little more than one week until I return to work. Dum-da-dum-dum. Like a dark cloud, it has been ominously looming in the distance for weeks and now it's rolling in across the landscape, headed directly for a spot over my head. There, I imagine, it will find a comfy home where it'll hang out and pour, pour, pour. A bit melodramatic? Ok fine, you're right. It won't be that bad. Thank God I have supportive employers who are letting me return to a part-time schedule through the end of the year. Still though, that's thirty hours that I don't get to spend with August and someone else does.  I've already mentioned my greediness here and here so it's no surprise that I'm a bit possessive about my son, right? But what mother isn't?

So why re-enter the workforce if I'm dreading it so bad? Well, for one, we need the money. Working from home isn't an option -  I haven't built a big enough inventory of handmade baby clothes to open an etsy shop and, despite my best efforts to promote this blog via FB, I haven't got any freelance writings gigs lined up yet. Secondly, I work for a great company and have developed a sense of loyalty to them (damn that Jiminy Cricket, sitting all smug on my shoulder in his little top hat and spats). Seriously though, my employers have been super supportive and I kind of feel like I owe it to them - not to mention the fact that I've still got another two years until I'm fully vested in my retirement plan (turns out those schedules are a good retention incentive after all). Lastly, if pregnancy taught me anything it's that you can't expect anything in life because it won't necessarily turn out the way you imagine. Incidentally, I also learned that I'm a "You Go Girl". You know, one of those third-wave feminists that believe women are AWESOME.  Most of the time you'll see them at local road races - the biggest cheerleaders for our sex - and they would be totally obnoxious if they weren't so sincere in their enthusiasm. Keeping that awesomeness in mind, I recognize that I could totally surprise myself so, I need to give this working-mom thing a fair shot.

Pregnancy surprised me in so many ways and now I'm finding that motherhood is full of its own surprises. In what ways? Well, for one, I thought I'd be bored. Or that I'd feel trapped. I thought that by the end of my twelve-week maternity leave I'd have my lunch packed, clothes laid out, and shoes at the door; all ready for my first morning back to work. It'd be a relief to get out of the house and have a bit of my old identity back. To have more "going for me" than just raising a child. That's what I thought. I love being wrong. It puts me in my place; humbles me. Reminds me of my own vulnerabilities; like the fact that I've become dependent on an infant. That's right, I need this boy. And not in the I-am-painfully-engorged-and-only-your-little-mouth-has-the-efficacy-to-draw-out-this-poison kind of way. There are hospital-grade breastbumps that insurance will cover to solve that problem. I need him in the sense that he was literally my center for nine months and my balance is still a little off since his birth. I'm no longer the woman I was before he was born but I'm not not her, either.

August, on the other hand, I'm pretty sure could survive without me. We've had a couple major breakthroughs lately. He's learned to put himself asleep and just yesterday I saw him grab the pacifier and put it in his mouth. He has also finally accepted the bottle and since I've stored so much milk in the freezer that there isn't room for so much as one frozen pea, I've basically become obsolete. I knew this day would come but I thought there'd be a good eighteen years to get used to the idea. Then I read this book that just had to so perfectly remind me that,

"There comes that moment when we give our children custody of their own selves or blight their lives forever, when we understand that a being a parent is not transactional, that we do net get what we give. it is the ultimate pay-it-forward endeavor: we are good parents not so they will be loving enough to stay with us but so they will be strong enough to leaves us."

I know he's strong enough - you could draw a straight line from the top of his head to the tip of his tail bone in a perfect 90 degrees when he stands on our laps - but what about me? My self-reliance muscle has atrophied. When it comes down to it though, I want him to come into his own. There's so much potential in this kid that it'd just be cruel, to suppress it. His talents are limited to eating, sleeping, smiling and cooing right now, but he does them all so brilliantly that it bodes well for his future endeavors. And what is parenting if not the ultimate project; you produce the perfect raw material and have the opportunity to shape it into the most magnificent finished good. There's no way I'm denying myself of those bragging rights.

Mundane? But I thought today was Thursday.

 Did you ever have one of those mornings where you wake up and think, "Now what?" Today was one of those. I had Auggie in bed with me for some AM cuddles before starting our day and as he practiced his shadow boxing, calling out the shots with each "goo", I lied there on my side looking at him, wondering what we should do. left hook, jab, jab, straight right. We went on like that for maybe half an hour; him working out and me watching, until I finally got up and, as if in cruise control, began going through our daily routine. Don't get me wrong, we've developed a lovely rhythm to our days here. But this morning, it didn't seem like enough. Oh no... This was just the sort of thing I bemoaned when I was pregnant: at home all day, bored, and with nothing to do between feedings and naps. Is this it? Have I finally hit the doldrums of being a stay at home mom? 

I forged on anyway, in our usual way and to the tune of Miles Davis - but only if Pandora was going to channel his "cool jazz" period because if went the "hard bop" route, it'd be too frantic a start to this already unsettled day. I put a kettle of water to boil while I nursed Auggie and then let the tea steep while I dressed him. The house was simultaneously filled with the warm middle-register tone of trumpet and the aroma of licorice-sweet fenugreek. There, that should do the trick. Just put one foot in front of the other, and soon enough, you're walking. But, for all my efforts, I still felt aimless. I literally needed to put my thoughts into actions - there's nothing like forward movement to make you feel like you're getting somewhere, so I decided to take August on a walk.

Creatively, two things have happened since August was born: (1) he's helped me open my eyes, allowing me to see things anew and (2) I've started writing a lot more. The two go hand in hand. Here's what one of my favorite writer's, Anne Lamott, has to say about the correlation between observation and writing:

Anyone who wants to can be surprised by the beauty or pain of the natural world , of the human mind and heart, and can try to capture just that - the details, the nuance, what is. If you start to look around, you will start to see.When what we see catches us off guard, and when we write it as realistically and openly as possible, it offers hope. 

Thank God. I need hope today. So I charged myself with observing as August would, with wonder at the slightest things. I saw the sidewalk below my feet. I noticed when it went from ho-hum cement, to a more charming brickwork. I thought about how many times I had walked over the same spot and for what purpose: to get groceries, for fresh air, for exercise. I delighted at the pair of dangling feet and marveled at the baby boy strapped to my belly. He used to accompany me on walks though from a different vantage point.

We strolled through the old neighborhoods, crossing the tracks and walking alongside a row of boutiques and antique shops. This town had become white noise, like the train that passed every hour, on the hour. Today, it revealed its charm and stood out. I pretended to be a visitor, seeing it for the first time and turns out, I actually live in a pretty cool place.  

 

There was another purpose to the walk. Coffee. We were out of the good beans. Unfortunately, if this place is lacking in anything, it's a quaint cafe. A saavy entreprenuer might make it huge in a place like this. But that thought is for another time. For now, I had what I needed. A good walk and coffee. Double whammy.  Some days come easy and others you just need to put a little effort into.

Port Discovery

In the wake of last week's heat wave - finally able to come up for air that isn't comprised of more O than H - I can (at last!) share our weekend adventures with the littles. Code Orange days are a total bummer when you've got children; it's too dangerous to keep them outdoors for long but staying inside on a summer day just seems like a cruel alternative. And since my 700 sq ft home is not the most conducive to our small crowd, Claudin and I decided to face the area traffic, and probable throngs of people at Baltimore's Inner Harbor, to spend the day at the children's museum. So we packed up and two diaper bags, one mini-backpack, and two strollers later, we were on 95 headed towards the Charm City.

Crossing the threshold of the museum was like entering a wonderful land inhabited by munchkins - a harbinger of the visiting exhibit: The Wizard of Oz. There were THREE floors of interactive, educational exhibits, dominated by a towering urban tree house in the middle of it all. This thing was amazing with all its ropes, tubes, slides, and mesh walkways - it was a shame there's an age and weight limit because I would've otherwise joined in the fun and lost myself in there for hours. Charlie was hilarious to watch, turning himself around dizzy trying to figure out where to go next. Ada, meanwhile, had a playroom just for babies to cruise and crawl around. She cracked herself up in the mirrors that ran along the bottom of the walls and tumbled all over the padded floors. Even August experienced a new range of stimuli - I never saw his eyes so wide as he excitedly sucked and drooled on his fist. Needless to say, a good time was had by all.

I don't know if it's because I'm a new mom and the thought of doing anything with multiple children is intimidating, but I almost feared the excursion to begin with. It was a daunting ambition we'd regret, or so I thought. Once we were out and in it though, it was GREAT - worth any and all trouble just to hear the excitement in Charlie's voice, the joy in Ada's laughter, and to see the wonder in Auggie's eyes. I'm realizing now, as a mom, that when it comes to your child, there isn't much that trumps that.

Fourth Trimester, part deux

Picking right up from yesterday and moving on to the fourth trimester via the mother's perspective - or at least, this mother's perspective - let me reveal, if I may, the evolution I've experienced from preggo to mama. Physically, of course, there were a lot of changes to deal with. Some of them I looked forward to to and celebrated, others have woefully caught me by surprise. Examples you ask? Ok... Be advised, however, that I aim to be open here and while I view all these things as natural, not everyone may comfortably agree. I do have discretion, though, and a decent level of modesty so don't be too quick to navigate away.

So, the changes... Well, obviously the belly is gone. But I wasn't so anxious to get rid of that. I quite liked it actually; knowing my baby was safe inside, growing big and strong. It made me feel super feminine and, like, one with Mother Nature, or something. What I was relived for though, was having the extra room inside. You know, for all my other organs. The last three or so months of my pregnancy could be encapsulated in one word: indigestion. When your stomach is squished flat into a pancake and all your other insides are constantly pressed up against your esophagus, it's no wonder. But still... 

Then there's the elephant in the room. Ok, TWO elephants in the room: Las Lolas. I always knew I wanted to nurse, but after my baby was born and the milk came in, Holy Cow (literally)! I naturally have what is described in fashion magazines as a "boyish figure" - I bought bras more as a novelty and less as a necessity - so the new endowment has been a mixed blessing. Breastfeeding deserves in an entire post in itself so I won't go into specifics now, but suffice it to say that it has, at once, been inspiriting and disheartening.

Next along the lines of the physical is general wellness. When you're pregnant, there's a whole list of dos and don'ts. DO get plenty of rest, drink lots of water, take vitamins. DON'T smoke, drink alcohol, eat unpasteurized cheeses. When you think about it, these are guidelines everyone should follow for good health. Guidelines, mind you. I don't like extremes and I abhor deprivation. So I believe that almost anything, in moderation is fine... except for maybe the smoking. Not judging. Just saying. 

Anyway, to drive yesterday's point home: just as you would with your infant, you should emulate a  lifestyle similar to the one you maintained while pregnant. Especially if your going to breastfeed. Baby gets a portion of what you take in, so make sure it's good and healthy. You'll feel better and so will your little one. Pregnancy breeds a such a good way of life, I wonder why women don't always keep it. In fact, my sister and I joke about writing a book called "The Pregnancy Diet: Nutrition for the non-pregnant". It's kinda crazy how much better we treat our bodies when we know we're sustaining another life other than our own. And I always thought we were such a selfish people...

Now apply the same theory to sleep, exercise, and psychology. By taking the best care of yourself, you bring the happiest and best version of you into the lives of the people around you. So many new mama's hold themselves and this nurturing responsibility to an impossibly high standard; accepting a position waaayyyyyy too low on the totem pole. Yes, your baby relies on you. Yes, you need to address its needs before your own. BUT you need to take care of your basic needs too. Otherwise, you're just a shell of a woman giving hollow nourishment. 

That's why I don't feel bad about getting out for 30-45 minutes for a run around the neighborhood. It's my time to get away. Be alone. Decompress. For that short period, I'm my old self. And when I come back home, I'm always excited to see my boy and realize that I even missed him while I was gone, only now I have no superficial reason to resent him or my new life. I made sure he was fed, in a fresh diaper, and at peace before stepping out the door so that I could relax and enjoy my brief solitude. I don't think it's selfish of me to want to hold on to parts of my past, as long as I am able to integrate them with my present. Why not "have my cake and eat it too"(that one guy called it out years ago, and. as you can tell, I'm embracing it now).

So where does that put me six weeks post-partum? Well, after riding the adrenaline high from birth and the excitement of having a new baby, I'm exhausted. I try to treat myself right. I really do. But like I mentioned yesterday, you need to be one your "A game". Always. Or like the Superbowl winners who are interviewed after the game say, "give it 110%". All. The. Time. If you slip up in the slightest bit, you're pretty screwed. It takes days to make up because most days keep going without consideration of whether or not you got enough sleep or you ate the right food. It chips away at your energy, leaving you with less and less. And let's be honest, NO ONE is that perfect. I try to front buuut I'm pretty sure everyone's on to me. They can see the fatigue under my peppy disposition. Before you start rolling your eyes, thinking "Boo-hoo. What'd you think motherhood was like?" Let me assert that I love being mother to my son. I'll take it any day over this new zombie, half-life. Because the days are filled with amazement. And even the worst ones are better and more whole than anything I've ever known. But I won't pretend it's perfect or easy. Just keeping it real, that's all.

Fourth trimester

They call the first three months after your baby is born, the Fourth Trimester. Developmentally, it is supposed to be as important as the nine months in gestation. Like with any change, there's a period of adjustment as baby transitions from womb to world. Treating this early stage as an extension of the previous three, helps the infant to mature into a baby that can respond to the outside world. This theory has been popularized by the Happiest Baby on the Block franchise and endorsed by people like me who have bought into the concept. I cringe at trends - and I hope Dr Karp didn't have some sort of subliminal, brainwashing message running during the DVD adaptation if his book - but the concept just makes so much sense to me. It is instinctual and natural, so it should be of no surprise that it totally appeals to the new age hippie in me.

Basically you try to re-create an environment similar to what baby enjoyed for 40 weeks in mama's belly; making the outside world a veritable uterus, as it were. Think about it, baby spends all that time floating in a dark, warm sac. The magic water within: an all-in-one miracle that provides a constant food supply, while also buffering sounds and movement (Ponce de Leon's allusive Fountain of Youth had nothing on amniotic fluid). It's pretty quiet in there too, aside from the hypnotizing rhythm of mama's beating heart and, perhaps, the digestive tunes of her stomach. Put it this way, it's like the most luxurious and relaxing spa on steroids. Then one day, someone pulls the plug and the mystic fluid is rudely swindled as baby is thrust into a relatively cold, bright, and noisy world. I'd be wailing on entry too.

So I figure that, being six weeks removed from the great birth event and halfway through this fourth trimester, it is a good time to reflect on our so called metamorphosis. For one, I can definitely appreciate how treating this time as a continuation of those pregnancy months is essential not only for the baby's development but also for the mother's sanity (there's nothing like an unhappy baby to send a parent into desperation). It takes a sensitivity to tune into a baby's needs; you have to try and perceive the world as they do, which requires Jedi-like mind-reading. So when my husband is too hot and drops the AC below 70, after also having stripped the baby of his onesie, swearing that he too was "burning up", I remind him (for the gazillionth time) that our son been used to living in a one hundred degree jacuzzi. That, and he can't regulate his body temperature so quit taking all his clothes off! It really brings to attention how as adults we are in many ways de-sensitized. Sure, you need to develope a tough skin to get through life, but that development doesn't happen overnight.  

The next challenge is to stay ahead of the aforementioned needs - we'll call it "mother's intuition" because let's be honest, daddy practically needs written requests from baby. Like I said, if it were up to my husband, our son would be naked and making a huge fuss before he realized that the baby was cold. I don't want to completely throw my man under the bus though; he's shown great potential as a father but, with my help, he could be the best. Be it mother or father, you really need to be on your "A game" all the time to stay two steps ahead. Maybe this'll eventually come as second nature, but right now, I feel a bit in the hole so i'm practically tripping over myself to keep pace. Each day I'm learning from my child and picking up on his cues, so I'm hopeful we'll get the hang of things. Stay tuned for part two where I'll explore my own transition and touch on mama's perspective to this period.