yesterday evening

the park was curiously empty yesterday evening, considering it was the most perfect, non-humid summer night any july has ever produced. not to question the opportunity of having the whole playground almost entirely ourselves though, we continued on and called it a freebie. there was only one other family there - a new family with a six month old baby girl, i later learned. august spotted her from across the soccer field before we even got to the playground. "mama, baby!" he pointed out. when the stroller finally came to a stop, he scrambled out of his seat, keeping his eyes glued on the little girl, all the while repeating his observation. he climbed over the little retaining wall onto the mulched court and headed right towards the family, completely disregarding all the springing/sliding/swinging equipment that he had been so worked up about on the walk over. his shyness finally caught up with his fascination when he reached the zip line and there he stopped, hugging/hiding behind the pole, but still watching the girl. i walked up next to him and placed my hand on his head as he said it again, more timidly this time "mama, baby" and then he added "cute". my heart about had it at that moment because yes, that baby *was* very cute, but hearing it from a toddler not a year and a half older, may have been cuter.

my new favorite

for all the notoriety surrounding the terrible twos, august has done a commendable job at dispelling its infamy. so far, it has been more fascinating than anything else... in all it's unpredictable and bipolar ways.

his insatiable curiosity that always seems to demand a greater understanding of things is softened by the amazed - almost hushed - way he asks, mama, wass daaaat? and his constant yearning for more becomes laughable at the third uno mas, which should really just mean "one more". but my favorite lately is how a couple of times a day he'll ask, you happy? he does it with the most sincere concern and it sometimes even comes accompanied with a tender little hand on the knee.

you can put the twos (or any "phase" or "season") in the best of light, but the truth is that like most things, it has its pluses and minuses. and on those days when you've been through the ringer, squeezed dry of every drop of patience you possess, there's nothing like hearing a little voice ask you happy? to put things in perspective and maybe even a smile on your face.

two years old

today you are two years old, my sweet little boy. twenty-four months gone, in the books! i could lament about how quickly time has passed or how fast your are growing up - lord knows i feel the ache almost every time a new word comes out of your mouth or you do something that just the day before you weren't able to - but i know that it's inevitable too. seeing you change, watching you discover the world, recognizing the person you are becoming though... well, that more than makes up for it. you love to be outside, splashing in water and digging up worms. our little nature boy. you have the same wonder and curiosity i remember seeing in your eyes the first day you were born. thank you for teaching me to view the world from different perspectives, for showing me how amazing this life is, and for opening up my heart to the kind of love i never knew existed. sometimes i really think your life saved mine. happy birthday agus! we love you.

currently 02

august at twenty-two months...

reading: oso pardo, oso pardo, que ves ahí? (the 1967 classic, en español)
singing: the abc song
watching: the gruffalo and the gruffalo's child
seeing: through our trickery in getting him to sit on the toilette
eating: mini "mushmaoos"
drinking: water, then upending the sippy cup and watching the rest drip out into a giant puddle
counting: to four before breaking out into the rest of feist's song
marveling: at falling water; out of faucets, off eaves, out of cups... (see "drinking" above)  
hoping: for another 30 minutes before we take him to bed
wanting: double or three times the recommended serving of kids vitamins (they're basically gummy bears)
needing: new clothes. he has officially grown out of 18-24mos and is firmly into the 2Ts. eep!
wasting: no time getting out the door and outside these days
playing: hide-and-seek... still. that game never gets old to a toddler.
enjoying: warmer evenings with the back door propped open and the entire yard as his oyster
waiting: for either andy or me to get him from his crib every morning
laughing: when we spin around until we're dizzy and then fake-crash into walls
wondering: "where'd mama go?" whenever i'm out of sight
loving: bath time now that we have bubble bath again (it just isn't as fun without the bubbles)
smelling: the crocuses that popped up in our yard this week (teaching him to "stop and smell", you know?) 
wearing: a too-small rain coat we got as a gift that he absolutely loves and will NOT give up
following: airplanes across the sky with his head tilted back and his mouth wide open in wonder
learning: how to use words instead of screaming his frustration
noticing: the moon whenever she's in the sky and saying "i see you, luna!"
knowing: when he has disappointed us. he hangs his head like charlie brown
thinking: plastic bags are balloons because when you fill them with air and tie the ends, they sort of are
opening: tupperwear containers all on his own, which until recently was a major source of frustration for him
feeling: supported, if not understood, when things don't go his way

it's been almost four months (!) since the last time i made a list like this, but i think it may become a more regular thing here.

on endings + great beginnings

would you look at that poise? that up there is the image of self-assurance, of independence. moments after this picture was taken, i asked august to hold his grandmother's hand as we walked on the canal. he obliged for an instant before reconsidering and then declining with a polite albeit frank, no. we laughed at his candor, then watched as he wandered over to the bank of the adjacent canal to throw sticks into it. it's pictures like this one that have me emotional lately and you'll have to excuse those emotions for the ensuing ramblings.

sometime in the last couple of weeks it seems, august has grown into a little boy. it's happened (and continues to happen) right in front of me. you know how when you see someone every day, you don't notice the changes so much? it wasn't until i came across this picture that it hit me (well, it was the picture + all the emotions). 

during the week while andy and i are at work, august spends his days with marina - a little girl who is about sixteen months older than he is - and their shared nanny, vilma. most nights when i pick august up, i sit with vilma for a little while to catch up on her day with the children. she tells me stories, like how they all went for a ride in the double stroller and august unintentionally kicked at the back of marina's seat (which drove marina nuts but was also something she had coming because she did the same to the other little boy vilma used to watch before august). or i'll hear outrageous tales, like the time when marina helped august "escape" from his pack-n-play one afternoon when he should have been napping - a puzzling mystery until vilma caught it all on camera. lately, the stories are about how marina is teaching august all the things big girls (and boys) do, from feeding to dressing themselves.

at first, august didn't like the new responsibilities that came with being a "big boy". in fact, when vilma called him that he reportedly burst into tears and cried BABYYYY! that was weeks ago though and he is starting to take to his new role. i think he may even be a little bit proud of it now. 

the other day, after being scolded for spewing water from his sippy cup, i watched august take a drink from his cup, place it on the table, and say to himself: no baby, big boy. my heart broke a little bit at that moment. i often catch myself watching august like that, observing as he continues to discover, understand, and challenge the world around him. he's becoming more of a boy every day and it's happening right in front of me. still, for every new word or gesture of independence, there are moments that remind me that although he's not a baby, he's not quite a boy. a little big boy, maybe.

in the mean time, i've been changing too. i've reached that stage in motherhood where my role has shifted from nurturer to molder. i know i've mentioned it before, but i guess what's more striking is how that role has affected me in a more basic sense. 

for a long time now i have been living for august. i was his and he was an extension of me. in a very literal way, my body has existed exclusively for him the past two years. suddenly now, i am all "mine" again and at first it felt lonely, empty.

there is always an emptiness whenever something comes to an end. sometimes it fills itself and other times you have to do the filling, but in either case, it needs to be replaced by something better for the emptiness to truly be gone. since all these thoughts and feelings coincided with the beginning of a new year, i immediately turned to goal-setting, which is fine and grand until i remembered a quote my dad always used to tell us: it's not what happens to you, but how you react to it that matters. that's when i realized what's been happening all along, right before my eyes: august is becoming an independent little boy!

the end of a thing doesn't have to bed sad, when it is beginning of something great.

currently

taking stock of august at eighteen months...

reading: a john deere snow day lift-the-flap book, if that counts.
singing: the cha-cha-cha version of happy birthday.
watching: finding nemo only, and without exception.
seeing: our twinkling douglas fir every morning and shouting "tree!"
eating: an entire box of raspberries in record time.
drinking: breast milk twice a day. i am at once amazed + humbled by what our bodies are capable of. #grateful
counting: to in ten in spanish, "uno...do...de...dado...eeno...say...ede...odo...nene...DEY!"
marveling: at snow globes, turning them upside down to wind the music box, and then putting his nose right up to the glass to stare at the scene inside.
hoping: that every stroller ride ends at a park.
wanting: "the broom and the broom", which means the broom + the dust pan that attaches to it.
needing: to sleep past 7am. he woke up at 7:15 two times this week and (everyone) was so much happier those days.
wasting: toilette paper. the fascination began when he was around eight months and has not diminished since.
playing: hide-and-seek in our closet, waiting for us to ask "wherrrre's august?" before he walks out with a sly smile and says "hiding!"
enjoying: helping us in the kitchen
waiting: for me to pick him up at 4:30pm because that's when it gets dark outside now.
laughing: at all of andy's funny voices and silly sounds 
wondering: "a' doin'?" when he wants to know what we're up to.
loving: his puchon (pacifier) and reluctantly accepting that it's for night-night only.
smelling: fresh ground coffee every morning when he helps andy make a cup.
wearing: a bolivian chullo to keep his head warm on these cold, cold days.
following: our duck dog around the house holding her kennel relaxin squeaky toy like a bludgeon.
learning: how to throw the kennel relaxin TO duck, not AT her.
noticing: his reflection on the shiny surfaces of the dishwasher + refrigerator and having very animated conversations with himself.
knowing: the difference between his liquid vitamins and the antibiotic medicine we also call "vitamins". one tastes like orange tang, the other like chalky bubble gum. he's not fooled.
thinking: he'll be forgiven for anything by giving hugs + kisses (he usually is).
opening: the drawers in his nightstand and closing them, over and over again.
feeling: andy + my profound and growing love for him. i hope.

as inspired by sydney (who was originally inspired by pip)

adventures in toddlerhood

right around when august turned one, i was told by other parents that we were in for the greatest year ahead - that magical age between babyhood and the "terrible twos". he'll become more independent, he'll be able to communicate better, his personality will start to show. you get to keep the cuddliness of a baby without the tantrums of a toddler, the best of both worlds. 

caring for a baby suited me surprisingly well though. it was extremely exhausting, but formulaic. yes, there are thousands of equations and it took some [at times, frustrating] trial and error to figure out the one that worked for us, but the variables remained constant: feed, sleep, change. i work well with quantifiable processes like that. so nurturing, as it turns out, came naturally to me. parenting is a whole other deal. parenting, as it turns out, is less instinctive. 

toddlers are much more abstract than babies, they have a completely different measuring system. instead of mapping out feedings and naps or counting ounces and diapers, i'm relying on being dogpiled at the door when i come home, or a fit of bubbling laughter, or a breathless request ayane! (translation: again) for another game of chase, or a chubby finger that correctly points at a new word he's learned. it's WONDERFUL. and so much more ambiguous than the baby stage. at its best, it's deeply gratifying, at its worst, it's completely demoralizing, and if i'm being honest, i feel a little challenged by toddlerhood.

the past week has been an adventure in toddlerhood. i am putting full blame on daylight savings (and maybe last night's full moon), but there were more than a couple of times this week that had me throwing my head back to ask the havens "who is this child?" it's been a week of feelings and we've been going through ALL of them in a matter of seconds. i am just not that quick on the uptake. i've never been good on my toes, so mostly i just feel like i've been falling flat on my face a lot. 

august is becoming a person and while a lot of what kind of person he becomes rests on my shoulders, i've also realized that a lot of it is already built in him. the other day i watched as he played independently, his own thoughts and imagination just pouring out of him. he was yammering on about something or another in a goofy voice that made me wonder where did you learn that? i didn't teach you that and i know you didn't get it from your father and it was then that it occurred to me that it wasn't the influence of anyone, it was 100% pure august. 

he is curious and smart, affectionate and sweet, defiant and bold, perceptive and clever, attentive and silly. for that - ALL of that - i am proud. it's stressful and terrifying, this parenting thing. now is when the real work starts and lately, i've been questioning whether i'm doing it right, but then there are those moments - those long signature toddler hugs, complete with pats on the back (100% pure august right there) - when i get my reassurance.  

nature boy

there was a boy
a very strange, enchanted boy
they say he wandered very far
very far, over land and sea
a little shy and sad of eye
but very wise was he

and then one day,
one magic day he passed my way
while we spoke of many things
fools and kings
this he said to me:

"the greatest thing you'll ever learn
is just to love and be loved in return"

listen to nature boy HERE

at the old ball game

if i had drawn up a to-do list for this summer, near the top - right under "roast marshmallows" - would've been "go to a baseball game". i'm not a huge baseball fan per se, but i am a fan of cracker jacks. and s'mores. so, baseball and 'mallows. you're killing me smalls!

andy, on the other hand, prepares for opening day each year by watching every great baseball movie ever made and always ends his lineup with major league (it's a cleveland sports thing). since april, he and august have "watched" most saturday games that have aired during the prime napping hours of 2-4pm. one could say the two have been pre-gaming for months. so when we were invited to a ball game last weekend, andy was SO excited to take august to his first one. we had grand visions of him wearing this little baseball cap i got him for the game, cheering at every exciting play, and eating his first ballpark frank, spicy mustard and all.

but at a little over one year old, a lot of august's "firsts" are lost on him. like the baseball cap, which he refused to wear because even official MLB hats are not an exception to his nothing-goes-on-my-head policy. and hot dogs, which apparently are an acquired taste, even without the spicy mustard. but there was a lot that was not lost on him. like the roar of the stadium after each base hit. august joined right in with the rest of the fans, stopping whatever he was doing to clap wildly while shouting GOOOOOOL! (we're coming right off the world cup so ANY ball that is struck, gets the famous soccer cry from august.) we made it through five innings and even though we never did get a program for his baby book, they handed out commemorative bobbleheads - which hold up better after going in a child's mouth than paper does anyway. so welcome to our home, denard span. i hope you like it here because august sure does like shaking you.  

happy birthday august

i had to use our son as leverage to get andy to agree to share his take on august's birth story. "c'mon," i told him "it could be your brithday gift to him. PLUS, in [my mother's home country] bolivia, we celebrate mother's day on the 27th of may" {two birds, one stone. you know?} appartenly my argument was compelling enough to result in the tale below.

For a control freak, I’ve lost anything that might resemble sure-footing. Where could I possibly start... well, first, August’s birth. Luci wouldn’t let me plan the birth that I wanted. I clearly recall saying, “you know we’re right in the thick of baseball season, and, while the Tribe can’t win the division in May, they can certainly lose it. What do you say we put the ballgame on in the background?”

Crickets.

Secondly, Luci planned the mixed tape - a 10 hour barrage of Abba, looped, with calming whale noises that were sliced into the more subdued anthems. “What about J.T., Lorde, Shakira or Pit Bull,” I said. “I want our son to get his bearings right away - “Yeah Dada, this issss 2013, isn’t it?”” (yes, that’s a double quotation mark).

Crickets.

Third, there was no pinata. Hmmmmm... I’m just curious, but what kind of celebration is this?

Crickets.

Now that I’ve got that out of my system, I’d like to tell you about the birth of my son August, through an already fading memory of a new dad, a year to the day he was born.

The day really started the day before, when Luci woke up to light contractions and I thought I’d be a father by my second whiskey (roughly noon). Claudin had been with us since the night before, and I recall looking toward her for signs that this was really it. If she thought it was going to happen that day, her calm disposition never suggested it. That day unfolded without anymore contractions; it was a good “false-start,” allowing me to line up again and prepare for the race.
I woke up the next morning, which was truly the day, to my wife shuffling around the living room and kitchen - the way that a Duck-dog does - which we named “clicky-clacky” from the noise her nails make on the faux wooden floors. Luci had been clicky-clacking for an hour or so and I roused to see what she was up to.“I’ve been having light contractions for the last few hours” she said. This was not another false start, this was to be the day.

August came one day prior to his official due date, and I’d like to take a moment here to applaud him on the timeliness of his very first task in life. My mother says that “being early is being on-time.” When we were children, my father would invariably show up at the airport at least two hours before the flight time, and this was before the heightened security after 911. I still try to abide by the virtue of such timeliness, a gene that was surely passed on with my Y chromosome. As for Luci's family... lets just say there is a distinctive lack of a timeliness gene.

Claudin got up and I got up. Luci drew a bath and put on the music she’d planned for the day. I made Claudin a coffee, one for myself as well, and she began to set up for the midwife and doula.

I called the midwife to alert her to Luci’s condition, and I could tell that I woke her up. I guess I was a little surprised when she sounded non-enthusiastic and tired, I mean come-on, another perfect stranger is about to have a baby!! She told me to look for the signs of progression, and give her a call back when Luci started to get nearer. She hit the snooze.

The next two hours reminded me of when Luci and I first started dating. I always wanted to call her, but didn’t want to come off as needy or pushy, so I wouldn’t call her... call her much that is. I did however always have the phone in my hands. Like then, I was walking circles around the house with the phone in hand, just waiting to call the midwife, or for her to call me. Finally, I saw a change in Luci’s demeanor. I called the midwife.

Luci jumped into a next stage. She became quasi-despondent, and get this: she wouldn’t laugh at my jokes?? I knew things were progressing. I felt it.

When the midwife and doula arrived, we made our introductions, and then got to work. They did their thing with Luci, and Claudin was cooler than any cucumber I’ve every met, all clicky-clacky around the house just doing her thing. They all made me feel like my wife is taken care of, and I adopted their coolness. So, I made coffees for the new company, I cracked a beer for myself, ohhhhh baby, I get it, this is a celebration!

Then Luci received the midwife’s assessment from her exam, and, the news was not well received. She was only 2 cm dilated. I know my wife, she’s got a very high threshold for pain, and she was already in a lot of pain for just 2 cm!

Well, the party pooper just came through the door and pooped all over my party, the celebration was OVER; and what happened over the next few hours meshed into one solid memory of nerves, exhaustion, exhaustion, and exhaustion, but above all, I wished more than anything, I could take the pain for Luci.

Referring back to the opening sentence, I am a control freak, and I was fully out of control.

For the next few hours, we were on our bed, rolling back on our sides between contractions -  the final stage. I’d stroke her damp hair out of her eyes and tell her what a job she’s doing: an amazing wife. As the next contraction started, we’d pop back up like “tip-up” ice fishing flags and start all over again. 90% of the time I’d lie to her and tell her what great progress was made with that last push, and then 10% of the time, I’d see actual progress, which was just enough to keep me from “going off the deep-end.”

During the last stage, I forgot the end-game. I forgot that my son was on the way. The effort to try to do whatever Luci needed, the effort to quash my emotions, and the effort to “think happy thoughts” made me forget.

But after seeing the top of his head for a half-an-hour, August was born a healthy baby. Luci was healthy too, and all was right in the world.

August slept on my chest for the first night. I would look at him and think of so many things that not a single clear thought actually prevailed, they just all bumped into each other as my mind buzzed. It all came to a head, and I was, and am now, a proud father.

Happy Birthday August.

don't be fooled, what andy decribes with light-hearted humour could only be told this way with the buffer of one year from when the event took place. in my vague recollection, he was more nervous/excited/anxious/supportive than i've ever known him to be. in the six years prior to our son's birth, i thought i'd seen all there was to andy, but the love and pride that he's shown to both august and i in the last year has surpassed even my wildest dreams. thank you, andy for indulging me and sharing your story.  

memorial day {and the anniversary of a birth}

some time soon after august came into the world, i heard music. not like choirs of angels singing, but actual music streaming on pandora radio.

the station was probably playing throughout the entire labor {"a chill ambiance" was part of my birth plan}, but i don’t remember hearing anything other than my own low rhythmic moaning until after august was born. once everything was still and i was holding my new baby though, music became apparent and the first song i remember hearing was the neighborhood's sweater weather.

it’s incredible how the senses are tied to memory. they're just basic triggers set off by a smell, a taste, or a sound, but they can conjure up the past in an instant. what is really amazing about the link between sense and memory is that while details of the past are vague, the recollection is inexplicably real. there is this feeling of nostalgia and emotion that takes your mind back to that place in time in a way that is indescribable.

a lot of my memories are connected to music. sam cooke, for example, brings me back to the summer before middle school, when my sisters and i had to whitewash the fence that perimetered our house. citizen cope, on the other hand, sparks emotions from the winter andy and i started dating, when we'd stay up talking late into the night while sitting on this ugly faux-fur covered futon he had. ryan adams vividly reminds me of when we lived colorado and regularly took weekend drives into estes park. and the neighborhood, well, the neighborhood will always be the day august was born.

when i think about that day, i almost forget about the labor and birth. instead, i think of a grey cashmere sweater. nay, i feel that sweater, cozy and warm on my skin {obviously some of the song's lyrics influenced my association with the day}. i think part of the reason sweater weather stands out in my memory is because of how the "mood" of the song fit the atmosphere of that moment. everything was soft and quiet in the first hours of august's life: the evening light that filtered through the bedroom window, the downy hair that covered his body, the cotton muslin swaddled around him, his tiny dinosaur noises, and the music that slowly streamed throughout the house.

memorial day is this coming monday - august was born on that date last year - so in honor of his birth and to help kick off your holiday weekend i've linked the song here for your listening pleasure.

have a great time celebrating the beginning of summer and i hope that wherever you are, it's warm enough that you won't be needing a sweater. ha!

forty weeks

august is forty weeks old. TEN MONTHS. that means he's been living on the outside for as long as he was cooking on the inside. {yeah, that's right. whoever said it was nine months apparently didn't count the first month before they realized they were pregnant. or maybe they chose to forget about the last month that seems to draaaggg} lately, it's this ten-months-in/ten-months-out parallel that's got me all nostalgic and maybe a little sentimental. also, full disclosure: i've been reading rainer maria rilke. so. you've been given fair warning.

but twenty months! how does something just go from not being to being in such a short amount of time?

i ask you.

because i'm still reeling at the wild the fact that something so complex as human life can essentially be created from nothing and that that something becomes someone. 

i remember many nights during my pregnancy; sitting on the couch, my feet propped up on andy while we dreamed about what our little family would be like. we'd talk about what kinds of parents we'd be (firm but trusting) or we tried to imagine how our baby would look (andy's big eyes, my ski slope nose). all of it was just talk and we knew it. how could we really know when, for so long, he was just this vision. time moved slowly then.

of course, august was more real to me than he was to andy {what with the exhaustion and aversion to coffee, awhaaat?} but even then, he was just a heartbeat for such a long while. after a few months though, we got to put a blurry black and white picture to the pulse. and weeks later, the image became a bump. and soon after that, the bump gave an assertive little kick! and that's when things sped up. an intense heat, a warm rush, and we were suddenly holding those little kicking feet.

watching august grow these past ten months has been like watching a polaroid develop. his face has filled out, his corn-silk hair is long enough now that it curls slightly at the ends, his big eyes (just like we envisioned, only not hazel like his dada's) have changed from the iceberg blue of his infancy to a true blue, like denim. all his features coming together now to form a little BOY.

now our conversations are about what kind of man he will be or the things he will accomplish or the woman he will marry... one night, after august had gone to sleep and it was just the two of us again alone on the couch andy told me this:

becoming a father has brought me at peace with my own mortality. i'm not worried about dying anymore because now i know that there is something bigger than me. you know what calms me at night? the thought of august being an old man one day. i see him as a grandfather with little ones, like he is now, crawling all around. that gives me peace.

i've been thinking about that a lot and you know what? andy may be onto something. i look at august now and i see every age he's been, from fetus to infant to baby to boy. but then i really look at him and see that he is already every age he will ever be. even that old man with the wisdom of time in his true blue denim eyes.

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.

3 months

 
So we've been having this ongoing debate at home about when to celebrate Auggie's monthly milestones. I thought it should be counted by number of weeks, so twelve weeks = three months. But Andy has firmly held to using calendar months, e.i. May 27th, June 27th, July 27th, etc. My argument is based on the unspoken rule that you're supposed to continue using weeks to count a baby's age until they're one and then it goes to months until age two, and then you can simplify to just years. I have to admit though that even though my pregnancy was tracked in those increments, I still have a hard time thinking in weeks. Funny side story: a women stopped me at the grocery store to ask how old my baby was and I fumbled over my words before saying "Two and a half..." And she looked quizzically at me before I clarified, "Months!" Then she furrowed her brow and corrected, "Ohhh, ten weeks". Yeah, I'm a new mom. Cut me some slack, Lady. Anyway, I have finally conceded to Andy - not so much because he's right but because I've been in over my head lately and last week, I had nothing. His logic bought me more a few more days. Be that as it may, here's what's new with Auggie-baby:

• He's starting to seem less like a baby and more of a little boy - I can hear it in his voice. That quivering wail of a new born is gone from his cry. He's got stronger pipes and he's trying SO hard to use them to speak. We get your classic "goo" but even more than that, he's rolling his tongue around in his mouth like he's trying to form actual phrases. And he focuses so hard on our mouths when we speak that sometimes I think he's almost got it.
• On that same note, he's said his first word! Yes, our three-month old is a genius. He said his name: Ah-gheeee
• He's got great neck strength and can pretty much hold his head up, but just like any rigorous workout would do, it wears him out and then, his head starts to bobble and droop. He's also started stomping his feet when you hold him on your lap so, pair the two and you've got a spot-on imitation of the "Weekend at Bernie's" dance.
• There are moments throughout the day when he's just totally content and quiet. No talking, no arms or legs flailing, no snoozing. Instead, he's intently staring at his hands, inches away from his face, with fingers tip-to-tip. He's scheming, I know it. What sort of devious plan he's devising, I do not know, but I don't trust it one bit.
• He is TOTALLY crushing on his fist. The boy just luuuvs to stick it in his mouth and slime it up with drool. I'm not hurrying to see him with a girl or anything, and I certainly don't want him getting all lovey-dovey with one any time soon, but he better get that slobbering under control lest he scare all the good ones away for being a bad kisser. Just saying.

Slow down, August! My legs don't know how to be as long as yours.

August had his two-month check up yesterday. These visits are a big deal to most new parents; they're affirmation that your baby is healthy and that you're doing a good job as a parent. OK, that's obviously a gross exaggeration. There's A LOT more involved in determining those things. When it's your first time around and you have no other basis for comparison though, you're tempted to look just about everywhere for validation. It doesn't help, either, that organizations like the CDC, establish milestone charts that have you stacking your baby against the rest of the nation's children. Falling within a certain percentile can have you either chest-bumping your partner or developing a serious case of hives. 

Back when I was pregnant, I swore that I wouldn't allow myself to get stressed out about meeting those standards. They're guidelines, I reminded myself; Not laws. But I was kidding myself because even then, I anxiously tracked my baby's growth according to BabyCenter's fetal development updates. Those weekly emails had me over analyzing the progress of my pregnancy with their fetus vs fruit reports. At week 34 it said my baby was the size of a cantaloupe and by week 35 he was supposed to be as big as a honeydew. Are you kidding me? I thought all melons were created equal! Luckily I was surrounded by people of sounder minds to remind me I wasn't actually growing produce.

At his first doctor's visit, just days after he was born, August had lost 13% of his birth weight. I had prepared myself to see a lower number on the scale compared to his baseline because it's practically expected for newborns to lose a few ounces in the first week of life. This was greater than the accepted range though and since I had decided to exclusively breastfeed, the responsibility for his growth was entirely up to me. Clearly, I was slacking. I tried to keep my cool, but the grey tee-shirt I was wearing betrayed me and tragically revealed my underarm sweat. Major fail on all accounts. Thank goodness, again, for the supportive people in my life. With a bit of coaching from a lactation consultant and the encouragement of my family, I was able to stick to my commitment to breastfeed and a few weeks later, at his one-month visit, August was back on track and within the pediatric mean.

Yesterday's appointment was on the other end on the anxiety spectrum compared to that first visit. Our boy sprouted three full inches and tacked on three pounds to match. Either he hit the genetic jackpot or I'm a rock star mama with liquid-gold milk. Oh, how my ego wants to believe the later! The truth probably is that he had an amazing growth spurt that will taper off and eventually even out. That doesn't stop his dad from calling everyone he knows to announce that our son will be the next great American ball player. All reason goes out the window with proud parents.

What I have to constantly remind myself is to stop using statistics as a source of comparison. Not only is the "nature" of each child unique, but the situation of his "nurture" is also individual. It's why despite being twins, raised by the same parents, and exposed to practically the same experiences; Claudin and I are so different. Both of August's great-grandfathers were tall men; it could be that he inherited that height. OR his growth could hit a dramatic halt in which case we'll push a musical instrument (you should see this boy's hands - he's bound to have impressive dexterity). There I go again, getting ahead of myself.

2 months

Ok, if that first month flew by fast, then month two went into hyper-drive because I cannot believe that I'm sitting here four weeks later, looking at the same boy. While people debate whether he looks more like me or Andy, I'm certain that he looks like no one other than August. He's come into his own and let me tell you, he's beautiful. Sometimes it's so overwhelming I think I might just about lose it. Neither Andy or I were the most cherubic of babies and we both had ackward stages growing up, so where Auggie got his good looks is beyond me.

Here's the latest:

• He smiles with his whole body; thrusting his head forward and then moving it in one big arc, left to right, as if he needs the momentum to open his mouth into a huge gummy smile.
• He's taken to shadow boxing. Preparing, I suspect, for his next bare knuckle match with the other (invisible) handlebar mustachioed dude.

• At his latest doctor's visit he had gained 2lbs, most of which is concentrated in his face; his cheeks and double chin to be exact. He also grew nearly 3 inches, which his daddy was pumped about because his chances of doing any other sport besides running are now looking good. 
• We call him starfish, on account of his new favorite sleeping position.
• He's grown what we call duck fluff on his head. It's coming in nice and full, but it makes for goofy bed-head.
• The peace and quiet of our little house is quite regularly disrupted with his man-like belches.  Each times he lets one roar, I'm practically dumbfounded but manage to ask Andy incredulously, "Did you hear that?" Of course he did, it all but shook the house.

This is not a lullaby

I didn't think August could be any more beautiful until he cried. There's a loveliness to those tears and a sweet melody to his weeping that shatters my heart into a thousand tiny pieces. The corner of his eyes glistening and his little mouth quivering... I could die. But I don't panic or frantically shush him.  Instead I work silently and swiftly to right whatever wrong and make it all better. Then I sweep him up in my arms and those little shards in my chest melt and coalesce as each sob lessens. My heart is once again whole and surprisingly a lot bigger than it was before.

1 Month

Yesterday marked August's first month in the world. Like most new moms I wonder where time went and tearfully look at my baby boy, thinking how fast he's grown. At the same time though,  the days have been full with frequent feedings, constant diaper changes, and night wakings. It's that last event, in particular - the one that has robbed me of sleep and subsequently, normal cognitive function - that validates the last 29 days. And then I acknowledge, "Yup, one month, that's about right."

The space between those full days, though, are what keep me going beyond the physical and psychological limits people should have no business surpassing. It's because embedded in those nurturing & hygienic obligations are hundreds of little moments overlooked by all but babies who are experiencing them for the first time. I see a new movement or a concentration in his face that didn't exist the day before and there it is: yet another reason I feel so lucky to be the mother of this boy. Through him, I get to be a kid again - which is especially fortunate since I have a horrible memory.

Here's what we've learned in the first month:

• Auggie doesn't know it yet, but he loves turtles. And bears. And owls. We've decided it.
• Staying true to form (after impressive consistency for his nine months of gestation), 9pm is hiccup hour
• He makes the sweetest dinosaur noises. Or maybe it's more Gremlin. Sometimes it's reminiscent of a bicycle left in the rain, badly in need of WD-40.
• He sneezes multiple times a day. In Spanish the saying goes "Salud, Dinero, Amor" (translation: "Health, Wealth, Love"). One for each sneeze. Usually he only does two but sommmme times we get a hat trick and his dad celebrates with a "Salud, Dinero, Sombrero!"    *forehead slap*
• He loves bubble baths but HATES the transition from water to hooded towel.
• When taking walks with Mama in the Moby wrap, he's fascinated with the sky and trees, craning his neck so unnervingly back his grandma would faint (I promise I support it with my hand, Laura, he just wants to see it all)!
• He's grown out of several new born sized onesies, as is evident by the stitches being pulled apart around the barrel of his chest. When your child resembles a cased sausage, you know it's time to retire the outfit. Case in point:

  

I challenge you to see through the eyes of a child - you'll be fascinated with the view.