... and we have lift off!

Today, as our son grew ever closer to his three-week birthday, I had a breakthrough on two fronts. 

First, I realised that my body is almost back to normal.  The birth process had longer-lasting effects that I had anticipated, but finally, I find I am able to move freely!  Glory be.  The breast feeding pain has subsided as well, and my nipples seem to have developed a steel-like resilience.  (in both cases, there is also the possibility that my pain threshold has simply expanded enough to obscure all of these things.)

The major event of today, however, was an amazing day out with the baby and my husband.  After popping him into the baby Bjorn and putting a few diapers and some wipes into a bag, we were off on a quest for freedom.  We went on a series of walks - through the mall, through a park, and through an art museum.  Those were easy (particularly when you're carrying the diaper bag and let your husband carry the heavy baby!)  The crown of our achievements, however, was a proper lunch at a nice restaurant.  I left James on my lap during the meal, feeding him when he stirred using a Hooter Hider - a fantastic coverup that I do recommend! 

When the day was over, I felt as if I had regained my independence.  It was an amazing feeling, and while having James has been wonderful, I felt more completely fulfilled today than I had since he arrived.  My next step towards a more liberated life will be mastering the breast pump!  More on that to come...

Marsha

A Language of Crying?

James is now just over 2 weeks old, and already we've had 2 nights of almost no sleep.  He started out a little angel, and seems to have gradually grown into his crying skills.  As a consequence of all this crying, we've by necessity spent much time listening to the various cries and trying to decipher them.  Hungry? Wet?  Just a complainer?  Is he feeling unloved?  Is he just tired? 

In the end, despite our best efforts, we really weren't able to figure out what he was trying to tell us - we just used simple trial and error to try and solve the problem.  Embarassingly, we would sometimes forget an obvious possibility in our sleep deprived states.  After trying for 30 minutes to comfort a steadily crying James, a friend came over and suggested that his diaper was dirty.  My husband and I looked accusingly at each other.  Surely we had already tried that?  But neither had, and indeed, the boy had been sitting in feces for an hour.  Parents of the month are we!

While at the charity shop this week on a rare outing, I came across the Duston system.  The set of 2 DVDs was on sale at a bargain price, so I picked it up.  Apparently, a mother in Australia with acute hearing developed a system of understanding the significance of babies' cries.  One sound means Hunger, one Fatigue, another Discomfort.  They deal mostly with the first consonant sound of each cry... "nyyyyyyah" is different to "yahhhhhhhhh," which is different to "einhhhhh."  Exhausting, all of it.  (and it doesn't take long to explain - the two DVDs had a total running time of about 15 minutes.)   At first, my husband and I thought we were picking up on sounds, but in the end, we just kept following our intuition.  I've learned that the boob seems to work almost all the time.  So much for my freedom!

Busy Baby Momma.... ain't so busy

9 days since the birth, and I have officially become a homebody.  Even last week I judged myself poorly if I didn't make it outside at least once a day.  Today, I don't think it's going to happen, and I don't think I want it to.  I ordered new cookbooks just before James was born, but now the idea of starting a recipe seems so daunting.  Today was the first day that I turned the television during the day until today, and I have a feeling it is a trend that will continue.  Seeing advertisements for cleaning products has always depressed me... I can't believe I've become the classic stereotype. 

I was partially consoled by my husband's words yesterday.  All that I have to be concerned with for the next few weeks is giving the little baby a good foundation in life.  Everything else isn't important.  It doesn't matter if I'm not following current events, (and I've been sadly out of touch with the events in Tunisia, Egypt and beyond) not partaking in cultural activities, or not completing some of the DIY projects I started before the baby arrived.  (He didn't say it's all right if I don't cook, but I'm going to assume it is.)  It's amazing how much pressure we put on ourselves in the modern age. 

There is one last bit of hope.  Maybe, when my body has fully recovered from the effects of pregnancy (and wow, are there are a lot of lingering effects!  I feel like I've returned from fighting a war) I will regain my incentive to go out in the world.   I hope there is hope...

Cross-generational conflict

As I introduce a new generation into our family, I find myself thinking more than ever about the older generation: that of my grandmother (the baby's great grandmother.)  

Aside from the great divide in technological understanding, (ie, "there is no way grandma is ever going to start using email!") I am starting to realize that beliefs about raising children is the most controversial issue between us.  So much about the childrearing process has stayed the same across the decades:  no matter how much the world has changed, children still grow at the same physical pace as they did 50 years ago.  

Yet, a vital underlying philosophy of early child rearing has changed.  Today, childcare experts and classes recommend that babies be held, cuddled, and given as much love as possible.  "There is no way to spoil a young baby," writes childcare expert Dr. Spock. 

Many in the older generation would strongly disagree.  The divide has become so shockingly great that it seems that my greatest fears for new little James are directly opposite the greatest fears of my grandmother.   Above all else, I want to make James feel loved and adored.  James has met grandma twice in his week-long life, and both times, she cautioned strongly against cuddling him unnecessarily.  She sternly advised I not go to him today as he cried during our lunch.  I did anyway.  When I see him, I see a little creature who has been on the earth for only a week, and has no idea what anything is.  When she sees him, I believe she sees layers of intelligence and planning that I cannot possibly imagine are yet present.  

According to the fourth trimester theory, babies in the first three  months of life are, in terms of development, essentially still in the womb.  They need little more than to be cuddled, carried and fed.  It is only starting at six months or so that babies can learn to be manipulative.  

Now, demonstrating the confidence I feel after 1 week of parenting, compared to grandma, who has raised five children and has been a mother for 60 years, is quite a challenge... 

The most painful cry

Babies are supposed to cry.  When we hear babies cry, we may be annoyed or sympathetic, but we never think of the noise as abnormal.  We certainly wouldn't think, "Oh, that baby is crying!  It is being mentally disturbed and will never be the same again."  The thought would never have crossed my mind.

But that was before I had a baby of my own.

Today, I made my first solo trip out with James in the stroller.  My husband had been with me, but left to go to a meeting.  I decided to continue on alone.  Being alone with my baby in the world was on my list of "standard expectations."  How hard could it be?  My husband departed, and I walked home using a different route than normal.

Immediately after he left, two things happened:
1.  I realised that I was slightly lost, and wasn't at all sure which the most efficient way home was.  So, the way home - originally planned to take 15 minutes - now looked to be about 30.

2.  James immediately started bawling.  Of course.

I started out calmly trying to calm the baby.  He yelled louder.  I tried to lull him to sleep... moving quickly, slowly, over rough patches and smooth patches.  I tried again to console him.  I considered whipping him out of the stroller and breastfeeding in the middle of the sidewalk.  I probably would have tried it, no matter how ridiculous the concept, had I thought I could have managed.   I was getting desperate.  My baby was hurting himself, and I couldn't stop it!

Now,  from the comfort of my own home, with the safely sleeping baby in front of me, it seems somewhat silly, but I ended up crying in unison with him as I pushed the stroller home.  Passerby must have thought the scene slightly ridiculous.  No one was being hurt, and babies are supposed to cry.  Indeed, I made it home safely, and the baby stopped crying almost immediately.

Except for mine, of course.  Motherhood is a selfish business.

Breasts: not the easy solution they appear.

Recently, a blog follower asked me to describe some equipment important in baby rearing.  I'm 48 hours into my first baby, and for most of that time, my thoughts and actions, and those of my baby, have revolved around one particular piece of equipment that my parents gave me for free.

The equipment is my set of breasts, and they're at the center of my continuing struggle to feed my infant.  Prior to the birth, I knew that I wanted to breast feed, and I thought it would be simple, easy and straightforward.  It seemed like such a natural process, and looked simple in the books.

Now, 48 hours in, I'm seeing that breastfeeding isn't as simple as I originally thought it would be.  There are a two main reasons for this:

1.  Pain:  While feedings 1-3 were ok, I soon noticed a growing pain in my nipple when I put little James on to suck.    The helpers at the hospital told me that I was doing the feeding correctly, but an intense, very painful burning sensation began to occur when I put him on.  I don't mean a slight twinge.  I mean a sharp burn that continues to make me draw sharp breaths each time he "latches."  After my hospital experience (yes, I still refuse to go into details), I feel I have had enough pain.  Anyone who gives birth, in whatever fashion, must feel the same way: after our intense experiences, it's time for a peaceful, painless rest.

2.  Lack of independence:  I'm realising that it's such a shame that my husband, who is happy to help with baby maintenence tasks, isn't able to contribute to feedings.  The past 2 nights, I've seem him snoozing calmly while I've gotten very little sleep.  It's not his fault; my husband simply has no breasts!  (and it's a good thing, too, for other reasons.)  I'm quickly realising that this drawback will tether me to the child in other ways as well:  nights out with the girls won't be as possible, I can't just leave the baby with my parents, etc.

Finding a solution to this problem will be an incredible help.  I'm still exploring options, and I know there are several.

In the meantime, back to another painful feed!  (of course, little baby James is still always worth it...)

A live baby! I'm converted...

Exciting times.  Baby James was born this morning at 6 am!  He has two hands and two feet, and all the other parts seem to be in the right place.

You should be grateful that I won't go into further details on my birth story.  I'll leave the details within the hospital (and burned forevermore on my brain and that of my darling husband.)  I once read that a woman's birth story is like a person's dream of the night before:  no one really wants to hear it, but the person who experienced it loves to bore listeners.  And they are too polite to refuse to listen.

That particular rule is similar to the "my baby is cuter than other babies" phenomenon.  It's not a selfish or egomaniacal reflex.  It's just what happens.   Before Sunday morning, I was frankly ambivalent about newborns. I was never one of the women who goes crazy with well-expressed excitement at seeing a new baby.  They looked roughly the same, had no magical powers over me, and frankly seemed more of a hindrance to a normal life than an enhancement.

Then, James dropped from my body, and suddenly, everything changed.  The fact that I am responsible for the life and well-being of this little munchkin has made me adore him.  It's simply the tried and true management principle:  give someone ownership of a project, and their commitment and performance will dramatically increase.

Now, I just have to somehow use the equipment, knowledge, and books I have acquired over the past nine months to take care of this little guy.  I have motivation, but how will I perform?

We have lift-off... No, not quite yet! Just another expensive bill...

I had heard about "false labor," but I sort of dismissed it as something that most likely wouldn't happen.  Everything so far had gone smoothly, so why shouldn't labor?  And then, today, I am fairly certain I had about 3 hours of random contractions.... and now, nothing for a few hours.  Back to drinking raspberry leaf tea! 

Perhaps it was a result of the midwife poking around yesterday at my "membranes," a rather intimate procedure that I'll refrain from describing further.  I was so certain that yesterday's procedure would set things off that I pulled the husband out with me last night for our "one last night out."  We had a fancy dinner, went to a play, and then even found ourselves in the seedy cocktail bar that has historically been our favorite place for people-watching.

Combined with the new baby equipment, these "last suppers" are going to break the bank!

Visualizing: Truth or Fiction?

Upon learning that I was still waiting for the little one to appear, a woman from my birth class suggested that I try a technique of visualization.  I was to imagine the baby coming down the birth canal, picture my body responding to that of the little one, and then visualize myself holding this yet unseen being in my arms.

However, this wasn't as easy as it first appeared.  I am a rather literal person, and it is difficult for me to conceptualize anything with which I have no (remembered) direct experience. Birth canals fall into this category.  Frankly, when I think of birth canals, I think of narrow tunnels; and when I then try and think of the baby, I can only see its disproportionately huge head.  I think of probable pain, and then I turn my thoughts to other things.  Isn't there a shelf to dust, or some baby sheets to order?

Perhaps, then, my new friend is right; my mental block is somehow preventing the baby from taking the next step.  I wanted to do something.  And because I was having such trouble getting past this mental obstacle on my own, today I took a field trip to the local science museum that conveniently has a comprehensive exhibit on the human birth process, complete with images and short videos.  I examined each poster attentively and watched the films, and was honestly astounded (again) by the miracle involved in the whole process.  A new life formed by such a seemingly unlikely set of circumstances.  Tears welled up.  Really!

If the tears weren't embarrassing enough, I also felt a bit foolish standing next to the 11-year old students for whom this process may really have been a new concept.  I'm the size of a large beach ball; surely, I must already know how this pregnancy thing works?

Despite these concerns, I successfully exited the museum filled with the wonder of what I am about to do.  Better yet, I didn't once contemplate the potential pain.  I felt only pride at my current position in the ladder of life.  I am carrying a miracle that will emerge in days.  Perhaps literally is the only way I can think about this process - but when even the logical side holds so much power, it may not matter that creative visualization and imagination are not so easy for me.

The day has passed... now what?

Two weeks ago, we were completely ready for this baby. Our bag was packed, the furniture was ready, we had the birth plan in mind.  We even expected it to come early, for unknown reasons.  The days ticked by.  Unexpectedly, we reached the due date - with no baby!  Family called and wrote emails.  No news, we were forced to say. Again.  And, by the way, we love you, but leave us alone!  We began to feel powerless.

Now, we are less ready than we were before.  Our hospital bag is now only half packed, for I needed some of the things inside.  Our hospital notes are on the TV, where I ambivalently left them after our hospital appointment last week.  Family have stopped calling, texting and emailing.  The idea of the baby being born now seems so surreal as to be impossible.  I drink a  little more wine with dinner than I did two weeks ago.  We don't even consider the possibility of the birth interfering with plans we make, so we have begun to fill our social calendar again.

I was previously confident in the birth process, but now I wonder whether it will be as easy as I thought.  Perhaps I've been having contractions and not realising it.  Maybe I should analyse my physical changes more closely. While I know logically that it can't be my fault, somehow it feels like it might be.  Maybe I should have been going to the gym like other more physically-focused mums to be - I could have shaken, drilled, or squeezed the creature out using one of the machines.  Or coaxed it out with yoga.  Or...

Small baby, please arrive!  I'll even feed you in the middle of the night, and listen to your cries, and have no social life for weeks...

... oh, wait, remind me why I'm not content to wait a few more days?