The gym finally wins

A few weeks ago, on a sunny day, I ambitiously signed up as a member of our local gym.  It's a great gym, with childcare facilities and a swimming pool, which also means it is very expensive.  Signing up was as far as I got.  Best intentions aside, I just never made it over to workout. 

And finally, after seeing the monthly fee deducted again from my account, I decided that I had to start going.  But going to the gym meant facing quite a few challenges:  1.  finding my workout clothes   2.  finding some of my workout clothes that would actually fit   3.  wriggling into these workout clothes   4.  leaving little James in childcare for the first time!   5.  actually exercising. 

I took it slow.  Last month, I created a space in my closet that had only my workout clothes.   Today, I found a few pieces that would work.  I have a bit of a roll above my shorts, but I feel brave enough to subject the random world (luckily, I have no friends who are members!) to the sight of this roll.  James was having a great day, and I felt confident leaving him in the childcare facilities. 

I ran a ridiculously slow 1 mile on the treadmill, then did 30 reps of a low weight on several different machines.  I ended with stretching, which I desperately needed; after the pregnancy, I seem to have become even less flexible (in many ways) than before. 

And after the workout, I felt amazing, and proud.  I got dressed, left the babe, did the workout, and got myself and the baby home in one piece.  Such things would have seemed so easy to me before, but times have changed, and my standards have had to as well. 

Now, if I can just keep this up...

Water Baby

During the year I've taken off work to spend with little James, I wanted to do as much with him as possible.  Early on in his life, I took this idea to the extreme and started attending many free and paid classes with him.  17 weeks later, I've become weary of most of all but a handful of these. 

One that remains is his weekly swimming lesson.  It takes place on a weekly basis in a heated pool with about five other babies.  Some of it is very fluffy - for instance, we all stand in a circle, hold the babies, and softly sing "The Wheels on the Bus" while slowly revolving.  James shows little interest in these silly games - while they are probably designed to make the babies comfortable in water, James was fine from the beginning.  The real value of the class lies (for me, at least) in the challenging parts - the dunks under water, for instance.  Most recently, the instructor would take the baby and push it underwater towards the mother, who would take it out.  It was a scary moment, but he emerged fine, and seemed to like it well enough.  It seems that with parenthood, it's the scary moments that will end up being the most rewarding.  Singing in a circle is safe, but forgettable.  And cringeworthy.

The beauty of local coffee shops

Nearly four months into the parenthood adventure, I find that staying home brings out all the worst feelings of parenthood: feeling a bit trapped, bored, lonely, and sometimes resentful of my much more free male partner.

But today I have found the perfect solution.  As I sit here at the local Starbucks (although it could be any coffee shop, really) I find myself wondering how mothers used to survive without these.  I've discovered that a coffee shop offers everything a mom could want:

1.  Food and drink
2.  A crowd of people to help prevent isolation and insanity (and to witness examples of insanity in others, thereby making one feel more sane)
3.  No limits on the amount of time one can spend
4.  Built-in entertainment for the baby
5.  Free internet

The two of us have been here for two hours now.  James took a nap when we arrived and woke up hungry.  Happy for a break from work, I fed him, and he's now playing by staring at people at other tables, staring at his fingers, twirling his blanket, listening to music.  Every now and then I look at him and smile, and he smiles back.  We're each working in his own way:  me doing admin on the computer, and he building his brain.  Should I need to feed him, I carry only the most valuable items: my purse (which contains the changing materials), the baby, and my computer.  Remaining at my table are the pram, my coffee and my computer charger. 

Help you help me

Much has been discussed about the effect that having a child can have on a couple's relationship.  And most of it is true.

No more high schoolish games of "try and guess what I need to make me happy," or "I'll act cryptically upset and wait for you to figure out what to do."  Melodrama, martyring, and passive aggressive behaviour, not optimal in a  childless relationship, have absolutely no place in one with children.  Somewhat sadly for the drama addicts, only straightforward honesty will do.

So, if you're feeling that you are doing more than your share, don't withdraw, or act petulant in hopes that your partner will notice.  Consider what you will need to make you happy, and tell your partner.  "Can you please start washing the dishes more frequently," or, "I'd like it if you not smoke cigars around our infant," or "I would like to attend XXX on XXX date and would love it if you could stay home with junior."  If you're upset, or feel overwhelmed, don't lash out indiscriminately.  Try and figure out why, and figure out what you need.  Not even the best partner can read your mind.

Don't play games or make him guess.  Help him help you.

Sterilising: is it necessary for breastfeeding materials?

I am going to reveal a somewhat embarassing and contraversial truth:

I do not sterilise my pump, and do not always sterilise my the baby bottles before using them for breastmilk.

After suggesting to a friend that it may not be necessary to sterilise bottles, she was appalled.  Of course it is necessary to sterilise them, she said: after all, all the bottle and equipment manufacturers say so.  I myself believed them for the first few weeks. 

But then I read the fine print in one of my many books about breastfeeding.  According to the la leche league, one must only sterilise bottles and equipment if you are using formula.  When using formula, it is mandatory.  But when you are breastfeeding, and simply using the pump and bottles for breastmilk, no special sterilisiation procedures need to be followed. 

After three months of this, my baby has yet to get sick with anything.  I can only conclude that the la leche experts are right, even though the concept of not sterilising sounds so foreign to today's mothers who have been taught that a steriliser is a necessary piece of equipment.

But please note that I do wash the things thoroughly.  I may not be the most detail-oriented of mothers, but I am not a dirty one. 

**Please note that it is indeed necessary to sterilise all equipment when using formula**

Clearer Cues

I had heard from my mother friends that at three months, a new phase of childhood begins.  The "fourth trimester" ends, and the child begins to be slightly more self-sufficient. 

I am pleased to be able to confirm this.  Seemingly overnight, James began communicating in more obvious ways.  He has a strong "tired cry,"  which is almost a loud scream.  He laughs and smiles more than ever.  He wakes, sleeps and eats more regularly.  His size is bigger, making him more managable, and me less afraid.  Even the types of clothes he can wear is expanding (slowly) from the standard onesies and into miniature versions of real shirts and pants.

After seeing this transformation, I wonder why there is such a clamour for grandparents to see little newborns.  Wait 3 months, I say, and you'll be rewarded with a real little person that not only takes love and effort, but returns it as well.  I still can't even imagine what this baby will look like as a boy, but I'm getting closer to learning what parenthood is all about. 

First airplane ride!

We have successfully navigated our first airplane ride with little baby James.  It was a short flight, so we didn't have to deal with the dreaded "ear pain" problem, but it was a signficant milestone.  Having previously been one of the selfish travellers who would cast a disapproving eye over parents with screaming children, I boarded the airplane fully ready to accept such glances.  But James never cried.

Flying with a baby is simple:  you place him in his stroller, somehow manage to push it along with all your bags, take the infant at the airplane gate and leave your stroller to be placed in the cargo hold.  Contrary to logic, the stroller is not given to you at the landing gate.  Instead, you must manoeuvre down the hallways, and through customs, while holding your baby.  The stroller then comes out with the rest of the checked luggage.  (after a few years of speedy travel with no checked baggage, I must get reacquainted with the luggage belt!)

This would be a nightmare were it not for the baby Bjorn, a contraption that has become one of my most used possessions.  When you strap your baby in, you become free to carry your other baggage, and you're usually able to lull your baby to sleep.  With a relatively small carryon, a luggage cart, and the Bjorn, you're ready to face preparation for any flight.  (the flight itself, and potential screaming, is another issue.)

Obsessive Life Sculpting

I've often wondered what exactly it is about parenting that attracts people.  For some, it's the chance to unselfishly love another.  Others - gardeners, if you will - enjoy watching the baby grow.  A few procreate because it is expected.  There are always the accidental parents. 

But I've been exposed recently to parents who fall into a more insidious category:  the Manic Life Sculpter. 

We are all life sculpters to a degree.  We need to make choices about our children - where they will live, where they travel, who they stay with, what they eat, what they call their grandparents.  But some parents take this too far. 

In many cities, there are private schools.  Some of these private schools are difficult to get into, and require elaborate testing.  Others are difficult to get into because of lottery systems that are used.  One of these with the highest reputation uses a system whereby they take the first two students born in each month.  This system was created because of its randomness.

We learned that an acquaintence of ours scheduled an elective c-section to be on the first of the month so that their little girl is assured a place.  The c-section went as planned, and the little girl was awarded a place.  It brings success-obsession to a whole new level - if the parents are exerting this much pressure on her even before she was born, what type of childhood can she expect?

One distant from her parents, it seems.  The parents have already lost interest, it seems, in their child, and began using babysitters and nannies when the child was only 2 days old.  It was not for a major event - a wedding that was unmissable, or a return to work.  No, the parents did this solely so that they could have a regular meal at the local restaurant. 

I try to refrain from judging the actions of parents, and I know that we all approach it with different motivations and expected outcomes.  But this striving for "success" while ignoring true acts of successful parenting is in an entirely different category.

Goodbye, Abscess

After several trips to the doctors and many bits of conflicting advice, it seems that my abscess is clearing on its own.  I've seen approximately 10 different medical professionals about it, and the advice has been all over the map.  One advocated surgery; another drainage with a needle; still another suggested that nature would take care of it.  One scowled at my continued breastfeeding and insisted that I stop immediately; the others lauded my perseverance.  One said I should not stop taking antibiotics, no matter what; another mandated that I stop taking antibiotics, no matter what. 

I have learned one thing from all of this:  the breast is a much more complex piece of machinery than I had ever guessed.  I will never see this organ as a sexual object again.  To me, it is simply a functional device.  When I head to a doctor's office about this problem, I now automatically lift my shirt while discussing the problem, to the occasional embarassment of the medical professionals present. The male doctors assume I will feel violated and sometimes request a female nurse to attend.  I now scoff at such protective precautions.

In my case, aspiration with ultrasound, antibiotics, and continued breastfeeding did the trick.  But were I not so intent on breastfeeding, I doubt I would have made it through all the treatment. 

This all points to the most important lesson of breastfeeding:  if you have a lump, massage it out before it turns into mastitis.  If you have mastitis, by all means treat it with antibiotics, feeding, and massaging before it turns into an abscess.  And if you have an abscess, try everything.