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.    

Travel planning with baby

It's done.  We've officially booked our first flight that includes baby James!  I must admit that this is upcoming trip is a daunting prospect.  We've navigated cars, taxis, trains, and buses, but the idea of taking a plane is so different!  There's planning and packing, taking the taxi to the airport, navigating security while juggling all the various and necessary baby items... and this is even before we make it onto the plane.  Once on, we'll have to figure out how James will sit/lay, how to make sure he's secure, how to deal with angry stares from fellow passerby in case he starts crying (I must admit, I used to be one of the starers.  It will be hard to transition to staree!), and, worst of all - how to deal with the potential ear pain involved in the landing.  And, once there, our bags may have been lost.  I personally can go for days without my luggage, but things will not be so easy with the little one. 

Travel used to be one of my favorite things.  Has all that changed?  Have I really changed into the paranoid and overplanning parent?  Parenthood has suddenly taken on a new level of seriousness. 

Nappy emergency

I'm beginning to understand why moms complain about all the equipment they need to prepare to leave the house, even before the baby is drinking anything besides milk.  It's not the things you need that take all the space - it's the things you MAY need.

This is particularly true for busy baby mommas who enjoy being out of the house for extended periods of time.  Yesterday, I left the house for lunch at around noon with James' uncle and father.  We were meeting friends for dinner at 6:30.  Since we now have a little one, I decided to ignore my usual motto that it's often easier, and more sensible, to simply plan for a day long expedition than to return home for a rushed 30 minutes in between.  I thought that with a baby, I would no longer want to be out all day.  I was wrong.  Clearly, having a baby has not completely changed my personality, because once out, I wanted to stay out.  We had lunch, went on a walk, enjoyed the lovely Spring weather in a park, stopped by a pub to watch a tennis match, and before we knew it, it was 5:30 pm... really too late to go home and come back.  It made more sense to remain.

This was slightly unfortunate, becuase I was not fully prepared for all situations.  I wasn't prepared for the huge poop that James did at 5:35, nor the leaky diaper that acted as little more than a sieve.  While the boys enjoyed the sports on television with our half-naked baby, I found myself in the bathroom scrubbing James' little outfit with handsoap, then holding a still slightly spotted and soapy onesy up to the handdryer for ten minutes as women looked amusedly on. 

The lesson:  prepare for the worst, even if you must carry an entire bag full of items you never use.  More diapers than you could use in a week, two extra changes of clothes, an extra pack of wipes, extra pacifiers... there must be more I can add to my defensive arsenal.  As this baby grows, so will the bag.  I shudder to imagine it, but nor can I imagine a world in which I am chained to the house. 

The outcome was that the baby looked fine, dinner was fun and fabulous, and we had a great time.  Not coming home was worth the added stress.  But next time, I hope to avoid it completely through proper planning.

An uncooperative breast

You may recall that I have been facing difficulties with a breast - mastitis, to be precise. I hadn't been able to kick this problem, despite three courses of antibiotics, massage, continued feeding on the breast in question, and a goal of drinking massive amounts of water.  Perhaps my attemps at these activities weren't as strong as they could have been, or there was a problem with my breast to begin with.  Whatever the reason, my mastitis seems to have progressed into an abscess - a pocket of infection that needs to be drained.  It's red, sore and difficult to feed with, and the nipple is looking slightly skewed.  (ok, really skewed, red and swollen - my husband refuses to even look at it.  Nope, no second baby for us anytime soon!)  Were I not so completely dedicated to breast feeding, I would have easily given up. 

My doctor has referred me to have an ultrasound so that the doctors can see whether the mastitis has progressed to an abscess.  If it has, I believe the solution will be to lance it and let it ooze.  Sounds lovely.  Pregnancy and breastfeeding continue to make my body into a punching bag for my own body.  It's like an internal version of Fight Club - it's just as secretive and serious, but no one on the outside can see the pain. 

As a temporary measure, I've begun steadily expressing from the affected breast and feeding James a bottle.  He had difficulties with the Medela bottles, but loves the Mimijumi bottle I was given as a gift.  It looks a bit odd - it's shaped like a breast to make the experience better for the baby - but it seems to work well.  I'm hoping that using this breast-shaped bottle will make it easier for James to return to the actual breast when the situation has improved.  If I can go through the added hassle of pumping, surely he can go through the added hassle of latching to the breast!

Things change... but stay the same

Eight weeks after the birth, I decided it was time to take a step away from bottles and nappies, and back towards the real world.  I braved the rush hour to meet with three of my colleagues after work.  We had arranged to meet at 5:30, and I figured we would have a glass of wine, then perhaps head to dinner for food, drinks, and cheer.  I would hear all the office gossip and news about how people had shifted positions in the dynamic organisation for which I work. 

I had forgotten it was Monday, that it is somehow more difficult to spend money when one has a steady income, and that, in a big bank. very little can change over 2 months.  My colleagues weren't in the mood to drink or spend (which I, still weak physically and financially, decidedly was) and I quickly learned that there was very little new gossip.  No one had quit or gotten fired, there had been no accidental "reply alls,"  and although I had begun over the past few days to look forward to returning, I was vividly reminded of how repetitive a 9-to-5 job can be. 

While it was fantastic to catch up with these women on their personal and professional lives on an individual level, it's clear that while parenthood can be repetitive by nature, the financial world - despite the air of excitement that surrounds the suited and booted rush hour crowds - can be just as much so.