I have now officially become obsessed with feeding. From the beginning, I've been determined to breast feed. I lived through the first two weeks of severe nipple pain (why do none of the books talk about how common this is?), made it through a bout of mastitis, and have braved public scrutiny on several occasions.
But now, as the boy's weight seems to continually drop in the charts and James has begun actively crying when I offer him my "bad" left breast (probably due to the hard lump of unmilked tissue that remains), I have begun to realise that motivation is not enough. I have to do some serious creative maintenence work.
Last night, my husband came upstairs to find me in an incredibly ridiculous position: holding baby under one arm, with his legs out behind my back, in an effort to allow him to approach the breast from a different direction. (yes, it worked - he actually took it.) If that stops working, I've read about even more ridiculous positions to try: 1) Baby on bed, me on all fours with breast dangling into his mouth; 2) baby slung over shoulder, with head approaching breast upside down.
These positions are crazy. Must babies be gymnasts in order to suckle contentedly? It all looked so easy in the government informational materials...
Thursday, 24 March 2011
Saturday, 19 March 2011
The weight gain game
Six weeks in, I've discovered what seems to be the major mark of achievement for new mothers and associated health practitioners: baby weight gain. And somehow, I have fallen behind.
Upon birth, James' weight was firmly in the 50th percentile, meaning of course that his weight was "about average." Sounded good to me - I had no hopes or fears around the figure. Two weeks later, he remained in the 50th percentile. But last week, the nurse looked alarmingly at me after weighing him: apparently, even though he had continued to gain weight, James had fallen to the 25th percentile. Shock! Until that point, I had breastfed exclusively, and once I got past the standard initial two weeks of pain, I felt I had found my rhythm. James seemed happy, and his little cheeks were getting fat. I felt the breast feeding to be a success.
But, upon getting the news, my resolve begin to weaken. I extrapolated, and imagined him dropping down to the 10th percentile, then the 5th. Maybe he could be taken away from me? Suddenly, I realized why it was that so many women give up breastfeeding - the fear of the percentages. In the western world, we are almost cursed with too much knowledge. Everything becomes a competition. And no matter how confident I am that my baby looks healthy, I can't help but fearing accordingly.
Since I've become aware of this information, I've been on a feeding frenzy, putting in the boob as soon as James utters a cry. The nurse says that she'll weigh him again next week to see how he's doing. I'm determined to fatten this little baby up accordingly. And if I don't? Time will tell.
Upon birth, James' weight was firmly in the 50th percentile, meaning of course that his weight was "about average." Sounded good to me - I had no hopes or fears around the figure. Two weeks later, he remained in the 50th percentile. But last week, the nurse looked alarmingly at me after weighing him: apparently, even though he had continued to gain weight, James had fallen to the 25th percentile. Shock! Until that point, I had breastfed exclusively, and once I got past the standard initial two weeks of pain, I felt I had found my rhythm. James seemed happy, and his little cheeks were getting fat. I felt the breast feeding to be a success.
But, upon getting the news, my resolve begin to weaken. I extrapolated, and imagined him dropping down to the 10th percentile, then the 5th. Maybe he could be taken away from me? Suddenly, I realized why it was that so many women give up breastfeeding - the fear of the percentages. In the western world, we are almost cursed with too much knowledge. Everything becomes a competition. And no matter how confident I am that my baby looks healthy, I can't help but fearing accordingly.
Since I've become aware of this information, I've been on a feeding frenzy, putting in the boob as soon as James utters a cry. The nurse says that she'll weigh him again next week to see how he's doing. I'm determined to fatten this little baby up accordingly. And if I don't? Time will tell.
Tuesday, 15 March 2011
Baby's favorite color
Those without babies of your own, stop reading; this will address the most feared topic of non-baby owners: baby poo. It seems to me quite ironic that while very young babies cannot easily discern different colors, their poo takes on a vast variety of hues, textures and characteristics. I've seen it described as black, white, green, pale, frothy, seedy. And these differences are not subtle - they are as obvious as big, flashing neon signs.
But while these signs are obvious and easy to describe, they seem less easy to interpret. Today I've been suffering from the main problem with researching baby issues on the internet: TMISI, or Too Much Information Supplied by Imbiciles. I was so concerned with the change of James' poo color from the "normal" mustard color to white and then green, however, that I spent an hour sifting through first-hand accounts of incidents involving various shades. I ended my research period more confused than I started.
I did learn, however, that the change of poo color to green is often a symptom of too much "foremilk" and not enough "hindmilk." Women in Africa know of no such difference in milk - they simply latch the baby on and wait for it to feed - without this chiming group of anonymous internet voices following their moves.
I now no longer care what this particular color of poo means. I know that the baby seems happy and healthy, and any diagnosis would require more symptoms anyway. What I'm more concerned about, honestly is this: how did my brain get to such a state that baby poo is now interesting? Bring me a copy of the Economist, please!
But while these signs are obvious and easy to describe, they seem less easy to interpret. Today I've been suffering from the main problem with researching baby issues on the internet: TMISI, or Too Much Information Supplied by Imbiciles. I was so concerned with the change of James' poo color from the "normal" mustard color to white and then green, however, that I spent an hour sifting through first-hand accounts of incidents involving various shades. I ended my research period more confused than I started.
I did learn, however, that the change of poo color to green is often a symptom of too much "foremilk" and not enough "hindmilk." Women in Africa know of no such difference in milk - they simply latch the baby on and wait for it to feed - without this chiming group of anonymous internet voices following their moves.
I now no longer care what this particular color of poo means. I know that the baby seems happy and healthy, and any diagnosis would require more symptoms anyway. What I'm more concerned about, honestly is this: how did my brain get to such a state that baby poo is now interesting? Bring me a copy of the Economist, please!
Wednesday, 2 March 2011
Spiritual Motivation
In preparation for James' baptism this Sunday, tonight my husband and I attended a "baptism preparation" class conducted by the church. This session, which we attended along with four other couples, was mandatory for parents of children who will be baptised.
Our church makes a strong effort to avoid patronising or lecturing, which means that it is naturally difficult for them to hold classes of any sort. It is difficult to talk about religion without resorting to sermon or lecture, and as a result, the main focus of the session was a women with long hair sitting on the floor, moving around replicas of Noah's Ark and the animals and reciting the fable that all of us already knew. The room was silent aside from her narrative whispers punctuated by long pauses. During these vast periods of silence, I stared at the floor, hoping (or, should I say, "praying") that I wouldn't laugh.
There was one relatively interesting element of the session. We discussed the rationale for our decision to baptize our little one. Why, indeed? When I was a child, my parents allowed me to choose my own religion and my own church. Aside from being given reference materials and various religious texts including an illustrated bible, I was never really pushed in one direction. It occurred to me tonight that by baptizing our son, we may be pushing him in a particular direction - one that I am not even sure of.
I ended the night realizing that there are other elements of the church that I am pursuing for James. The local church community, the shared understanding with our family members, the traditions that have been passed on through my husband's family - all of these may be equally valid reasons for pursuing a particular religion for our children. While people may not be quick to admit it, it is probably these tangential benefits, rather than the chance to worship, that encourage most parents to join a religion. Now, we must wait and see how our children like our choice.
Our church makes a strong effort to avoid patronising or lecturing, which means that it is naturally difficult for them to hold classes of any sort. It is difficult to talk about religion without resorting to sermon or lecture, and as a result, the main focus of the session was a women with long hair sitting on the floor, moving around replicas of Noah's Ark and the animals and reciting the fable that all of us already knew. The room was silent aside from her narrative whispers punctuated by long pauses. During these vast periods of silence, I stared at the floor, hoping (or, should I say, "praying") that I wouldn't laugh.
There was one relatively interesting element of the session. We discussed the rationale for our decision to baptize our little one. Why, indeed? When I was a child, my parents allowed me to choose my own religion and my own church. Aside from being given reference materials and various religious texts including an illustrated bible, I was never really pushed in one direction. It occurred to me tonight that by baptizing our son, we may be pushing him in a particular direction - one that I am not even sure of.
I ended the night realizing that there are other elements of the church that I am pursuing for James. The local church community, the shared understanding with our family members, the traditions that have been passed on through my husband's family - all of these may be equally valid reasons for pursuing a particular religion for our children. While people may not be quick to admit it, it is probably these tangential benefits, rather than the chance to worship, that encourage most parents to join a religion. Now, we must wait and see how our children like our choice.
Tuesday, 1 March 2011
The family descends
Family have begun to arrive. They are coming from all corners of the earth to stay with us. They will bring offerings of clothes and toys, and will come with offers to help with laundry and cooking. Next weekend is the crown jewel of the visits: the christening of young James. He will be only a month old, a bit young for a christening, but this is the day that was most convenient for everyone. As a consequence, family and friends are able to come in vast quantities, and are making vast efforts to do so.
I am beginning to feel the pressure. James cannot hold his head up yet, can hardly stay awake during the day, and barely sleeps at night. He has about 23.5 minutes per day of alert "play-time," during which he can either stare blankly into the eyes of the person holding him, or gaze blankly out of a window. It is fascinating to me, because this boy is under my care, but I can hardly imagine that this will be entertaining stuff to the rest of the family. I have begun to worry that they will think their travel efforts have been in vain, or scheduled too early. I predict that the grandparents will leave feeling that they are leaving at just the time they should have been arriving in order to see the most development.
I loved the birth, and the two weeks that followed - time spent with just the three of us. But now, I feel that I have to emerge into the world and its pressures. This week of family events may be a severe trial by fire. My parenting abilities will be on parade, I feel. As I still have trouble keeping young James from spraying me as I change his diaper, I am concerned as to how I will perform. And then I ask myself: does everything have to be a competition? Can I just do my thing, let the family do theirs, and let judgements fall where they may? Or does my newness as a parent mean I will fall victim to senseless criticism. Time will tell. Let's hope this week passes quickly.
I am beginning to feel the pressure. James cannot hold his head up yet, can hardly stay awake during the day, and barely sleeps at night. He has about 23.5 minutes per day of alert "play-time," during which he can either stare blankly into the eyes of the person holding him, or gaze blankly out of a window. It is fascinating to me, because this boy is under my care, but I can hardly imagine that this will be entertaining stuff to the rest of the family. I have begun to worry that they will think their travel efforts have been in vain, or scheduled too early. I predict that the grandparents will leave feeling that they are leaving at just the time they should have been arriving in order to see the most development.
I loved the birth, and the two weeks that followed - time spent with just the three of us. But now, I feel that I have to emerge into the world and its pressures. This week of family events may be a severe trial by fire. My parenting abilities will be on parade, I feel. As I still have trouble keeping young James from spraying me as I change his diaper, I am concerned as to how I will perform. And then I ask myself: does everything have to be a competition? Can I just do my thing, let the family do theirs, and let judgements fall where they may? Or does my newness as a parent mean I will fall victim to senseless criticism. Time will tell. Let's hope this week passes quickly.
Sunday, 27 February 2011
... 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
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
Tuesday, 22 February 2011
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!
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!
Tuesday, 15 February 2011
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...
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...
Monday, 14 February 2011
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...
Thursday, 10 February 2011
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.
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.
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