The Underwear Drawer

It was time to clean out my underwear drawer. I’d been struggling to stuff my clean laundry in there for a while. “What the hell is in here?” I thought, digging past the piles of undies that I’ve become accustomed to. And I pulled out a handful of these:

And some of these:

And a bunch of these:

Not those exactly, but variations on the theme. I would’ve shown you my actual sexy underthings if I hadn’t immediately had a memorial service for them, cried my eyes out and tossed them into the trash.

RIP sexy undies. You made me proud. You kept me panty-line free. You made me feel young and fun and hot. We had some good times. Remember that time you got pulled off and placed on the Christmas tree at that one party, inspiring others to do the same, until the entire tree was covered in underwear? You were the sexiest pair on that tree:

Ah, undies of 2006, you made me proud.

What happened? How did I go from those… to these?

Except mine are beige. Booooorrrrrinnng. Yes. It’s true. I wear those. Cotton. Lace-free. Mom panties. I won’t say Granny panties just yet, but pretty damn close. They are actually “boy shorts” style, so I like to think a small step up from giant briefs. But there is a lot of material there.

I remember mocking my mom friend when I saw her clean laundry and what she was sportin’ in the bedroom these days — full-coverage briefs. I called her a grandma, and she made a snide comment about my butt floss.

But now I get it. At some point when I was pregnant, I bought some bigger underwear to cover my expanding posterior. And damn, if they weren’t comfortable. And after I gave birth, there was no way I was wearing thongs anytime soon. I mean, you just want your sore parts to feel better. To be covered. To not be crammed with scratchy, lacy, tiny strings. So the big ones became the standard, and the tiny ones got shoved to the back of my drawer.

And now the sexy things are gone and the big girl panties fill my underwear drawer. This is my life now.

But it’s not the end of the line yet. I’ll be sure to update this post when I’ve moved on to the next stage:

DH, I know you’re cringing, but we both know it’s going to happen. Better make peace with it now.

Getting More Zs

Chalk it up to another surprise in the parenting adventure: I decided to give sleep training a try. Something I was against at first. For those who don’t know, there are various methods to sleep training, but most involve crying — both you and your baby. I had heard from several people, when I was in the throes of the sleep-deprived early months, that “It’s ok to let them cry” or “Sometimes, you just gotta let them cry themselves to sleep.” And as a new mom, I thought, no fucking way. Not only could I not listen to my baby cry (seriously, it pains my heart) but to not respond to it? Why don’t you just stick a needle in my eye?

I remember an episode of “Mad About You” when Paul and Jamie are outside their kid’s door, holding each other in their arms, crying and struggling to not repond to their crying baby. And at the time, it didn’t phase me much. My mom was a believer in the cry it out method. I’m sure I cried it out when I was a kid. I think I filed it away as something parents just have to do at some point. No big deal. But for some reason that image stayed with me, that one of them visibly shaken while not responding to their child’s anguished cries. And whenever someone suggested to me that sleep training works, that letting your baby cry themselves to sleep is normal, I’d have a viseral reaction and picture that image from that show.

And then we hit a wall. Well, let me rephrase. My husband had hinted about the “just let her cry” approach a few times, and I always said “no way” or even “over my dead body.” And then I hit a wall. It suddenly became clear to me that what we were doing wasn’t going to get us any sleep anytime soon.

We had a routine with Little C. All the experts say a routine is important, so the child knows what’s coming and is expected of them. I knew I didn’t want to make it too complicated (I can picture Charlie at 4, demanding to have the routine she’s become accustumed to – bath, book, bottle, rocking, singing, etc. – and we just want her to GO TO BED ALREADY. So nothing too long or involved.) We settled into this: We (either me or DH – we switch off bedtime duty) put her into PJs and a sleep sack, put socks over her hands (so she doesn’t scratch her face), and rock her while feeding her her last bottle. Usually she’d be asleep before finishing the bottle, but if not, then she gets her pacifier, and we rock her to sleep before gently setting her down in her crib, turning on her white noise machine and tip-toeing out the door.

Turns out, you’re not supposed to rock your baby to sleep. But try to picture for the moment the cutest, sweetest little sleepy baby in your arms. And watching them slow blink while looking at you with heavy-lidded adorableness and then sighing their way into peaceful sleep in your arms. Nice, right? Why not do that? It’s awesome.

But then… Charlie started waking up crying multiple times a night. She’d cry and look at me like “Why aren’t you picking me up? Mom, you’re right there! Please help me!” And because I was the one who would hear her in the night most times, I’d be the one getting up and going in there and picking her up, settling back down in the rocking chair and rocking her back to sleep. And I lived with that for some time. And it was survivable. Not ideal, but this is parenthood, right? It comes with sleep deprivation. And rocking your baby back to sleep once a night wasn’t the worst thing.

But then… it started happening more than once a night. The lack of sleep started to get to me, and I’d poke DH awake and mumble, “You’re turn.” He’d wake up confused, and I’d have to explain, “She’s crying. Go help her.” And off he’d go, to do the same rock-back-to-sleep thing. Sometimes we’d pull a bottle out and feed her back to sleep too — another no-no when your baby has reached the age and weight stage where they can night wean. We were probably overfeeding her, but when you’re desperate, you’ll try anything.

And then one night… one awful night, we took turns doing it — about every hour. And at one point, DH fell asleep in the rocking chair while holding her (she’s on a huge nursing pillow in our laps, so she’s safe) and I woke up an hour later and went in to wake him and help him gently set her down. “This is not the solution,” I whispered, and I realized that we had to try something else.

I did a little reading and bought a book online, but before the book was delivered, I just decided to listen to my instincts and try something myself. After her bottle/rock, I put her down sleepy but not asleep. I gave her her pacifier and said, “Time to go night-night,” turned on her white noise and left the room. Of course she cried. I waited about 30 seconds-1 minute and then went back in and gave her the pacifier back, patted her gently and walked back out. And we did this for while, and I’d stand outside her door for maybe 2 minutes tops, or whenever I couldn’t take it anymore, and I’d go in and do it again. She’d roll on her stomach sometimes, so I’d have to roll her back. But the crying didn’t get too crazy. She was tired after all. It was more of a “I don’t like this one bit, Mom” cry more than “OH MY GOD WHY WON’T YOU RESCUE ME?” cry. It was tolerable.

After maybe 15-20 minutes, it was over. She took her pacifier, rolled onto her side and fell asleep. I just about shat myself. Could it really be this easy? Is this just a fluke? She woke up once maybe that night. And the next few nights, it got easier — 10 minutes of fussing, tops. Usually, she wakes up a few times in her first 3 hours after falling asleep, so we go in and give her the pacifier back (I can’t wait for the day she can find it herself!) and then she’s out. And then, right about the time my husband and I are both in bed … she sleeps through the night.

Through.

The.

Night.

You guys. I can’t believe it, but it’s working. Sleep training is working. She’s learning to sooth herself to sleep. She still cries a little, but one night she was in a good mood and just cooed, squeeked and sang herself to sleep. It was beautiful.

I got my sleep book, by the way – The Sleepeasy Solution. I read the two chapters on sleep training a baby right away, and it turns out my intincts are pretty good. They recommend you don’t touch the baby when you go back in, and they recommend waiting 5 min, then 10 min, then 15 mintues before returning, a length of time I’m just not comfortable with. But for the most part, I’m already doing it, and it makes sense. I’m learning as I go here, and it’s not perfect (Charlie has started waking at the crack of dawn), and I know it could all change tomorrow, but for now, it’s working. We’re all getting more sleep. Hooray!

 

Hello 2013!

Holy crap. Time is sure flying! I have mentally written about 674 blog posts since you last heard from me. But the kid, my beautiful, delightful baby, takes up all my time and before I know it, over 2 months have passed! I’m not sure how it happened!

So, a quick catchup (and I write this on the fly. No drafting in Word beforehand, reading over and over and revising, then trying to make it funnier — nope. “Aint nobody got time for dat!”):

Charlotte is 7 1/2 months old! She sits up on her own now. She rolls all over the place and scoots on her belly. She’s not crawling yet, but I can tell she wants to. She has two teeth poking through! She sleeps mostly through the night now, and I’ve stopped waking her up for feedings. She’s finally learned to swallow pureed foods, instead of just pushing them out of her mouth. She is super curious about everything we put in our mouths. She laughs easily, especially when her father kisses her and she feels his beard. She can pick up tiny objects with her fingers (she’s right handed) and loves to take our hands and pull herself to standing. She’ll be walking no time!

She had her first illness just before Christmas – RSV. We had to treat her with a nebulizer. She flew with us to GA and did great on the plane (thankfully, she was not THAT baby) and, even sick, she charmed everyone she met there. She met her 90-year-old great-granny. She had her first visit with Santa, her first portraits taken, and probably a whole slew of other firsts that in my sleep-deprived, just-exercised-and-am-exhausted brain, am forgetting. Did that sentence even make sense? I don’t even care!

The new year started off great since me and DH finally did it! Just before 2013 we got it on, and I’m happy to report that it didn’t hurt and everything came back to me! Hurray! And a huge thank you to my patient, wonderful husband who dealt with about 9 months of no action like a champ. You’re the best, honey!

My new goal is to get off my ass. I just started really instense DVD workouts this week by Zuzka Light. I can only do them just before bed, which is about the least motivated hour of my day, but I gotta do it anyway. It occurred to me that it’ll soon be summer, and I don’t want to wear long sleeves and pants and scarves that sort of disguise my big belly then. My body is a bitch, totally protesting it all. Even my vagina screams “fuck you!” when I’m doing certain exercises. Not sure that’ll ever get better. I’m carrying 26.5 pounds that didn’t exist before baby, and they are going to be history.

Let’s see, what else? I thought I was going to skip the whole pees-when-she-sneezes thing that a lot of moms report. And it’s sort of true. No problem when I sneeze. But then one day, I got some food caught in my throat and had to do some heavy coughing — and with each cough, a squirt. Lovely, right? Totally wet my pants in my kitchen. Thankfully, no one noticed. Sigh…

I think the biggest lesson I’ve learned as a mom is to roll with the punches and try to stay flexible. Just when I think I’ve got it figured out, it all changes. And I can’t let myself get fixated on the things that don’t work out – I just do the best I can and try to listen to my instincts. For example, here I thought I was going to be an attachment parent — beastfeeding, baby-wearing and co-sleeping — and not one of those has worked out. Who knew? But my baby is happy and we’re doing the best we can and finding what works for us as a family. And that’s all we can do. That’s all any parent can do, right?

This is the most boring post ever, but I just had to bite the bullet and get something out there. I hope to write more, but who knows? I may blink and Charlotte will be 19.

Pandahead!

Dear Charlotte,

You are too precious for words. Just keep doing what you’re doing, and we will try to keep up.

Love, Mom

Not an Ending; A New Beginning

We’ve officially given up breastfeeding. It’s been a few weeks and Charlie is thriving just fine. I was, at times, heartbroken (I’m a bad mom and my body is stupid and now she’s going to get sick …) and other times elated (I can have wine and caffeine and cold medicine when I’m sick and no more fucking pumping — hurray!) Nothing is more frustrating when you want to do what is right and natural, and your body refuses to cooperate. I can make and grow a baby; I just can’t feed one. WTF.

Oh well, onward and upward. I did my best, and it didn’t work out. Thankfully, my baby doesn’t seem phased at all. She reaches for the formula like she hasn’t eaten in days and drinks it down like an old boozer. Sometimes she shakes with excitement. She gets ornery when I stop feeding her to burp her. And when she’s satiated, her eyes roll back and her head bobbles like a proper drunk. She’s still not eating the amount­ “they” say she “should” for her weight. (2-2 ½ ounces per pound = 32-48 ounces a day. She takes in around 30.) But she eats until she full, and she’s growing, so there’s nothing to worry about. Or so I keep telling myself.

She is growing up so fast. I just took a glance back at her first photos and marvelled how she looks like a completely different baby. She’s laughing occasionally now, and oh, how that lights us up. She’s rolling over from her back to her front with regularity. The other way (the easier way) hasn’t become a routine yet. She can rotate in circles. She’s almost sitting up on her own. She loves to bounce in her Jumperoo. She’s drawn to elephants and loves tags. She pulls hair and loves to touch faces, exploring and cooing. She’s got abs of steel and can flop herself forward, which I learned the hard way when I propped her up on some pillows while I sat down next to her to take off my shoes. (She took a header toward the floor but I was able to catch her before the face plant, thank God.) She loves to go outside and stroll around, and she loves people. She’s a fucking delight every day — even on the harder ones (like when she doesn’t want to nap) and we know how lucky we are.

It seems like with every challenge, there’s 14 more things we find to smile about. I guess that’s nature at its finest. And I couldn’t believe it when the words formed on my tongue, and I heard myself say them: “I’m not ready for another baby yet, but I look forward to having a birth do-over.” SAY WHA–???! I can’t believe I said that out loud. It really is true – Mommy amnesia makes you forget. Or makes things fuzzy enough that you can compartmentalize the shitty parts and start thinking about doing it all. Over. Again. I know! Crazy, right?

But it won’t happen for some time. We’re too busy enjoying being parents of 1 to fuck it up by being parents of 2. Plus, you have to have sex for that to happen, so we’re in no danger there. (I know, I know! I’ve got to get on that.)

We’re getting ready to travel to Savannah for the holidays. Our first plane trip with Charlotte. Right now, my brain can’t even contemplate everything I need to remember to pack. I just hope she sleeps. Dear God, let her sleep through the red-eye flight and not be THAT BABY because I don’t want to be THOSE PARENTS.

Speaking of sleeping through – she’s sleeping through the night! Well, almost. That is, if it weren’t for me. I get paranoid and go check on her. Having hours and hours of silence is bizarre. And my crazy Mommy brain goes to bad places when I wake up and look at the clock and realize she hasn’t woken me up yet, so I have to get up and go check on her. And then I think, well, it’s been 7 hours. She’s probably hungry. If I don’t feed her now, she might wake up when I’m in the shower and then DH will have to wake up and feed her, and he needs his sleep, and oh, is that her tummy growling? So I pick her up and sleep feed her. She wakes up briefly but crashes as soon as a little food is in her belly. But if I didn’t do that, she might, just maybe, sleep straight on through to 7am, a whole 12 hours after we put her to bed. I know I need to work on this. But a part of me is sad to not get my little baby fix in the middle of the night. I’m sick, I know.

If anyone had told me five months ago that I’d feel this – this overwhelming LOVE for a tiny little human, well, I simply wouldn’t have a reference for that. I’d probably roll my eyes and think “sure, whatever.” There’s just no words to describe it. Being a mother is simply the greatest feeling in the world. I’m closing out 2012 with feelings of gratitude, love and joy. Here’s hoping 2013 brings just as many wonderful surprises.

Dear Charlotte,

Something weird is happening to your mom. I’m not afraid of your fluids. I’ve been peed on, gotten poop under my fingernails, been spit up on, drooled on, picked your nose for you, dug schmutz out of your rolls, scraped out ear wax, belly button scabs, you name it. Gross, right?? Not to me. For the first time ever, I’m not grossed out by someone else’s grody body business. Who knew? Not me. It is my pleasure to make you less gross. You’re very welcome.

Love, your mom

The End is Near

As you probably know, breastfeeding has become a challenge for us. Not enough milk = introduced formula = made less milk + could only pump twice a day once I went back to work = made even less milk.

For a long time, I was pumping 20 millileters of breast milk per session, so before bedtime, I’d give her just over 1 ounce of pumped milk, and then I’d nurse her to sleep. In trying to change my disappointment about the inability to feed my daughter naturally, I called it her vitamin shot. I mean, it’s not much, but that little bit of milk had to be good for her, right?

Well, now Charlie has started refusing to breastfeed. She cries as soon as I lay her down and pushes me away. If I try to stick a boob in her mouth, she freaks out like I’m trying to torture her. But if I immediately give her a bottle, she’ll suck it down like it’s the nectar of Gods. She clearly has a preference. Now the only time she’ll take the breast without protest is in the middle of the night. And only for about 5 minutes before she falls asleep. Then I feed her a few ounces of formula before she passes back out.

So, now I’m down to pumping 10 millileters a session. Ten. Measely. Millileters. One third of an ounce. Two precious teaspoons. Here’s a unit of measurement most of you will understand: A shot glass holds 1 ½ ounces, or 45 millileters. For me to fill a shot glass with breast milk, it would take 4 ½ sessions of pumping – or 2 ½ days, in my case. Ten millileters is hardly worth the effort of washing the pump supplies.

But I can’t stop. She gets less than half a shot of breastmilk from me each day. I mean, a normal person would just chalk it up as finished and stop torturing themselves. But I still keep going. That one 5-minute nursing session in the night is my last stronghold. I adore it. And I know it’ll soon end. Last night, she hesitated. Like, ‘What the fuck is this, Mom?’ before giving in and nursing. I silently cried. My sweet little girl is growing up and asserting herself. My pathetic body is refusing to produce milk. It’s just a matter of time. I know I need to give up, but I guess I just want to hear from someone that it’s OK to quit.

Tell me it’s OK. That it’ll be OK when it’s over. That my baby won’t get sick right away. That formula will continue to make her grow and keep her healthy. That she won’t think of me differently now that I feed her the same way the nanny does. (My secret fear is that she’s going to call the nanny “mama” before me. And it could happen. The nanny gets more time with her on weekdays than I do.)

Breastfeeding, even the small amount I could do, made me feel special. It was something only I could do with my daughter. It was amazing and lovely and made me feel incredibly close and bonded with her. And now, I feel like I’m losing my superpower.

Funky Town

If you know me and don’t want to hear about my sex life, stop reading now. You’ve been warned.

Let’s talk about sex. Typically, a doctor will give you six weeks to heal up and then gives you the thumbs up for sex. And I’m calling bullshit on that.

Bull.

Shit.

I mean, I didn’t even have a physically traumatic birth (standard vaginal, episiotomy that healed fine) but six weeks? Are you kidding me? Let’s just say that I’ve been slow going on the whole “getting back on the horse.” At six weeks, I still had stuff coming out of me. At 12 weeks, I was still feeling like a red, puffy monkey’s ass down there. I’d say at 16 weeks was around when I started to get my vag back, as in not acutely aware that I pushed a baby out, but still having a protective feeling toward that part of my body. Well… it’s been 20 weeks (I have a 5 month old! Holy shit) and there is still a stop sign down there. My husband, my wonderful, patient husband hasn’t had hardly any action since I was seven months pregnant. So, that makes it 8 months for him. What a saint that he’s not throwing it in my face every chance he can.

What is wrong with me? Let me count the ways. Physically – the vag still doesn’t quite seem normal yet. Tampons are not working out, so there is still something going on inside of me that is like “get the fuck out.” I’m trying to get back on a regular cycle, thanks to the mini pill, but I keep bleeding, which is fucking annoying. Three periods in one month … awesome. And  I couldn’t feel less attractive in this body. But also, I feel dead inside. (More than usual.) There’s absolutely no sex drive. None. Part of it is PTSD-like, I’m sure. I don’t want nothin inside of me. And the other has to be hormones. I’m still breastfeeding – a tiny, tiny bit –  so maybe the hormones are making sure I don’t get pregnant again and are pumping out the unsexy stuff to keep me from being tempted? I don’t know. Whatever. It sucks. It’s not like I’m ready to jump his bones, but I do wish I had a little initiative. The desire to get a little action. But I don’t. As far as my body is concerned, I might as well have left my vagina at the hospital.

Also, I’d go so far as to say I’m scared. Scared of what? Pain? Pshaw. Nothing can hurt like labor. Mainly, I think I’m scared of engaging that part of me again. The wife part. I’ve spent so much time getting to know the mom part of me, and thinking of myself in terms of a mom, that the wife part seems like a faraway version of myself that I’ve grown out of or something. I don’t know if I know how to shut the mom part off and try to wake the wife. I’m afraid I’d be going through the motions and faking it. Actually, my husband deserves at least that, so I should just shut up and do it already. But to tear my brain away from that gorgeous baby we made and focus on the hubs – it’s hard. One day, we were trying to get a little action in the shower while the baby was taking a nap. I just couldn’t stop thinking about how I wouldn’t be able to hear her if she woke up and cried. Just try to be sexy when you’re thinking about your baby. Ugh. I ended it, told him I couldn’t and got out of the shower. Poor guy.

Also, parents, please tell me when you do it. How can you possibly find the time once you have a baby? Ours takes micro naps, so when she’s out, we scramble to get stuff done. Laundry, bills, etc. And when she goes down at night, before 8:00 if we’re lucky, we are just wiped out. That’s when we sack out on the couch, grab a glass of wine and watch one of our TV shows before I pass out at 9:00. Lame, I know. I know we should suck it up and just make that our time together, but please, can you blame me for preferring Parenthood (the show) to funky town? (That’s a Parenthood reference – such a good show!)

Plus, the mini pill, which is safe for breastfeeding, has a higher chance of failing. As many as 9 in 100 end up pregnant when taken correctly. And that scares the shit out of me. Go through all that again? Not sure I ever will. Two kids sounded fine once upon a time, but now, it sounds 100 times harder than one. And I can’t wrap my mind around that idea. At least, not yet. And taking that 9 percent chance so soon makes me really nervous. So condoms will probably have to be added. And ew. Not looking forward to that.

I feel like an awful wife. So much guilt. Getting used to this new feeling that seems rampant with parenthood. I feel guilty that I can’t give it up for my husband and scared that our marriage is taking a hit because of it. When will I feel normal again?

Thankful

Perspective. I have this word taped to my cubicle wall at work. Trying to change mine. I spend a lot of time focusing on the negative. I don’t know why, as I’ve got a pretty wonderful thing going here. I’ve always been a glass half-empty kind of girl. But I need to work on that and appreciate my life; be thankful.

I have the most beautiful, sweet baby girl who is 20 weeks old. I have a wonderful husband. We have a nice rental roof over our heads. I have a job. Life is good.

I just caught up on an old friend’s blog. She was dealing with infertility before she had her baby girl by IVF. That was a few years ago. And apparently they were struggling with IVF rounds 2 and 3, which ended in miscarriage. She’s a beautiful writer who put into words how agonizing it is to try so hard, spend so much money and have your hopes up so high and then have it all come crashing down. That is some tough shit. Now they are 5 months pregnant with twins, and things seemed to be going well … until recently, when she was told that there was an indicator during an ultrasound that one of the babies could have Downs. Ugh.

I’m so fucking lucky. While I bitched and moaned about how annoying pregnancy was, someone was losing their baby. While I was whining about the loss of my birth plan and how disappointing Charlotte’s birth was, someone was losing their second baby. While I lamented the fact that I wasn’t making enough milk, someone was finding out scary news about their unborn child. And it goes on…. Someone had their two children swept out of their arms while trying to find shelter during Hurricane Sandy. Someone died because they were having a miscarriage and the hospital wouldn’t give her a D&C because they didn’t believe in abortion. A parade float carrying multiple veterans got hit by a train. I mean, I just … I can’t fathom that shit. We live in a shitty fucking world sometimes. And I’m grateful for how good I have it.

Thank you, DH, for being the positive to my negative. For putting up with my grumbles and always showing me the good side. For cooking the turkey. For taking care of the spiders. For making our little girl laugh. You are a huge blessing in my life.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. Give your kiddies extra kisses. Take a moment and tell your spouse why you love them. Call that family member you haven’t talked to in a long time and say hello. Give a dollar to that homeless person on the corner. Be kind to one another.

You can go throw up now. I’ll be back to my bitchin’ in no time.

Dear Charlotte,

You’ve started trying to eat your toes. There is nothing cuter in the world. You put your tongue on your big toe and then make this face like you just ate a toe. It’s hilarious. You like to put your hands our faces and explore. When you do, you breathe faster and making little “oo oohh” noises. You suck on your lower lip and make this cute spitting noise. You’re enamoured of the bird mobile your father hung in your nursery. You curl up on your left side to sleep and turn your face into the mattress. You are so freakin’ adorable, we cannot stop smiling. Love, Mom

A Difficult and Glorious Transition

Back when Charlie’s pediatrician first brought up the subject of our sleep and moving the baby out of our bedroom, she was maybe a month old, and I was appalled. I told him and my husband, “Maybe when she’s 6 months old or sleeping through the night. But I’m not having this conversation now.” I mean, what if there was an earthquake and I couldn’t get to her? What if somehow something got in her crib and was blocking her face and she couldn’t breathe? These were the thoughts in my head. I couldn’t imagine not having my baby right next to me in the Arm’s Reach Co-Sleeper. When the doctor he brought it up a second time, I mumbled my way through a response like, “Some day. We’ll see,” and thought, I wish he’d shut up about this.

Ladies and gentleman, I’m as surprised as anyone to admit this: Charlie hit 3 months of age, and I wanted her out of my bedroom. Although it was reassuring to have her so close, so I could wake up, lift my head and look over at her, make sure she was still breathing, it was also not good for me. Because I did it a lot. Everytime she moved, which is often (who knew babies flopped around so much?) I had to check and see her, before I could go relax and go back to sleep. I had the normal new mom exhaustion, but on top of it, I had this obsessive need to reassure myself that she was OK. And it wasn’t good for me. And I eventually realized that as often as she was waking me up, I was waking her up too. I’d try to gently turn in my sleep, and then I’d hear her start flopping around. We’re both light sleepers, and we were both in need of peace.

I got to the  point where I would try to ignore her flopping about. I knew she was fine, so I was trying to train myself not to open my eyes and lift my head and look over. And because my subconsious knew I was trying to ignore her, I started having really fucked up dreams. Like I-fucked-up-and-killed-someone’s-baby dreams. And I-accidentally-hurt-my-own-baby dreams. Every night. They were awful. I’d wake up with my heart pounding and covered in sweat, crying half the time. I’d sit up and reach over and place my hand on my daughter, to make sure she was still breathing. Then I’d go back to sleep, and right back into another fucked up dream. It blew.

When I started back at work, I changed my hours to 7 to 4. I had to wake up at 5am in order to get on the road in time. Which meant I was getting very little RESTFUL sleep. I was a zmombie. And I was really tired of the dead baby dreams. So after my first week at work, I told DH, “Tonight, let’s put her to sleep in her crib.” Which is IN ANOTHER ROOM, you guys! He felt my forehead to make sure I was OK.

I’m not going to say the first two nights weren’t really, really hard. I had the monitor cranked right by my head, paranoid that she’d need me and I wouldn’t hear her. I woke up and checked on her often. And when she woke up crying (because before, she would just stir, and I’d know she was hungry – She never had to cry to wake me up to feed her) I launched myself out of bed so fast, I fell down. And then I ran to her room. And when I couldn’t find her doorknob in the dark, “shitshitshitshitshit,” I almost broke the damn door down. By the time I got to her, her cries were like, “OH MY GOD, IS NO ONE COMING TO SAVE ME???!!!” It felt awful. And I almost considered bringing her back into our bedroom. But thankfully, I didn’t. I fed her and put her back down, and she was out. And then, you guys, she slept for 5. Hours. Straight.

That doesn’t mean I wasn’t still checking on her a lot those first few days and feeling anxiety all night. I was. But by day 3 of her in her own room, I was sleeping from 9pm to 3 or 4am. The most continuous chunk of sleep I’d had since before I got pregnant. And Charlie is sleeping from 7:30 to 10 or 11, when DH gives her a sleep feed, then she has one wake up during which I feed her, then she sleeps until 7:30 IN THE MORNING. That’s 12 hours! Before this, she’d get unhappy around 5am, and one of us would have to take her out of her bed and cuddle her in the living room, during which she’d sleep for another two hours in our arms. That kind of sucked too.

But now, NOW, it is glorious. She doesn’t wake up before I leave for work, so I’m sad that I don’t get a snuggle in the mornings. But I sneak into her room and feast my eyes on my sleeping child for a few seconds, and that feels good too. We have our bedroom back, and although there’s still no action in that bed, there could be some day. And we are so close to sleeping through the night, I can taste it. But even if we aren’t, it’s totally manageable now. DH feeds her once and I feed her once. That is totally OK for however long that lasts. Because Mommy is getting some heavy, awesome, unicorns-and-rainbows sleep now. And it is making all the difference.

Hurray for sleep!!

 

A Working Mom

I survived my first week back at work. Monday was unbearable. I just missed her so much. The nanny started texting me photos, and I don’t know if that helped or made it worse. On one hand, it’s nice to see my kid still alive (and happy too) but on the other hand, it made me miss her more. It was all I could do to stay busy and not think about it. I didn’t cry, which was pretty difficult. Even when I was pumping in a conference room, feeling super emotional and vulnerable and stupid, as I always do when I’m pumping. (There’s no dignity in watching your niples get all stretched  out and barely squirt any milk. Plus, I was paranoid someone was going to walk in on me.) It’s just not fair that we have to pay someone to spend 37 ½ hours a week with our child, while we don’t get that much. Plus, we get the grumpy hours. DH gets the joyful morning hours, when she’s her smiliest. But since I have to get up at 5am (ugh!) and little C isn’t awake yet, I don’t get any time with her in the morning. Nor do I get to breastfeed her. And when I pick her up at the end of the day, she instantly cries. What the hell is that? Thanks a lot, traitor. And for the next 3 hours, she tells us exactly what she thinks of us before bedtime, when demon baby makes an appearance. (She’s teething! At 3 months! I don’t mind her being ahead of the curve in other areas, but this had better not mean she’s going to get her period at 8.)

In her first week with the nanny, little C learned how to suck on a pacifier (mixed feelings about that one), drink 3-3.5 ounces of formula per feeding, eat every 3 hours and nap for 1-2 hours twice a day. Of course, we’re messing all that up on the weekends because she’s all “Oh, you guys think I’m on a routine? Think again!” Her naps with us have been micro naps as usual. We ae making progress on the formula amounts though. The pacifier? Not really helping, unless you hold it in her mouth for her. Sorry, nanny, you’ll have to start over on Monday. (Although it’s apparently not hard for her. She’s all “She’s such a great baby. I just set her down and she goes right to sleep until I have to wake her up over 2 hours later.” I love the chick, but sometimes I want to punch her face for knowing how to work my kid better than me. I’m joking. Mostly. She’s amazing. And she’s taking our baby out and about, something I wasn’t good at when I was home with her. (The world is a big, bad, scary place and there’s so many dangers out there – I’ll just stay inside and snuggle my baby, thankyouverymuch.) They visited an indoor playground, road on a toy train and saw a puppet show this weekend. Exposing her to the world is only going to help her grow.

Last night , we packed up the family and went to check out a family friendly Oktoberfest. Not before I had my own tantrum about how I couldn’t get Charlie to sleep and therefor it would be the worst idea ever to take her out and stimulate her. Thankfully DH insisted because it was actually pretty nice. We walked around the street, ate brats and had a beer (well, I did – ok, fine, I had a wine too — and man, it was GOOD) and met up with some friends. Little Charlie had a meltdown as we left the house, and as it approached her bedtime. Nothing ends the fun faster than a kid who’s letting you know “I’m really F-ing tired, you guys, and you better come up with something to soothe me fast or you’re in for it.” But once we got her in the car and on the freeway, she was out. Whew. Seemed hardly worth the gas, but making a trip out as a family without casualties is good practice.

Before the festival, I went for my first run/walk in many, many months. (I got out of the house, guys! All by myself! Even when my baby was being all “look at me, I’m so adorable, I’m going to charm you with my smiles,” I left.) And by run/walk, I mean barely jog/spirited shuffling. I went 1.5 miles in my not-so-great neighborhood. Some thoughts along the way:

1. TNT by AC/DC is the perfect pace for me at this stage.

2. Two of my body parts hurt. I’ll let you guess which ones.

3. I need a more supportive sports bra. (Oh, did I give away one of #2?)

4. I only got startled by 6 dogs this time – progress!

5. I didn’t see any dirty needles. Progress?

6. House with the plastic flamingos – I love you.

7. I suppose I should be bring my phone and ID when I do this. That’s the responsible I’m-now-a-parent thing to do, right? Oh, no. Does that mean I’ll have to use a fannypack? (shudder)

8. Next time, I won’t wear black.

9. What are goosebumps a sign of when you’re sweating? Dehydration? Shock?

10. I’d rather be home snuggling my baby.

Look out, preggo clothes, your days are numbered!

 

Dear Charlotte,

You’re  <this close> to giggling. You do this squeel thing when you’re happy. We know that’s close to a laugh. Man are we going to melt when you laugh. Your smile lights up your whole face and we eat it up like candy. Let’s hope you never discover the power of your smile. We’ll be toast.

                                                                                    Love,

                                                                                    Your mommy

Lopsided, Bald and Crying

Took our child to DH’s workplace today. I wanted them to see what he’s missing all day. It doesn’t hurt to give them some perspective. Oh, this is why he doesn’t really want to be here. They gathered round our little angel and ooohed and aaahed over her, just as I knew they would. I’m not going to lie, it feels so good to hear how pretty your baby is. I get a chance to brag about how wonderful and sweet she is, about how it’s all worth it and imply that everyone should get one of these. Why do parents do this? So we’re all in the same club? No one wants to talk about the shitty parts. I didn’t share the shitty parts either. Because I have this blog. I will tell you, readers, all about the shitty parts. Aren’t you lucky?

My hair has started falling out. I thought maybe, just maybe, that would be one side effect of having a child that I wouldn’t get (along with hemmoroids – thank God I didn’t get those. I have a friend with severe hemmies before and after the birth of her child, and she might need surgery. I’m horrified for her.) Everyone thinks that being pregnant gives you great thick hair. That’s a myth. What all those hormones do is keep your hair from falling out like it normally does, which makes your hair feel thicker and more lustrous. Along with thin hair, before I was with child, I had hair that fell out a lot. I’d comb my hair after a shower and throw away a giant clump. My DH would find my hair everywhere – in the dust bunnies, on the bottom of his socks and in the shower drain – and would almost delightfully pick them off my upper back. Well, when I got pregnant, it stopped. I won’t say I had great hair, but it was nice to run my fingers through it and not come back with a hairball the size of Texas. Well, almost 3 months post birth, it has started. Great globs of hair. I got a respectable mommy haircut (chin length) hoping that would slow it down, but it didn’t. When I comb my hair, it’s a little alarming. I mean, how many days before I’m bald? It’s not enough that I’m throwing away big hairballs, but I find my stray hairs on my baby: wrapped around her toe, in her mouth, on her bottle’s nipple. What the fuck?

Chalk that up to another topic no one really talks about. Along with what happens to your boobs. (Badum-bum! You know I can’t post without talking my boobs!)

I’m lopsided. And it’s all my fault. Because I inadverantly favored my left breast (because milk comes out of it sooner and more plentiful), it got more use. Which means it makes more milk and is quite a bit larger than the right one. I’m trying to now put my baby on the right one more often to even it out, but it doesn’t feel right. And she agrees – she often cries in frustration before the milk starts flowing on that side. I know she’s not getting as much, so I always flip her over to the left one. I can’t help it. So I guess I’ll just be lopsided, along with all the other unsightly blemishes that have become my boobs. Thankfully, it’ll soon be fall weather and I can wear scarves to distract the eyes from the chest deformity. Do they make bras that are padded on just one side?

In other news, my baby won’t sleep. I mean, it’s one thing babies are born with – the ability to eat, sleep and poop, right? But it appears little Charlotte is going to be a light sleeper like her mom. I cannot get her to nap for very long. And again, it’s probably my fault. I liked having her sleep on me. It’s what I did in the early weeks. I kept hearing how skin to skin contact was so good, so I put her on my chest, and we napped together. So now, she sleeps best when she’s on me. I’ll breastfeed her for 5 minutes, and she’s out. And if I don’t move, she can sleep for over an hour on my lap. But given that she’s soon about to spend her days with a nanny, I thought I’d try to train her to sleep off of me. It’s not working. IF I can set her down when she falls asleep on me, and IF she doesn’t wake up, she’ll sleep for maybe 20 to 30 minutes on average. And that’s it. So I spend my day trying to get her to go back to sleep. And then before I know it, it’s time to get her to bed for the night, and I have to start over, only with crying because she’s so overtired by then that she’s turned into a demon baby.

The experts say a baby’s sleep cycle isn’t complete after 30 minutes, so that means she’s not getting enough restful sleep. Which probably explains why getting her to sleep at night is such a struggle. An overtired baby is not fun.(And I feel so awful about this! Worrying about the amount she sleeps is second only to worrying about the amount she eats.) I’m trying to put her down sleepy,  not asleep, so she learns to comfort herself and fall asleep on her own. Also not working. She cries. I’m sorry, but I can’t listen to my child cry. I try to just show her I’m there, rub her belly, maybe pick her up and rock her for a minute before setting her down again, and it has worked a few times (when she was so tired she was delirious.) But most of the time, I pick her up and try everything again: feed her, change her, rock her, play music, try the swing, and finally breastfeed her, which knocks her out after 5 minutes, and then I let her sleep on me, afraid to move. Sigh…

Recently, I spent 2 and a half hours trying to get her to nap. She finally crashed in the swing after 20 minutes. Success! (Even though there’s something about the swing that makes me feel guilty. Like I’m cheating or somehing.) And then DH came home and accidentally woke her up after 20 minutes. #$%^&*@! So, after I gave the unhappy baby to him and cried in the shower for a bit, I breastfed her and let her sleep on my lap – for 30 minutes.

Then we went for a walk around the neighborhood, which Charlotte seemed OK with. We got home, fed her some formula and then I started the bedtime routine. You would’ve thought I was inserting needles under her fingernails. She cried and screamed so hard, she started choking.

You know that yucky feeling when you hear a baby screaming? That “oh god, how annoying, someone please shut that kid up” feeling? Now multiply it by 100 and add a knife shoved into your heart. That’s what it feels like when your own baby is crying that hard. It physically hurts my heart to hear her cry like that. Ouch. That sucks for both of us. And I know that all she needs is 5 minutes on the boob and she’ll be out, but she’s so upset, she won’t clamp down on it. After 15 minutes of ear-piercing crying, she finally accepted my breast and knocked herself out. I set her down and swaddled her, which woke her up briefly, but then she turned her head to the side, let out a giant sigh and was out. Whew.

That shit is horrible. And if you’re a soon-to-be parent, I will leave you with this bit of advice, courtesy of the Baby Whisperer: Start as you mean to go on. Don’t want your child to not be able to sleep off of you? Don’t let her get used to sleeping on you. Want your baby to have a regular routine of eating, sleeping and playing so you can have some time to yourself? Then put her on one as soon as you can. Don’t know anything about babies but think you’ll just “figure it out” when yours is here? Do yourself a favor: Get a book about babies and start reading now. Better yet, take a parenting class. This stuff is hard. And she’s not even a teenager yet. Lord, help me…

Dear Charlotte,

Today, we were asked to dress you in a Derby Dolls onesie and model for some photos for their website. We took a photo of you just as you spit up all over your father. We both laughed so hard, we were crying. “That’s pretty rock n roll,” I said. I don’t mind holding onto this family memory. Good stuff.

                                                                                    Love,

                                                                                    Your mama

Derby Dolls rule!

Rock n’ Roll!!