She's gone country...

Today was a lovely day, and we spent much of it outside working on some of our many projects in the yard. Today was primarily devoted to the chickens, while tomorrow will be spent planting and weeding. I "helped" as much as I could, considering my condition. My main contributions were holding a board while my husband drilled (we were adding some roosts to our chicken-coop), filling the chickens' water, and distributing some not-human-but-definitely-chicken-worthy watermelon I found in the back of the fridge. As I wandered around the yard with Aleida, I had the pleasure of watching her pick up a garden hose and pretend to water some of the new trees in our young orchard. Picking up on something Dave said earlier, she said, "Happy trees!" She then tromped over to an anthill and watched the ants with her 2-year-old fascination and said, "Ants happy, too!" I love that. I don't so much love that a bit later she started screaming because one of these happy ants had crawled up her pant leg and bitten her on her upper thigh. But still...she probably learned a valuable lesson that my numerous warnings about anthills had failed to teach her. Now, when I tell her, "They will bite," she will know exactly what I mean.

When we moved to Greeley, CO last summer, we decided that if we were going to live in a cow-town, we wanted to feel like we lived in a cow-town. We bought a house out in the country with about 4 acres of land. Our field abuts a cattle farm where cattle often graze freely. Aleida has taken to going to the window and looking out, often saying, "The cows are out!" Really, it is quite picturesque. Out a different window, I can see a house with a couple of horses (and I need to make friends with these neighbors!). We are contributing to the bucolic scene by planting a vegetable garden, starting a fruit orchard and raising chickens. We converted an old shed into a chicken coop. We have a little chicken door so the chickens can wander down a ramp and peck around outside on nice days. I don't think this qualifies them as "free-range" chickens, but they are certainly cage free. We asked for all females, but apparently, young chicks are extremely hard to sex, even for experts. Consequently, I'm pretty certain we have not one but two roosters in the bunch. I've heard that they will most likely fight it out, possibly to the death or at least demasculization of one of them. I'm allowing myself the fantasy that our two roosters will be an exception to the rule and live in harmony as two male leaders. They can each have 3 hens to themselves as it is...

Anyway, the point is, my family is going country. And though I know Greeley isn't the cultural hub of Colorado, and though as a whole might I prefer the offerings of Denver, the energy of Ft. Collins and the politics of Portland, I am really loving country life. And I love that my daughter(s) will have space to roam and get in touch with nature and land. I love that by the time she goes to kindergarten, Aleida will know first hand where an egg comes from. She will know what a broccoli plant looks like (something I didn't know til I went to a "u-pick-it" farm in Portland when I was 30 years old). I love that she can wander to the back of our field and come face to face with a dairy cow. I love that our milk is delivered and our honey is made from beehives less than half an hour away. I love that we can judge the seasons by the stages of the fields at a real farm just down the street. I love that when Aleida sees a flower (even a dead one or a weed) she will bend over to smell it and mutter, "mmmm...." I love that she's been aggressively pecked in the leg by a chicken and responded by saying, "So funny!"

Maybe I don't love the bug bites or the fact that my dogs have been sprayed by a skunk twice in the last two months or the amount of flies we'll have in our house in July or the strong cow-poop-scented breezes that waft through regularly, but there is much more to love than not. And when I get nostalgic for the city or a more progressive town, I just remember how my car was broken into multiple times, and how we thought our neighbors down the street were running a crack house, or how I could see what my next-door neighbor was doing in her kitchen and eye-contact through our close windows made me feel awkward. No place is perfect, after all. But every place will teach you something and help mold you into a unique person with your own set of knowledge and skills. I'm glad that my skills and my daughters' will include growing vegetables from seeds, gathering our hens' eggs, and knowing better than to stomp on an anthill.

Many Adolescents Turn into Nice Adults

I recently finished my second semester of teaching Community College. At present, I'm doing this part time so that I can spend most of my time with my daughter (soon to be plural). Teaching adults is quite a treat after my 4 years with middle school students. First of all, the end of the semester crept up on me, rather than finally arriving after countdowns and days that felt like they passed in slow motion. I was almost sad to see the semester come to a close, even in my state of being largely pregnant and often tired. I will miss my students. Secondly, my students bombarded me with presents, thank you e-mails, and verbal praise. One woman even referred to my teaching style as "the best". I'm not sharing this to brag, or even because I think I am in any way "the best." On the contrary, I know I have a lot to learn and improve upon.

However, I'm pretty sure I'm not the "worst." I'm also pretty sure I'm not a "huge b#%ch," "f#@kface," or as one middle-school student simply put it, an "a$!hole." I mean, maybe I occasionally exhibit characteristics of these derogatory titles, but I really can't take credit for actually being any of these things. But I have been called them all by adolescents. In contrast, my nicknames from my community college students included "Teach" (by a girl who just couldn't remember my name), "Miss," and "Rascal" (by an older male student who called everyone some form of pet name throughout the course).

I'm not saying that all or even most of my relationships with the middle school students were strained and negative. And I'm not saying that I hated my job teaching middle school. On the contrary, I had touching, tender, amazing moments with my middle schoolers. There were days I absolutely LOVED my job. And even on the days I didn't love it, maybe even hated it a little, I at least really believed in the importance of my job and the need to do it well. Teaching, even when you feel like you're teaching a bunch of ungrateful s@$th#^ds, is a meaningful career, and even the darkest moments have silver linings if you look hard enough.

But going to class at the college and actually teaching (!) was amazing after my years in middle school. The worst discipline issues I had were students who forgot to turn off their cell phones or those who got too involved in a discussion we were having and had to be refocused. I corrected those minor issues with a half-joking stink eye that would usually bring on a quick apology. I never felt the urge to kick anyone out of class. I often finished the evening feeling energized and elated by my students. I felt like I actually taught something most of the time.

Perhaps it is precisely my background that allows me to love the community college setting so much. I'm teaching developmental English and Reading. These are not disciplined students. Most of them are probably my middle school population just a little older and wiser. I have recovering drug addicts, teenage moms, ex-convicts, high school dropouts, and those who do not view education very highly. I have felt the heartbreak of losing promising students mid-semester to a life tragedy or even self-inflicted drama that knocks them off track. I have had a few slackers, those who I know are trying, but just aren't going to make this on this go-round either. I have adults older than myself reading at a 4th grade level. I have students who don't know how to open a Word Document, and are therefore totally overwhelmed by a paragraph-writing assignment. I have non-native English speakers who can barely form a coherent sentence. I have had several students cry in front of me about problems in their personal lives. I have had the occasional case of plagiarism and/or other forms of cheating. All this in just two part-time semesters. My point is that these students' lives often contain just as much drama as those of my thirteen and fourteen year olds.

Perhaps if I didn't have a background in high-needs middle schools, this would all be too disheartening and frustrating. Maybe I'm just learning something about myself: I'm drawn to the needy population. Now that I have college experience, I could probably go get a job teaching at one of the local universities that would surely have a higher caliber of students. However, I don't have the desire to do that. I loved my needy middle schoolers, despite often feeling abused by them. And I love my needy adults. In fact, I think community college might be a great balance for me. These students allow me to feel needed. They inspire me to get better at teaching, to strive to improve upon their often horrendous and spotty past educations. They allow me to feel altruistic, and they challenge and improve my ability to empathize. However, these students also have learned, somewhere between middle school and adulthood, how to be grateful. They have learned the value of education and want to use it to better their lives. They might not be good at school. They might be awkward or lazy or way behind the curve, but they have learned to value themselves enough to try again, to work on self-improvement and to occasionally thank those along the way who lend them a hand when they need it.

Mother's Day glass 3/4 full?

I feel almost obligated to reflect on Mother's Day for several reasons: 1. I had a little shock when I realized my mother has been gone for almost eight years. That's a quarter of my life that I've lived without her. 2. This is only my 2nd Mother's Day as a mother, and sometimes I'm still shocked to find myself in this grown-up role. 3. I'm expecting baby number 2 in just a few weeks, and I can't help but think about how my own role as a mother is about to change in a big way.

I had a wonderful Mother's Day weekend. On Saturday, we went on a hike. I impressed myself by going about 3 miles being 35 weeks pregnant, and I was doubly impressed by my not-yet-2-year-old, who hiked about half of the distance, riding on Daddy's shoulders the rest of the way. The weather was beautiful, and we all enjoyed ourselves.

On Mother's Day, my husband let me sleep in. After waking with Aleida, he fixed me a spectacular breakfast of Eggs Florentine, complete with a made up concoction he called "Pregnant Wife Mimosas," which consisted of sparkling pear juice and orange juice. I think I prefer the taste of this non-alcoholic version to the real thing. We ended the day with a delicious and elaborate dinner made by Dave and his sister in honor of me and my mother-in-law. What a lovely day.

So as I started to reflect on this Mother's Day, I was thinking that if Mother's Day were a pie, or a glass, it would be 3/4 complete. I am almost the mother of two now, which makes up half the pie. The third full piece I attribute to having won the mother-in-law jackpot. I am very close to my mother-in-law. We are good friends, and she has become a strong mother figure to me and an excellent grandmother to Aleida. Celebrating with her was meaningful and special. The only missing piece to my day was, obviously, my own mother. But maybe just giving her a quarter of the pie isn't fair. Her role in my life was so great, maybe she should be represented by at least half.

As I mulled over this metaphor, however, I couldn't quite make it feel right. Perhaps it's because my day didn't feel incomplete. I didn't cry. I thought fondly of my mother, wished for her to be with me, looked at some pictures and desired to share more holidays with her, but the day didn't leave me wanting. I felt a glow in the presence of my loving husband, my entertaining daughter (who is turning into quite a ham), my own growing belly and my husband's family who feel like my own. I was completely happy.

Today, the day after, I have been thinking about this. I have in turn felt guilty, then sad, then content. I think I felt guilty because I didn't feel more of a mom-shaped hole on the day reserved for mothers. I didn't cry for my loss, which for all purposes can be seen as extremely untimely and unfair. Once the guilt passed, I felt sad when I realized my mom has been gone for 8 years and to realize, again, that she is not coming back. It's interesting how after a person dies, you know this fact in your head: Death is final. But it's also interesting how the reality of this hits you at different times. Sometimes death doesn't seem so permanent, or maybe y

ou just don't think about it enough for it to hit you. At other times, the finality of it washes over and paralyzes you, if only for a split second. I had a moment like that today. My daughters will only know my mother in the abstract way that my pictures and stories and memories piece her together. She will never be a complete person to them. Teachers and mothers of friends and characters in books will be more real and meaningful in their lives. I know this because I never knew my mom's mom, and she is just a series of pictures and funny stories I heard throughout my life. She is like abstract art; I know it's special, but I don't fully understand its essence.

These thoughts eventually settled to a kind of contentment. My glass is full. I accept that I can be complete and happy even while missing my mother and feeling the void left by her absence. My daughters, mother-in-law, and the other important women in my life certainly don't replace my own mother. They cannot because they are separate. Without these positive influences,

however, Mother's Day might be full of tears and sadness. But it is hard to imagine any other version of your life. I accept that my mom is gone even though I don't like it. I still grieve for the loss of her in my life. I grieve for what could've been. I grieve that she never got to be

a grandmother and that my kids will not truly know her. Sometimes I feel this so strongly that it is like a ghost passing through me, and I can't quite catch my breath as I think about it. The feeling passes, but the moment of full-blown grief is always overpowering. The moments remind me how I want to celebrate her life and her memory as it lives on in me and in the next generation. I think about how Aleida was born on her birthday. Regardless of what I (or anyone else) believe about the order of the universe, that is a special connection. It means something, and it always will.

Dating Friends, Part 2

I found that my previous post on dating friends resonated with many people in many different stages in life. One primarily vegetarian friend told me about how she ate an entire steak during her first "dinner date" with a new friend prospect. Another woman admitted that she is wary of the process of slowly revealing all the quirks her old friends already know about (and love her for). Many people (both male and female) admitted that making friends does feel like dating, and I think we can all just be thankful that this type of dating doesn't require us to think about when it's appropriate to reach the different "bases" although I have found myself wondering if I should shake her hand, lean in for a hug, simply nod and wave...

I have two new stories on the friend dating scene.

Story #1: I met another girl at the park, and we had some nice conversation over a short period of time. She runs a business from home and gave me some samples. We exchanged e-mail addresses and phone numbers. Well, one lovely afternoon I was having a mini-breakdown. I will attribute it mostly to pregnancy hormones. I also couldn't find something I was looking for, and I was getting overly stressed and near tears. My phone rang. I didn't recognize the number, and thought it might be a simple appointment reminder from my OB. I answered, thinking it would distract me. Well, it was this new friend prospect. Somehow, hearing a friendly voice put me over the edge. I tried to cover up my emotional state, but she could hear it in my voice and asked if I was okay. I tried to joke my way out of it, but ended up telling her it wasn't a good time to talk. My voice had that husky tone that immediately precedes crying. Needless to say, I was mortified.

The following day, I sent her an e-mail in which I tried to explain my emotional state to her, but of course in the back of my head I'm thinking that she has written me off as a crazy, emotional woman who would make a high-maintenance friend. Also in the back of my head is the idea that she might just be trying to sell me something. This insecurity is about as welcome as my hormone-induced pimples. I'm too old for this S@#T!!! We'll see if our paths cross again.

Story #2: Any of you who know my in-laws know that I won the in-law jackpot. I adore them. They adore Aleida. She adores them back. We are just one big circle of mutual adoration. Not a day goes by that I'm not thankful that I have beaten the odds and actually married into a family whose members I love and respect. And I am even more grateful now that I live so close to them and see what willing and able grandparents they are.

Anyway, let me get back on track. My mother-in-law has been talking about two of her friends who have daughters about my age who in turn have daughters both born within a month of Aleida. Since I've moved back to Colorado, we've been talking about getting all of us together to meet and admire each other's offspring. This finally happened. We put the date on the calendar a couple weeks back, and met up for a little brunch get together this morning. As mentioned above, I love and trust my mother-in-law. Therefore, she is one of few people I would optimistically allow to set me up on a blind play date. Even so, I couldn't help but picture awkward silence among three generations of women. I wondered what we might have in common other than our daughters.

Still, I took a bit of extra time getting dressed this morning. I didn't just throw on any old comfy thing like I've been prone to do as the belly grows. I actually wore earrings. I made sure Aleida's outfit also matched, and I took the extra few minutes to put her hair back in a little pig-tail (no easy feat for me...I'm not gifted when it comes to hairstyling).

As blind dates go (and I've only been on one or two others in my life), this was a huge success. Both girls were open, talkative and humorous. The three toddlers were adorable, and the grandmas were all loving and attentive. We talked. We laughed. We swapped birth stories and compared sleeping habits of our kids. Our conversation ventured a little into non-child-related topics. I didn't notice any glaring turn-offs (no crazy ideologies, weird habits or unsightly warts). The date was going so well, it almost infringed on Aleida's nap time. Perhaps the best part: one of the other girls asked to swap contact info. I didn't even have to be the aggressor.

So, on the friendship dating scene, things are going remarkably well. I have new and interesting prospects. I'm getting closer to some of the moms in my play group. I'm reconnecting with old friends, and I'm closer to many of my tried and trues. I can't complain.

On Dating Friends

We had a nice mid-week family trip to the park the other day. Dave was off. I wasn't teaching. The weather was unseasonably warm. We ran some errands and stopped to let Aleida climb on the jungle gym.

We ran into a mom with a set of two-year-old twins. Conversation comes easy when the parents of 3 adorable kids get together. We chatted for a few minutes, long enough to get names and basic background information. I liked her immediately. She had an easy smile and a casual yet attentive parenting style. She seemed to appreciate Aleida's cuteness, even with the bias of a mom who spends much of her time with adorable squared. I admired her for parenting twins. She was good with conversation and told us she was relatively new to Greeley as well. Call it a minor girl crush, but I felt we had chemistry.

She started packing up her kids to go home. It was almost lunch time, after all. She said, "Well, nice to meet you. Maybe we'll see you at the park again sometime."

Before I knew it, I was picking her up. I invited her to our fledgling playgroup and asked for her e-mail address (the new version of getting digits). She gave it willingly, and I briefly wondered if it might be a fake. I waved goodbye and rejoined my family who had wandered to the goose pond, a little giddy at my own aggression in making a new friend.

Why does making friends at this age feel so much like dating? Can you relate to this? Is this unique to people who have moved around a lot, whose lives have been in flux and friends therefore temporary, at least from a proximity point of view? Maybe it's my job. I have colleagues, but see them rarely. Usually it's just me and the students. We don't have office parties and happy hours, just the occasional departmental meeting.

Since getting married, I've lived on both coasts, and finally feel somewhat settled in Greeley. I have enjoyed seeing different parts of the country, and the exploration has helped me define myself and where I belong. I'm happy to say that I feel like I belong in Colorado. It's good to be home.

Moving around has its disadvantages, however. The last few phases of my life have been temporary. This was especially true in New Jersey, where I knew that 4 years would be my max. No offense, New Jerseyites, but NJ was not a match for me. I did make a handful of lasting friends there and in Portland. Most fall into the facebook acquaintance category, but a couple of us stay more connected with regular phone calls and mutual hopes of visiting each other someday.

Now, back in Colorado, I am closer to some of my dearest, time-tested friends. Still, most are about an hour's drive away. We try to get together once a month or so, but on a day-to-day basis, I need a more local social group.

Having a child does make it easier to make friends. A kiddo gives you common ground and immediate conversation starters. "How old?" "What her name?" "Those are cute shoes!" However, sometimes I'll talk to a fellow mother for half an hour and never get her name, though I'll know her kid's name, age, favorite food, and the time of his last bowel movement. If all you can talk about is your kids, your friendship is going to be limited at best, tedious at worst. Also, I've learned this: a fellow mother does not a BFF make. And parenting does open up a whole new world of potential crazy and disagreement. Parenting is kind of like politics...it can be polarizing. I have certainly met mothers I hope to never meet again.

I am starting to make some good friends, mostly through my playgroup and other child-centered activities. Still, building those friendships is a slow process, especially because your first instinct is to talk about your kids. When is it okay to bring up hobbies, politics, relationships, sex, religious beliefs, life philosophies, hopes, dreams, disappointments? Will she think I'm weird if I invite her to dinner without her kid? Should I call her in the middle of the week just to day hello and see how her day is going? Do I come across as desperate if I ask for more time than the weekly established play date? What about going away for the weekend? Are we to the point where I can call her in a crisis? Can I cry/joke/fart/pee/lose my temper/gossip/complain/pick a wedgie in front of her yet? Should I hug her goodbye, shake hands, just wave?

You must have a level of attraction when making friends, just like when dating. I'm not talking physical attraction necessarily, but common hobbies, mutual respect, and relate-able lifestyles do mean something. I know that I make judgments about people, and I certainly find myself more "attracted" to some women than others. Chemistry is important in all kinds of relationships.

I'm lucky to have several cherished friends in my life, the kind who I could call in the middle of the night without hesitation. They might not be local, but our emotional ties trump physical proximity. Still, I'm looking to build a life here; for once this is not a temporary situation. My husband and I have good jobs, a great house, nearby family and plans to build community. So, I want to build the foundation for lasting friendships. It's nerve-wracking and exciting all at once. And yes, it's a lot like dating. Am I alone in thinking this?

As for the girl in the beginning of the story: She didn't come to playgroup, but we have e-mailed back and forth, and I have hopes that we will plan a time to hang out again, with our kids. We'll talk about their sleep habits and the joys and challenges of parenting. We might delve into our hobbies and how we met our husbands. Perhaps we'll meet a few times and the relationship will just peter out. But on the other hand, perhaps one day, maybe years in the future, we'll call each other just to say hello or we'll turn to each other during a difficult time in life.

Late addition to this posting, thanks to my super-mom, time-tested friend Johanna. Hilarious! http://www.xtranormal.com/watch/7148143/

Boy or Girl?

I haven't written in over a year. I have thought about writing a lot, if that counts for anything. I have no real excuses except for a busy toddler, a move back to Colorado, setting up a home, 2 part-time jobs and many attempts to catch up with old friends and make new ones. So no real excuses but lots of reasons for my absence. Anyway, I'm back, with a new muse and a goal to write a substantial post at least once a week.

The muse is baby number 2, due June 8. Yes, this baby could also be born on June 1st. In fact, the doctor asked if I wanted to just schedule a c-section for a week before the due date. We're not going to--I'm leaving it up to chance--but it's still pretty coincidental, don't you think?

I'm almost to the halfway point (for normal term babies, not Aleida's timeline!), which means I have the exciting gender-telling ultrasound on Thursday. In 5 days I'll know what's cooking. Unlike some mothers who "just knew" or got some other sign about the sex of their spawn (what a great word...spawn...makes me think of cheesy alien movies), I am clueless. It could be an alien in there for all the instinct I have about it. The most asked question I get is, "Are you going to find out the sex?" My response is always, "Hell yes!" First of all, my aforementioned lack of instinct leaves me wondering. Secondly, while some people say they are waiting to be surprised, I figure it's a surprise no matter when you find out. And honestly, aren't there enough surprises inherent in giving birth? Thirdly, I want to bond with the idea of whatever I'm having, boy or girl.

Of course the follow-up question to the first one is, "Do you have a preference?" I think I can honesty say that I don't. If Aleida had been a boy, I think I would really want a girl. And sometimes, I get caught up on the idea of having one of each. We will probably stop at two, and I'm not one to keep trying til I produce one of each. A boy would be nice, just for the sake of having a son and knowing what he's like. Plus, there's something pleasing and symmetrical about a family with one of each. It makes for good family photos.

But then I think about how much I love having a sister. We talk about sex and menstruation and bodily functions. We go on sissy trips. We can hug and cuddle and it isn't weird. Maybe some brothers and sisters do that, but I just think there's a different level to the friendship that exists between siblings of the same gender. Plus, my daughter amazes and touches my heart. I am comfortable with her and can easily picture two little girls running around the house together. With another girl, I don't have to worry about circumcision or keeping the wiener clean or showing him how to aim into the potty or what I'll say the first time I catch him masturbating or how I'm going to feel when he starts prioritizing other women over me.

I know some women have strong preferences, and I'm thankful that I don't. My mother REALLY wanted me to be (and thought I was) a boy. I think she cried when I came out a girl. But look how totally awesome I am.

What it comes down to--and I know this will sound sappy--is that I will adore whatever child we create. Boy, girl, hermaphrodite...I will love it. I see benefits of both, and since I tend to see the good in situations, I will be easily convinced that whatever the ultrasound shows on Thursday is exactly what I wanted deep down inside.

Even still, I'm taking votes (or guesses). So far, I'm about 50/50, with maybe an extra vote or two for a girl. Dave, his mom, and myself have all had boy dreams. I don't think they are premonitions as much as our brains working over time. I'm not guessing it's a boy...I just had a dream. So, post your guess in comments. And thanks for reading.

Feeling happy

So it's been awhile since I've written. I started an entry about AJ's sleep patterns several times, but I never finished it and probably never will. BTW- she sleeps 12 hours a night and has been doing that since she was about 4 months old. She's awesome.

Here's a quick update. Aleida June:
Is totally healed from surgery
Has two bottom front teeth popping through
Rolls over from front to back, but not from back to front (she hates being on her tummy, and isn't about to go there willingly)
Loves taking baths
Can sit up without support indefinitely- but I still hover nearby in case she topples over
Has eaten and enjoyed avocado, banana, brown rice cereal, yogurt, and mixtures of all of those
Will be trying sweet potatoes and pears this week
Weighs about 14 lbs or so- she's only about the 10-15%ile for weight- but about 50% for height
Was dressed as a monkey for Halloween
Has an average of 3 outfit changes a day
Stops fussing whenever we play the video for Beyonce's "Single Ladies" or Daft Punk's "Around the World" or various musical numbers from the show, Glee
Loves music, our pets, and going on walks
Turns pages in books as we read to her
Went crabbing on the Oregon Coast
Took her first airplane ride (and did very well) over Thanksgiving
Skypes with Grandma and Grandpa and Aunt Juli on a regular basis
Has started playing with blocks
Enjoys going with mommy and daddy to the rock-climbing gym
Loves to practice standing up- and will probably walk before she crawls
Dances
Likes playing airplane
Drools excessively
Takes two naps a day
Gets very excited when we walk through outdoor-equipment stores- especially a place called the Next Adventure here in Portland
Has been to Greeley, Denver and Heeney, Colorado
Is an excellent grocery-shopping partner

I could go on- it has been quite a few weeks. It seems like she is developing at super speed now. Something about getting teeth or starting solid foods triggered a cascade of milestones. She's such a fun, good-natured soul. Sometimes when she's napping, I'll get impatient for her to wake up because I just want to hang out with her. She's SO MUCH FUN, in fact, that I want a dozen more.

Okay, not a dozen. But I have gone from thinking that I want two kids 3-4 years apart, to thinking I want 3 kiddos, closer to 2 years apart. Who knows how things will work out, but she has not deterred me from wanting more kids- quite the opposite.

I think back to the pre-AJ me, and have to laugh. Even as I was 8-months pregnant, I remember seeing women pushing strollers around the neighborhood and thinking, "How boring." Those thoughts used to worry me. But it is so not boring. Even taking a little walk with Aleida is pure pleasure. She gets more fun and interesting every day. I have started seeing little glimpses of the person she is going to be, and she is awesome.

Poo Emergency

Just a quick little story to illustrate that things are back to normal- or at least as "normal" as they are going to be for a new family with a 4-month-old.

We took a hike last weekend, to Punchbowl Falls in the Columbia River Gorge. It's a beautiful hike to amazing waterfalls. Dave had Aleida in the Bjorn. I carried a camelpack. We left the dogs at home, because it's a very narrow trail with very steep drop offs and lots of human/dog traffic. Don't worry, we made it up to them later with a solid session of fetch in the park.

Anyway, we hiked to the turn around point- the scenic falls. I pulled up a rock and sat down with my baby to feed her. I'd packed my nursing shield. As she was feeding, she let out one of her alarmingly loud, but not rare, poops. She was wearing a disposable diaper. We do cloth at home, but still travel with disposables. As she relieved herself with the force of a cork coming off of a champagne bottle, I thought about how I'd failed to bring an extra diaper on the trail. The diaper bag was well stocked, but alas, still in the car. She's not one to complain about a dirty diaper, so I felt a bit guilty, but figured she'd be okay for the hour it took us to hike down the trail.

That was until I felt the wetness on my leg. I looked at Dave and averted my eyes toward her bottom. "On my thigh...Is that...?"

He lifted the nursing shield to get a glimpse. "Oh yeah. That's poo. Oh no." I couldn't see the damage and Aleida was still happily feeding, but I could tell, from his face, it was serious.

"I didn't bring an extra diaper," I said.

"We're going to have to do something. You'll see."

I did see. Out of the diaper, through the onsie, through AJ's pants, through MY pants and onto my leg. That was the situation. Poo emergency on the trail. An hours walk from anywhere.

We took stock of our camelback, which we fortunately did not empty after each hike. We happened to have a roll of toilet paper, and several plastic bags- including a couple of the variety made especially for picking up dog poop.

AJ's whole outfit was ruined. Surprise, I didn't have a spare outfit in the bag, either! Here's what we did, AJ's MacGruber parents.

We stripped her down and threw all the poo-covered items into a bag. We wiped her down with toilet paper, then used more toilet paper to serve as the absorptive part of the makeshift diaper. We put holes in the corners of one of the dog poop bags, and shimmied this up over AJ and the toilet paper. We then wrapped Aleida in my nursing shield, and reinstalled her in the Bjorn. She took all of this with her usual good humor, not at all perturbed to be naked at the top of a mountain trail, nor wearing a paper and plastic bag diaper and makeshift toga back down the mountain.

I figure, this girl will either grow up to be highly adaptable, or just plain resentful of her parents. Lesson learned: Never take the baby anywhere without a spare diaper.

The Rest, Part 2

Being a couple weeks out from the horrific experience that was the surgery, I'm less inclined to write about the trauma. Now that I can happily report that my child is smiling often and sleeping well, I don't really want to relive details of the badness. Just know, it sucked. And still, I see the little bruises from the many IVs (and many more IV attempts), or AJ will start crying out of hunger or tiredness and I will relive a little bit of that week, and I will feel that pit in my gut, that physical ache, almost as if I'm trying to pull my little one back into the womb, where I know she would be safe from needles and narcotics and nurses. Fortunately, that sensation is now fleeting, just a bad remnant of memory of one of the hardest weeks of my life.

Just a few more thoughts before I put the surgery topic to rest.

We were at home, the first full day after leaving the hospital. Dave, Grandma Judy, and I were breathing easier after watching our little one blossom quickly back into the smiling, attentive baby she was before surgery. One of us said, "Thank god that is behind us now."

"Yes, that's the most difficult thing I've ever been through." I don't remember who said it first, Dave or his mom, but they both agreed, it was the hardest event in their lives. This struck me, though it probably shouldn't have. As the mom, I think I took ownership of this event as my tragedy to go through with AJ. I knew others were a part of it, but it was mainly mine and AJ's. This state of mind was not clear to me until I realized how much others had suffered. This was not just my struggle, and I felt guilty that I had been locked so selfishly into my own grief, that I did not see the grief of others. I saw their support and was grateful for it. But that's selfish, too, to see my husband and his parents and my family and friends as solely support for me and AJ. They were supporting me, yes, but they were suffering, too. I didn't acknowledge that. Perhaps it was a defense mechanism; perhaps my pain would have been too much if I had acknowledged their misery. Maybe I just couldn't handle any more sadness. I remember thinking that about my father when my mother was ill. To me, he seemed very selfish in his grief, unable to recognize that my sister and I were losing somebody, too. But maybe he just couldn't. He couldn't recognize our grief, because it would cause his to multiply beyond his tolerance.

Likewise, maybe part of the reason Aleida's surgery was so difficult for my husband and in-laws was a result of watching me and the physical and emotional pain I felt as the mother. Whatever the case, I feel grateful for their support, and grateful for their struggle as well.

During the same conversation mentioned above, my mother-in-law said to me, "You've had a lot of tragedy in your short life." I know she was thinking of my mother's cancer and resulting death. I know she was thinking about Aleida's heart and the surgery. And I can see why she would say this, especially since both of these major events happened since I met Dave. I appreciate the recognition that these were hard times. Nobody should have to go through these things.

But I've never thought of my life as more tragic than others, even though I did live in NJ for 4 years. Don't think that I have at all minimized the significance of losing my mother or watching my baby daughter undergo open-heart surgery. I have felt both intensely. But my life has been so full of goodness. I had a happy childhood, with loving parents and a good big sister. My mother may have died too young, but I wouldn't trade the 25 years I had with her for 50 with anyone else. I was able to pursue a variety of passions and interests. I have incredible friendships in my life. I have been able to travel and see amazing things in this world. I have lived in beautiful places. I have been so lucky in love. I have an amazing little baby girl, and again, I wouldn't trade her for any other baby without a heart condition. I even love and respect my in-laws! Not many people can say all those things (especially the last one). So, I guess what I'm saying is that the hardships in my life have been more than balanced by the joys. It goes back to those peaks and valleys- you can't have one without the other, and the lows make you recognize and appreciate the highs. As I close this chapter of my life, I recognize that I was in a valley. But, I've climbed out, with the help of my family, friends and modern medicine. And now I'm just enjoying the view from higher ground.

The Rest

Because I am home now, and see that Aleida is rapidly returning to her old self, even better, I can finally write about the rest of the hospital stay. Now that I can actually see and feel things getting back to "normal," I can write about how far away normalcy seemed less than a week ago.

After surgery, the big goal was extubation- removal of the breathing tube in Aleida's nose. As mentioned in a previous entry, extubation got delayed because AJ had a delayed (but pretty normal) inflammatory response. She was puffy and distended. Even her eyelids were swollen, so she couldn't open her eyes all the way, and when she did, she did not look like my baby.

Seeing her with the tube in was heart-breaking- especially when she was puffy. I could touch her and talk to her, but I could not hold her or feed her. For the almost 3 days the tube was in, she received only IV sugar water. As her primary source of nutrition, I was totally stressed out by the lack of calories. It may be routine, but it didn't feel right. Maybe this stems from all the focus we put on weight gain in the first months of life.

The tube did finally come out, and I thought, "It will all get better from here." She was able to cry once the tube was out, a sound that actually relieved me. She was hoarse and weak, but she had a voice again.

Holding her was nice, a much needed physical connection, but ultimately unsatisfying. She still had chest tubes, IVs and wires coming out of her little body, so just picking her up and moving her 2 feet to the chair beside her hospital crib was a 3-person job. She felt extremely fragile with all those connections, not to mention the incision.

This is what I wish I'd been prepared for: extubation means no more sedation. No more sedation means more awareness. More awareness equals more pain. Getting the tube out was certainly a step in the right direction, but a stage of the process for which I was unprepared. The night after her extubation may go down as the longest and most difficult night of my life. The nurses worked hard to manage Aleida's pain, but she was still uncomfortable all night. She would sleep for maybe an hour at a time, then wake up crying. Nurses would give medication if they could. Sometimes they would have to wait to keep her levels within limits. I would wake up and come to her from my little ICU bed by the window, and the nurse would place her in my arms in the chair next to her crib. She would cry and squirm, but ultimately settle down. I held her until I became so deliriously tired that I was afraid of falling asleep and dropping her. Then, I'd call the nurse and she'd help me place her back in the crib and the whole cycle would start over again.

I'd been able to start feeding her again, but it took awhile for her digestive system to kick back on, so though probably ravenous, she was bloated and distended and had trouble latching. I was disappointed that holding her was not the solace I had planned on. I was emotionally worn down from seeing my 3-month-old daughter in pain. I was physically exhausted from sleeping in the ICU for 3 days- which really means not sleeping much at all. In other words, I was nearing a breakdown.

But in the end it was not about me at all. It was about the innocent, ignorant little creature lying in that hospital crib, who clearly did not understand what was going on. Everyone kept telling me, "She's doing great. She looks great. Her numbers are good. She's progressing as we expected." I understand that this is what doctors and nurses have to look for. I really do. But for me, her mother, who sees the distended belly, the bruises from her IVs, and her furrowed brow, numbers mean jackshit. The furrowed brow, especially, broke my heart. She never furrowed her brow before the surgery. Now, every time she was awake, and even sometimes asleep, her little brow would be furrowed in discomfort. She felt so far away from the baby I'd brought into the hospital, that I became convinced that she had been forever changed, and that my smiley, shiny-eyed wonder was gone forever.

Post Op Day 1

I think this event has been traumatic enough that I am grieving it. Or maybe these major life events cause a process similar to the grieving process. Either way, I am in the "Anger" phase.



The nurses and doctors had been hopeful that AJ would spend minimal time on the breathing tube. Unfortunately, she had a delayed inflammatory response and a high heart rate that prevented that optimism from coming to fruition. It's day 2 now and she's still on the tube. Yesterday morning, however, I woke hopeful that I would be holding my baby before the afternoon. So, when it became clear that this would not happen, I started to get angry.



I spent much of yesterday trying to find an outlet for this anger. I'm angry at the situation, clearly. But there is no satisfaction or relief in that. There is no outlet for the tension. I tried to be angry at the docs and nurses who were delaying the removal of the breathing tube. But, I watched them go about their business and knew that they are only doing what is best. I want to hold my daughter, but I don't want to rush into something that could be a mistake and potential set-back.



I tried to be mad at Dave. We'd taken a break from the ICU to jog on the nature trails behind the hospital. After our jog, we were sitting under a shade tree, stretching and watching the fountain in a nearby courtyard. I told him that I'd been trying all morning to be angry at him. He replied, "Well, then you'd have to be mad at yourself too."



"No, I'm not angry at you for Aleida's condition. I was trying to be angry at you for taking me jogging on a trail that was mostly uphill."



He laughed. "Oh yeah. Sorry."



"I can't be mad at you though. Because I feel better."



"I knew you would."



"But I think I'm just looking for something or someone tangible to be mad at. There's no one."



"You could be mad at God."



"If I really believed in him...But even if I did, a real Christian isn't supposed to be mad at God because you are supposed to trust in his will."



"Damned if you do, damned if you don't," Dave said. "That's almost enough right there to turn an agnostic into an atheist."



So my quest to find something to be mad at failed. I couldn't blame this situation on anyone. It just was.



I caught myself standing by Aleida's bed as she went through a cycle of relative wakefulness and struggled against her tubes and made the crying face but couldn't actually cry. And I noticed that I just kept thinking, "Nobody should have to go through this. Nobody should have to go through this." I meant myself. I meant my baby. I meant my husband and his parents. Nobody should have to go through this.



What does that mean, though? I'm going to get philosophical, but the situation calls for it. If nobody should have to go through this, then nobody should have to go through anything difficult that isn't a product of their own decisions. Nobody should have to go through natural disasters, illness, injury, oppression, loss. But I wonder, without the suffering, would we even notice the joy? Would we feel it as strongly? Isn't part of our enjoyment of the weekend a product of the work week? Would great food taste as good if we had no experience with bad cafeteria fare? You cannot have peaks without valleys. And I believe, the deeper the valley, the higher the peaks seem.

So I know that once this is all over and we are back home, the everyday routine will be sweeter. Our quiet moments will be more cherished, and I will be more grateful for each little smile.

In the mean time, though, this sucks. Nobody should have to go through this. But I've been thinking about what I've heard them ("them" being psychologists and talk show hosts) say about self talk. You can improve your outlook by consciously changing your inner monologue. So, instead of saying to myself, "Nobody should have to go through this," I've been trying to actively tell myself, "We will get through this and be stronger because of it." And when it's all said and done, I'll be the mother who wakes smiling for the nighttime feeding and finds joy in a poopy diaper.

Surgery Day

Right now, I'm sitting in the PICU on the morning after Aleida's surgery. I tried to write about the hardest day of my life last night, but I couldn't--too exhausted. Now, after some sleep and more staring at my daughter, I feel less delirious.





Yesterday started for me at 2 am. I set my alarm and woke Aleida to give her one last feeding. She couldn't have any milk after 2:30 am. She had a nice, long, sleepy feed and went back to sleep without issue. I went back to sleep as well, but fitfully. I knew too much to sleep soundly.





We woke at 5:30 am and reached the check-in desk at the hospital just a little after 6:30. AJ was smiling and alert. If she was hungry, she wasn't complaining.





The waterworks started as soon as they took us back to the O.R. waiting rooms. I was anticipating the handover, and I couldn't imagine giving up my baby to people I knew were going to operate on her. Sure, it might be for the best, but it's hard to be that logical in the face of trauma. AJ got a little fussy while they were weighing her and attempting to get a blood pressure. Dave bounced her to sleep and she spent the last 15 minutes of the waiting peacefully sleeping in our arms. I spent the last 15 minutes trying to keep my tears to a gentle stream.





Dave's parents came. They are so supportive and helpful. I can only imagine the burden they carry, having to worry about 2 generations of kin through this ordeal. I am so thankful for them.





We walked down the hallway to the "kissing corner," as they call it. They should call it "crying corner," because this is where I had to hand my baby over to the anesthesiologist. Right before the exchange, AJ opened her eyes. She looked at me calmly, with recognition and love. My heart broke a thousand times in that few second exchange.





They took her away and Dave's parents left Dave and I to cry it out. I felt sick. Exhausted. Scared as I've ever been in my life. Dave's presence and strong, long hug might have been the only thing that kept me from collapse. I remember saying, "Having kids is kind of horrible."





The next hours are a blur, waiting and trying not to think or visualize too much. I remember going to the cafeteria to get breakfast and barely being able to eat. I remember driving home with my mother-in-law to get my phone, which I'd forgotten. I remember walking with Dave to a particularly scenic viewpoint. Mt. Hood and Mt. St. Helens were imposing and clear in the distance.





The nurse called about 12:30 to let us know surgery was over. We hustled back to the waiting area to meet with the surgeon. He smiled as he came in. Everything went well. No surpises. No complications. He felt confident that Aleida's heart was mended and would do well.

We got to see her about 30 minutes later. She has a breathing tube, 2 chest tubes, a large incision, and several other tubes and lines attached to her. But she still looks like AJ, and that's a relief. I was a bit afraid I wouldn't recognize her.

The care she is getting is amazing. The nurses are so skilled, yet so compassionate. I have spent many hours standing by Aleida's bedside as the nurses hustle and bustle around us. I feel helpless, but grateful. It takes a certain kind of faith, not unlike the religious variety, to stay calm in the face of modern medicine.

The rest of the day was uneventful. Aleida slept. Dave and I watched her. Dave's parents relieved us long enough to go home, shower, and stop at Trader Joe's to get some snacks. By the time we got to TJ's we were exhausted. I'm sure a 3rd person would not have been able to take part in our conversation, because I don't think we were really making sense.

As we checked out at TJ's, the cashier asked us, "What have you guys been up to today?"

My mind started racing with possible responses. "We've just been hanging out at the hospital waiting for our 3-month-old to get out of open heart surgery," didn't seem an appropriate answer to such an innocent question, however true it may be. I didn't want to share that with this stranger.

Luckily, Dave was a bit quicker to respond, though there was still an awkward pause. "Oh, not much. Just hanging out. Now we're getting some munchies."

"Alright, well, have a good evening." We took our snacks and left.

"Thanks for answering. I didn't know what to say."

Dave looked at me and snickered a little. He was thinking about my bloodshot eyes and his tired squint. He was thinking about our slow response and our bag of trail mix and chocolate treats. "It's okay. That guy just thinks we're really high."

Pre-Op

I just realized the name of my blog is "The Next Adventure." Can this still be classified as an adventure? Can I somehow spin heart surgery to mean adventure? I don't know.

Today we were at the hospital for 6 hours doing pre-op stuff. We met with nurses, surgeons, social workers and met a mess of hospital staff. I won't go into all the hairy details, but here are the highlights (wrong word...stand outs, maybe?)

Two separate hospital staff cried with me. The cardiologist NP and the Child Life Services Worker who gave us the ICU tour. They didn't cry hard, but both got noticeably choked up when I cried. I almost couldn't take it. The empathy was overwhelming. But I was touched.

Aleida had to get blood drawn for testing and whatever they do with it before surgery. The regular nurses decided not to try, so they called in the specialist team (called PANDA- but I'm not sure what it stands for.) They had to poke my baby 4 times before they got the flow they needed. 3 times on her hands and arms and once on her head. She cried harder than she has in her life. I had to cry too, so I didn't have a more physical reaction to her cries. Again, I am amazed by the way her crying makes me feel. She seems no worse for the wear and surely has forgotten about it by now. I, however, have not.

The surgeon is British. He used the word "untoward" which I have only ever heard in movies of Jane Austen adaptations. Needless to say, I like him. He apologized for making me upset (yes, I cried with him, too), but admitted that he often said things that upset people. I am confident he knows what he is doing.

I am thankful that just about every view from every window is scenic. Even through the shimmer of tears, Mt. Hood looks awesome. Dave and I, while having a sad and heartfelt moment together, broke the gloom and tension by realizing how glad we are that we're not going through this in New Jersey. (Sorry, NJers.)

Finally, the biggest highlight- and this is a highlight- was my daughter. She smiled as much today as any other day. She sat completely still through her EKG (which requires a tech to put about 10 stickers onto her chest, hook wires to them, take a reading of her cardiac output, then unhook everything and pull all the stickers off). She took a 1.5 hour nap in Dave's arms. She melted the hearts of everyone we met in the hospital. I am sure they will all do their best to make sure everything goes smoothly.

Contrast

I spent the last 3 days doing wedding-related festivities for my good friend, Erin. I was in the wedding party, so we spent lots of time celebrating and preparing and just having a great time. The ceremony was beautiful, the girls a lot of fun, and the weekend altogether enjoyable. Of course, in the back of my mind I kept thinking about Aleida's surgery coming up on Thursday. This wedding was always the event before the surgery, and it was a nice distraction. But now, I have no other place to focus my thoughts. My mind is spilling over with thoughts of the operation.



Truthfully, I think I would be less scared if I was about to have open-heart surgery. But I'm not and I can't take my daughter's place. I can't even explain to her what's going to happen. So, while I'm enjoying these few days with her, every one of her smiles has the sad outline of ignorance, and I feel guilty knowing more about her future than she does. Maybe it is better, her not knowing. There is anxiety in knowing and waiting and just thinking about something. And maybe that is where most of my fear is coming from- the thinking.



What am I most afraid of? It's hard to pinpoint because there are so many things. Here's a list of just a few.



1) The most obvious fear, that something will go wrong with the surgery. Let me just put it out there...that she won't make it. It's open heart surgery, afterall, and all surgeries have some inherant risks. I do not know what I would do if the worst happened. I do not know what I would do.



2) I'm afraid of seeing her taken away from me, knowing where she is headed. I don't like saying goodbye when I leave her with Dave to go to the grocery store. I know the hours she is in surgery will be agony.

3) I'm scared to see her directly after the surgery. She's going to be hooked up to machines and tubes. She'll be pale, drugged. I don't think I'll be able to hold her for several hours- maybe not even touch her. I'm not sure.



4) I'm afraid of the recovery. She's getting sturdier every day. She's working on standing up and crawling. We play airplane and she loves it. She loves baths and smiles through diaper changes. How fragile she's going to seem after such a major surgery. When will we feel comfortable handling her again? Is she going to be in pain? Will this delay her milestones like rolling over and crawling? When will we be back to normal, back on track again?

5) I'm a little afraid that they won't be able to fix her, that this will be a "wait and see" or "wait and try again" situation. I don't think this is likely, but this thought wormed its way into my brain a few days ago, and now it's leaving tracks up there, moving around and around in my head.

6) I'm worried about the scar. Honestly though, this may be the least of my worries. I'm not a vain person, and I can already tell that my daughter's lovely face, sweet temper and just that shine in her eyes will overshadow any cosmetic blemish. This scar will give her a story to tell, will make her aware of her own mortality, will help her feel lucky and blessed, will give her an appreciation for the human mind and modern science. She will hopefully embrace this as part of her life story, something that sets her apart from other girls. Still, this is a big procedure. I look at my daughter and she looks so PERFECT, that it hurts me to think about what they must do to her. But, she is not perfect. She has a whole in her heart, and the scar will be a visible reminder that she has been mended.

7) I think my biggest fear is that this will change her in some profound way. She is such an easy-going, adaptable, cheerful little creature. She is wholly unspoiled by any trauma or hardship. She is well loved and regularly cuddled. She's warm and full and comfortable most of the time. She smiles a lot. I am afraid that this surgery and the pain and confusion that accompanies it will change her. I don't want her to become fearful or suspicious or wary. She is too young to realize that life is not all warm milk and swaddled blankets. I don't want her to lose her innocence before she's 4 months old.

Why I am crying...

I'm sitting in the nursery rocking chair, AJ swaddled and close to sleeping in my arms, and I am doing what new moms are prone to do, just staring at my child. We had a long, fun, stimulating day at Mt. Tabor's Adult Soapbox Derby with friends. Aleida slept fitfully in the Bjorn, but had no real nap. Consequently, she had a bit of a melt down when we got home. I am still surprised by the physical reaction I have to my daughter's cries. This connection I may never understand.

It took a while, but now we are rocking peacefully. Suddenly, I have tears running down my face. One splashes on Aleida's chubby cheek and she flinches, but does not waken. But why am I crying?

I'm crying because that is my default reaction to any overwhelming emotion. Too happy...I cry. Too sad...I cry. Too mad...yep...tears-a-streaming. It's inconvenient sometimes, but cathartic always. But which emotion is the most overwhelming to me right now... I don't know.

I'm crying because AJ is sleeping with her mouth slightly ajar, head tilted back, reddening hair askew. When I was a child, my family would take road trips. Without fail, my mom's turn in the passenger seat would result in her sleeping like this. We used to laugh at the predictability of her mouth falling open, her head lolling back and forth against the head rest. My daughter, born on my mom's birthday, named after my mother, looks like her in this moment and I can't help feeling squeezed by the closing of the generation gap between June, my beloved mother, and Aleida June, my dearest daughter. That they will never physically meet still pains me, but I am comforted by this connection they have that is greater than I am as the obvious link between them.

I'm crying because I feel as if my heart might explode with the maternal love that was so abstract and unknown until about 12 weeks ago. I have heard it said that the love you have for your kids is stronger than any other love in the world. To say that is not entirely fair, because it is not an apples to apples comparison. To say parental love is different than any other would be true, however. It is love mixed with a great and overwhelming responsibility to a small, helpless, dependent creature.

I'm crying because we have scheduled Aleida's heart surgery for September 10, and I cannot think about that fast-approaching week without anxiety. She is so small. Deep down, I know she will be okay. I am thankful she has a condition that can be fixed so she can lead a normal, vibrant life. But, I also know that when they take her away from me to the operating room, I will feel a physical, emotional schism that will not mend until I am able to hold and feed her again. Fortunately, she will not remember a thing. So though I am worried about her and how she will handle the procedure and recovery, most of my anxiety is selfish. I simply don't want to suffer.

I'm crying because having a child is amazing. Full of challenges, full of insecurities, full of changes, but all the difficulties are eclipsed by the love and wonder and beauty of this new relationship. And I know, from what others have told me, that is only gets better from here.

Careful what you wish for...?

So, after my breastfeeding saga, I'm glad to report that we've gotten it down. I am even comfortable nursing in public (with one of those fashionable cape-like covers) Furthermore, AJ's 2-month check up revealed that she continues to gain over an ounce a day. Makes me feel like I have magic boobs.

I remember reading posts out in the breastfeeding blogosphere about women whose babies were so "good" at breastfeeding that they didn't want to take anything but mommy's nipple. As a mom who was experiencing quite the opposite, I felt anger toward these braggarts. So what if you your baby just wants to suckle all the time? Stupid jerks. I remember reading one blog comment that said something like, "My baby will only take directly from my breast! I guess she knows what she likes!!!" and absolutely hating those extra exclamation points. With throbbing nipples and 6 pumping sessions a day, I despised the cheerful b-word who gloated about her picky baby.

Well, last week, I was in the park- having a girls' outing with some friends. I'd pumped and packed a bottle to avoid whipping out the boob during the picnic. When AJ acted hungry, I grabbed the bottle and sat her down. She took the bottle nipple into her mouth, spit it out and dribbled milk everywhere. She fussed every time I tilted her back and offered the bottle. She refused the bottle! My friend, Georgia, who had her 2nd child in late June said, "You'll probably have to hand her off to someone else if you want to feed her from the bottle. She knows you have the real thing." I ended up sitting under a tree and nursing her; she ate with no hesitation.

Since then, she's refused bottles every day from me, daddy and even grandma. We will continue to offer her the bottle in the hopes she will pass through this phase. Part of me is flattered that she seems to want the intimacy and warmth of breastfeeding. Another part of me is panicked that I have cursed myself to a year in which I will not be able to be away from my daughter for more than a few hours at a time. This week grandma is visiting, and I would like to take her up on her offer to give us a baby-free date night, but don't want to stick her with a baby that gets pissed every time she's offered a bottle. Also, there's a bit of terror that comes with realizing your 2-month-old is already proving to be extremely opinionated.

In the end, I think it's kind of hilarious. And I feel confident that Aleida will re-learn to take the bottle eventually. I do value the nursing relationship we have established and her refusal of the bottle feels like an odd kind of victory. Still, I can't help thinking of the saying, "Be careful what you wish for..."

On Breastfeeding

If you don't want to read my long personal story, scroll down to the bottom for my list of advice on breastfeeding.

A couple weeks ago, I wouldn't have been able to predict if this entry would be called "On Breastfeeding" or "On Bottles." I was pretty close to giving up on doing things the "natural" way.
Funny, how misleading the word "natural" can be. Yes, breastfeeding is natural. But so is walking...and it takes a lot of time and development and strength to be able to do it. Babies have to learn how to walk. They have to take small steps with a lot of help. They have to fall down many times before they can do it properly. Yet there is no denying that it is, in fact, natural.


Breastfeeding...ahhhh...breastfeeding. How confident I was telling people, "Yes, I'm going to breastfeed." Just saying it seemed natural. I heard it was painful at first, but most accounts seemed to limit the discomfort to the first few days. No problem.



How cute I was with that confidence. LIttle did I know what was ahead.







As you know, my daughter was born a month early. The hospital had a "protocol" for premature babies. They offered her my breast right away, but she was too small and sleepy to nurse. The pattern was this: Breast, bottle, pump. Offer her the breast. Supplement with the bottle. Pump for 15 minutes to stimulate your milk supply. Let me tell you: 15 minutes is a long time to have something tugging at your knockers.







While we were in the hospital, Aleida didn't do much with my breasts. So, we started off giving her formula (I heard the collective gasp from all the La Leche Leaguers out there). It was nice because both Dave and I could feed her. Daddy liked that. Not what I wanted or expected, but I knew she needed nourishment. And the nurses assured me that she would be able to breastfeed eventually.







I used to see breasts as a feminine, sexual thing. That's why women wear necklaces and low-slung tops, right? To flaunt the boobage. To showcase the tatas?







Cue the breast pump. If you've never seen one, it's like this: A funnel shaped piece of plastic is placed over each breast. You have to hold it there- no handsfree contraptions. I've heard they exist, but the hospital did not offer... These funnels are connected to a splitter. One end goes to a collecting bottle. The other end connects to a tube which runs to the pump. Turn it on and you get a nice "whirrr, slump, whirrr, slump, whirrr."







In essence, I became a cow. Hook me up to a milker and collect. At first, it's a painful tug that for me brought not a drop for almost 24 hours. Once the milk started, the yield was little drops and trickles of milk. After a couple days, I was getting a stream. I had extra milk. More than AJ needed. By day 3, she was on nothing but breast milk, but not from the breast. Had I been more informed, I would've been more proactive in getting her to latch. But I had lots of other things on my mind, and the lactation consultant was clearly not aggressive.




Jump ahead 7 weeks. Today I'm going to my 4th appointment with a lacation consultant. These appointments will outline for you the general points of difficulty that I've encountered on the journey.



1st Visit: Aleida 1 week old. Routine Visit to Kaiser's Mother-Baby program. She was weighed. Lactation consultant watched her try to latch. She gave us a "nipple shield." It's a plastic dome that covers your nipple. It's usually used for flat or inverted nipples. I don't have this problem, so I think she gave it to us as a transition from bottle to nipple. I was advised to try the shield, but continue to pump and supplement with the bottle.



2nd Visit: Aleida 3.5 weeks old. Back to Kaiser's Lactation Specialist. Originally, I made the appt b/c we were really struggling at the breast. Aleida would cry and pull away from my breast, but happily finish off a bottle. Feedings often ended in frustration, sometimes tears. Aleida was still small, still premie, so my expectations might have been a bit unrealistic. Still, I just wanted to breastfeed her. I didn't want to struggle with it. Between making the appointment and going to it, things improved dramatically. Aleida was taking more from the breast. We were still using the nipple shield, but I was okay with it b/c it was better than the bottle. At this appt, Aleida was again weighed and still gaining like a champ. We also did a before and after weight. Weigh her. Feed her. Weigh her again to see how much she was getting. AJ proved to be efficient. In about 14 minutes of nursing, she took in close to 3 ounces- more than her nutritional need. Everyone was happy and I thought the worst was over.



3rd Visit: Aleida 5.5 weeks old. I wanted to wean off the nipple shield. Though my husband continues to warn me away from the blogosphere, I continue to turn to it for advice. I saw that nipple shields have been shown to decrease milk supply and can be very hard to wean off. So, I started nursing without the nipple shield, and started having some pretty major pain. I'd heard breastfeeding caused pain in the early days, so I suffered through, thinking that this was my equivalent of the early days. I started to have anxiety associated with breastfeeding, b/c I wasn't sure how she was going to latch on, and I anticipated pain. I would often have to give myself breaks from nursing. Even when I wasn't nursing, I would have intense soreness and even acute pain in my breasts. I started to worry about infection and I had no idea if this was normal. I called a different lactation consultant under my new insurance, and made an appointment. I was skeptical that anything could be done, and worried that I would be giving up shortly after the visit.

Fortunately, Aleida was still gaining weight. And this consultant was much more knowledgeable than the last. She showed me that with some very minor technique changes, I could get AJ to take more of the breast in her mouth. Before, she was really just nursing off my nipple and I thought "latching on" referred to her grip on my nipple. What "latching on" really means is that the baby's lower lip is latched on below the nipple, towards the bottom of the areola, taking much more into her mouth. She again did the before and after weight, and again we saw that Aleida is an efficient sucker. I felt good. I was equiped with good information.



I asked about the pain. My consultant did suggest that I might have Reynaud's Syndrome. This is the same syndrome that causes people's fingers to turn white when they are cold. Apparently, you can have it just in the breast, and that could be a cause for pain, especially when your nipple is already traumatized. The blood vessels in the area actually constrict, so it feels like a spasm. Yep, I was having nipple spasms. I often referred to these episodes as "nipple attacks" and affectionately described them as "cheese-grater nipples." Lovely, no? Don't worry, this is an outlier symptom- not among the scope of "normal" breast-feeding adjustment.

**24 hours have elapsed since I started this entry**

4th Visit: Aleida 7.5 weeks old I made this appointment because while my pain has greatly diminished, Aleida is inconsistent with nursing. Sometimes she will be on and off in 5 minutes and I can't convince her to go back on. In the last few days, she's been fussy at the breast, squirming around like she's uncomfortable and sometimes crying. Since she's not a fussy baby by nature, I'm worried that something's wrong. And I'm worried that she might not be getting enough milk with her quick feeds. Again, the blogosphere has me worried about foremilk/hindmilk inbalance, insufficient weight gain, etc.

Good news from the visit- Aleida now weighs 8 lbs 14 oz which means she's been gaining about an ounce a day since birth--over an ounce a day since my last appt. She's also a total Hoover- sucks down 2 ounces in about 5 minutes on my boobage. The consultant said I'm doing everything right. She said AJ's latch is great, I make it look easy, I'm a good mother. Shucks...I thought...keep going... The only question is the fussiness. 6-8 weeks is one of the more fussy periods across the board- so it could be that. She also said the buzz word in lactation circles is acid reflux in babies and they are actually treating babies with antacids. She isn't buying into it, and neither am I. I checked the blogosphere and most babies suffering with reflux have many more and much worse symptoms than my AJ.

So, I'm trying new positions and just in the last few feedings, I've noticed a big improvement. Part of the problem could be my overabundance of milk and therefore my fast let down. I think it's probably just creating gas. So, I'm trying more upright nursing positions. I prop AJ up beside me- almost in a sitting position, and offer her the breast that way. She hasn't fussed this morning, so I think it's working. And there's validation in her weight gain and the words of the consultant. So this time...fingers crossed...I do feel like the hard part is over, though I still hope to get more consistent feedings, and I want my milk to regulate so I don't feel so swollen.

In summary...here's my advice to anyone attempting to breastfeed:

1. Lower your expectations. This is a difficult process for a lot of moms. Some lucky people transition w/out much trouble, but from what I'm hearing, it is totally normal to have a bumpy start.

2. Do what's best for you! For me, pushing through was the right decision. The disappointment of not breast-feeding would've outweighed all the pain and frustration. On the other end, I'm glad I suffered through. But this is not true for everyone. If you need to pump and bottle, pump and bottle. If you need to go to formula, go to formula. Don't let frustration hurt your relationship with your baby, or your body. In the end, a happy bottle-feeding mom is going to be much better for a baby than a miserable breast-feeding one.

3. Forget your cans as anything but functional milk-makers. They are as big and pretty as they are going to be, but they are not your boobs anymore. Nor are they your partner's. They are your baby's. It's temporary.

4. Use lactation consultants. The minute you feel frustrated, call and schedule an appointment. I wouldn't be breastfeeding now if it wasn't for the help I got.

5. Beware the blogosphere. Keep reading my blog...of course...but watch out for the info out there. Every baby is totally different. So when I was reading that babies should nurse for at least 15 minutes on each breast, I was totally insecure. My baby gets what she needs in under 10 minutes (that's right, suckas). But advising others to stop at 10 minutes could be harmful. You will learn what works for you and yours.

Breastfeeding is hard, but I must say, there are few things more precious than my daughter nursing. It's a beautiful, amazing thing that our bodies can be the sole producers for our offspring. Oh yeah, and you burn 500-800 calories a day breastfeeding- that's more than during pregnancy- so eat away!

Final piece of advice: Be gentle and patient with yourself, your baby, and the process. Remember, it's all temporary.

a matter of the heart

Pregnant women (and I speak for all of us here) can't help but worry that their children will turn out okay. We hear enough about Downs Syndrome and Cystic Fibrosis and Fetal Alcohol Syndrome to freak anyone out. I worried about the careless 2 doses of NyQuil I took after conception but before my knowledge of it. When my dad joked that he would be happy with a "grandson, granddaughter or friendly alien," I laughed, but had nightmares about giving birth to something that looked like an extra terrestrial. You worry about the missing toes, the cleft palate, the hair lip, the deafness, the blindness, the deformation. Once baby is born and you count the fingers and note the proper placement of her nose, you breathe a sigh of relief. All that worrying for naught, you think.



So, on day 2 in the hospital, when the pediatrician came in to check my perfect daughter, I was confident. Even after she told me she heard a heart murmur, I didn't despair. "Lots of babies are born with murmurs that go away in a day or so, so I'll be back to check her tomorrow," she'd said.



Dave listened to her heart, heard the murmur, but didn't seem worked up, so I calmly waited for the next check up.



On day 3, the pediatrician still heard the murmur, so she ordered an echocardiogram. The technician came in with a big machine and ran a wand over my darling as she lay sleeping on my chest. Dave was watching intently; he had some training in these mysterious images, after all. I just watched my daughter and occasionally glanced at the screen or my husband to see if I could make sense of anything. I couldn't.

The technician, knowing Dave was a doctor, said, "I can't really tell you what I'm seeing. You'll have to wait until the doc looks at the images," but he proceeded to point out major landmarks anyway. Words were tossed around between the tech and my husband that made little sense to me, but piqued just enough worry to raise my own heart rate. When the procedure was over, I asked my husband what he knew.



"Nothing really," he said. "It could be *insert gibberish words* and it could not be, we'll have to wait and see what the doctor says." I know now, he was protecting me. He knew that our little baby had a hole in her heart.



Those gibberish words can now be defined as "tetralogy of Fallot." For a while, I thought they were saying "tetralogy of flow" which made sense since we're talking about the heart. But no, Fallot is the guy who defined the condition. Tetralogy refers to 4 key anatomical features of the condition, but my understanding is that only 2 of them matter. 1. A hole between the left and right ventricles. 2. A narrowing of the pulmonary valve. In a nutshell, oxygenated blood can mix with deoxygenated blood, meaning that not enough oxygen gets taken throughout the system. In an even smaller nutshell, this means babies can turn blue.



Our baby is not blue. She's not even purplish. She's pink and rosy and beautiful. She's currently considered "mildly affected." She has the same oxygen levels in her blood as any other baby. You look at her and you have no idea that she has a congenital heart defect.



In the end, she's going to need surgery. Open heart surgery. Probably before she's 6 months old. Right now, we go to the cardiologist every 3 weeks to check her stats. We watch for "blue spells." We wait and let her grow and get strong. We enjoy her and forget that there is anything wrong. Truly, as far as heart conditions go, this is a best-case scenario. She's otherwise perfectly healthy. We discovered the condition via the murmur- not a "blue spell" (can you imagine how scary THAT would be if you weren't expecting it?). We have the means and resources and attitude necessary to get her the required care. We have good health insurance. Once she has the surgery, she'll be fine. Follow up with the cardiologist throughout life- but no limitation to her activities. Shaun White- the Olympic snowboarder- had this condition. So AJ can be an Olympian if she wants to.

Still...open-heart surgery on a baby. My baby. You can imagine what it's taken for me to come to terms with this. But I have. I had to accept a few truths to get there. First, this has nothing to do with her being a month early. Second, there is no known cause of this. It is congenital, but not hereditary. Dave and I are no more likely the have another child with this condition than any other couple. Third, this doesn't define her. She is beautiful and healthy. We'll fix this, but until then, she's just a normal (well...exceptionally adorable and smart and perfect) baby.

Finally, I've accepted that this is not my fault. Of course, I could go into how I've wracked my brain to come up with something I used or did or ate that could've caused this. If I was a religious person, I might see this as God's punishment to Dave and I for having premarital sex. The most spiritual I'm going to get about it is this: Balance. I have a fairly charmed life. This is a challenge, an obstacle, but I can handle it. We can handle it. AJ won't even remember it.

Dave summed it up best. We were still in the hospital. I'd been crying as I realized what had to happen to fix my baby's heart. "Now that I've met her, I wouldn't exchange her for a baby without this problem." I said. "I mean, she's pretty perfect, except for this hole in her heart."

Dave looked at her, then looked at me. "She's pretty perfect with it."

80/20

It is hard to justify writing in my blog with so many other things to do. But my goal is to complete at least one entry--however short--a week. We'll see.

This morning was a bit rough. My mellow angel baby who sleeps well and rarely cries has been super fussy. She's refusing to nap- though I can see she's tired. She's crying more, and I'm a little scared that this is the beginning of a trend- though there is no logic considering the past 6-weeks have been suprisingly fuss free. Everyone has bad days. This is one of hers.

Couple that with one of my bad moods and you get a mess. Baby crying. Mommy crying. Daddy confused. A bit of a wasted morning.

Here's what it comes down to. 80% of the time, I feel so privileged to be the mommy. I get to breastfeed her (though this comes with challenges and frustrations too- but that's for a later blog). I am the sole care-taker, even though my husband is more involved than 99% of dads out there. But, he works full time. AJ is my full time job. And I spend probably about 6-8 hours a day just feeding and changing her. Usually, I love it- even the poopy diapers. She's beautiful, pleasant, interesting and a part of me. In fact, most of the time, I'll tell you this is easier and more fun than people say it is.

This morning was part of the other 20%. As I work to feed a fussy baby and my husband goes outside to work out and play around in the garden, I start to feel sorry for myself. This is my life, and my first responsibility. On days when she doesn't nap, I don't get a chance to work out or even shower when I want. It's hard to fit in meals some times. Dave's trying to help me. "Let me take care of her while you go workout."

I'm in an unreasonable mood and frankly, a bit too tired and frustrated for working out to sound like a good idea, though I'd just complained about not having time to work out. "Well, do I work out? Eat breakfast? Shower? Which of these important things do I choose, because I don't have enough time to do all three? And what about you? I was hoping to spend some quality time together."

Dave throws out several logical options that hit at least 2 of the 3 activities, but I shoot them all down. I'm just set on feeling sorry for myself. This is my life now. Catering to the needs of a small little human being with moods and demands and a personality that I'm still trying to figure out. I love her, but I don't always get her.

Truth is, I'm ashamed of these moments of self-pity. I want to be the always on, always happy mama bear that has no trouble putting the needs of her young above all else. And believe me, I know this is a privilege and most of the time it feels like one. But occasionally, I have a little pity party. I envy my husband the part-time nature of his role. He gets a kick out of her when she's fussy, because then he goes to work and sees much more fussy people in the ER.

A pregnant friend asked me for my best piece of advice after a month of motherhood. Here it is: Expect the 20% moments. Roll with them. Know they will pass. Forgive yourself for being a little selfish. Your life is about to change in a major way. It is amazing, beautiful, meaningful. But it's hard and at times scary and frustrating. No relationship is perfect- so you're bound to have down moments with this new little person at the center of your life. But the ups much outweigh the downs. 80% to 20% at least. Maybe more like 90% to 10%, now that my little angel is napping. And after a successful, long feeding, I got a smile. Totally worth it.

AJ comes early

Here's how Dave's day went: He woke at 8am on Saturday to attend a birthing class, the first of two. The class went from 9:30 to 3:30pm. Dave then had a shift in the pediatric ER from 6pm to 2am. After completing notes and coming home, he got to bed around 4am. At 5:30, his wife (me!) woke up to pee and came back to bed to report that she thought her water had broken.





"Everything okay?" he asked.


"Well...uh...I'm not sure, but I think my water might have broken." Don't forget, due date is July 1st- still over 4 weeks away.


"I doubt it. But if you're worried, call the nurse advice line." He was thinking, "She just has it on the brain b/c of birthing class. There's no way her water has broken. I'm so tired. Please just let me roll over and go back to sleep."





But Dave is a dear, dear husband, and as his wife called the advice line, he dragged himself out of bed to check things out.





His wife had woken up to pee, as per usual, only to find that her underwear was wet. According to our class, amniotic fluid should be colorless...check...and odorless...check. It wasn't pee and not likely sweat. The advice nurse told her to give it 10-15 minutes and if she continued to "leak or start to gush" she should definitely go to labor and delivery. She stood up to walk around, and felt liquid running down her leg. She looked at her sleepy husband. "Uh...I don't think there's anything else this could be."





"Alright then, let's go."





We weren't packed. We didn't have the recommended labor bag with snacks and music and comfort items and aromatherapy. We threw together a bag with a change of clothes and some reading material. Sorely unprepared were we.

******

Anyway, I've been trying to finish this blog post for 2 weeks now, so I'm just going to give you the condensed version. In the end, this was kind of a worst-case scenario birth. I wanted to go quickly and vaginally and naturally. I ended up going long with pitocin and ultimately a c-section. I was transferred from the nice, alternative, midwife-staffed hospital (sadly without a NICU for premie births) I wanted to give birth at, to the big, heavy-handed medical facility with state of the art NICU in case things went badly. We were given the choice and opted for the big, technologically advanced hospital, because we knew we could NEVER forgive ourselves if the little one needed help that was not available at the smaller hospital. Hospital policy insisted I transfer via ambulance. Totally unnecessary. But it was a fitting precursor to the rest. They strapped me (a perfectly healthy, mobile, not even in labor female) to a stretcher, put me in the back of an ambulance with a taciturn EMT, and drove me to the other hospital. Not the grand entry I was hoping for.

The pitocin was to speed things up because my body was taken by surprise and not moving things forward fast enough. "Failure to progress" is the official term, I think. Gives you warm-fuzzies, I know. I can't blame my body though. By all standards, I was small for 36 weeks. I was expecting another month of stretching and preparation. Only the baby was really ready for the process. I swear that she was crammed and decided to break my amniotic sac with the huge inner-uterine body slam I'd felt the night before. She was ready. My body wasn't. I know I could've labored just fine if the conditions were right, but they weren't.

The fetal moniter (an evil, evil device) was showing concerning decelerations of her heart. So they wanted to speed things up, mainly to see if she could handle it and get her out of there. Turns out she couldn't handle it. She wasn't getting enough breaks between contractions. My contractions weren't organizing enough. Her heart patterns scared the docs- and they have their asses to think about. They want what's best for the baby- which in the end, is also what's best for the mother- though certain literature contradicts this simple point. So, after 20 hours of this give and take with the docs and the pitocin and contractions that hurt but weren't productive, I consented to a c-section. I cried. I didn't want it this way, but I wanted my baby out and healthy. I still know I'd be damn good at laboring. The few hours of good labor I had weren't bad. I breathed through the contractions. I felt strong and able. But it was not to be.

What can I say? I'm disappointed, but only b/c I didn't get the experience of a vaginal birth. I got a beautiful girl, and my first major surgery. Must've had great docs, because recovery has been a breeze. Truthfully, I feel like a lot of the literature I read about the ideal of a natural birth actually worked to make me feel a bit ashamed of having a c-section- and I might not have felt that way if I hadn't read them. Really, can there be any shame in following medical advice for the health of your unborn infant? No. There shouldn't be. But the focus on natural birth (believe me- that was my goal), does throw a really negative light on anything but, and this idea that you have to "grieve the loss of your ideal birth" seems wrong. Am I less of a woman for having a c-section? What's to grieve when the product is a healthy, beautiful baby?

Enough of that. Not my ideal situation. But like my yoga instructor told the class, "The only guarantee in birth is that the baby comes out." And thank god for that.

There is a beautiful story in this mess of modern medicine. My water broke a MONTH early! My due date was July 1. There is no earthly reason she should've been born so early. I had the world's least eventful pregnancy. Pathology on my placenta showed no infection or other possible reason for a premature labor. By the time I had my daughter, it was 2:08 am on June 1. Now, as many of you know, my mom died of ovarian cancer about 6 years ago. Her name was June. My daughter, Aleida June, was always going to have her name for a middle name. I always harbored some hope that she would also be born in the month of June (though really, I was thinking more like June 29 or 30th). But, she was born instead, on my mom's birthday. How amazing and meaningful is that? The ONLY reason this baby should've come early is to be born on her late grandma June's birthday.