The Big Trip Back East

We went back to DC for the holiday, a trip that also doubled as Erik's work trip. Stella took her first airplane, her first Amtrak train, her first subway ride and first ride in a bus. She had her moments on the plane (moments in which, unfortunately, many people on the plane shared...), but all in all, she traveled like a champ. The trip was worth it for she met many admirers (not in the following order).

My old coworkers...what a natural!

Miss YaMinco & Mr. John

Mr. Abe, Mrs. Linda, Miss Marlene, Miss Laura, Miss Sorrel, Miss Emily

Miss Laura

First subway

First plane

First Amtrak

[Great] Aunt Linda

[Great] Uncle Robin and cousins Max and Moss

[Great] GREAT Grandma sportin' the Moby Wrap

Thanksgiving with the fam

[Great] Aunt Lori and cousin Moss

[Great] Aunt Paula and cousin Max

[Great] Uncle Jamie

Mrs. Beth

Mr. Brock

Mrs. Liz

Mr. Jason

Hello Again

My laptop died awhile back and I have been without the ability to [easily] post. But more than that, my life has made it almost impossible to post.

The abbreviated version is that Stella got her first cold, then Erik got it and then I got it. Then our wonderful friends from DC came to visit. Then I got the H1N1 nasal vaccine and became very ill from it (Erik and I both had to do antibiotics!). Then we buried my beautiful grandmother who passed away at 89. Then Erik's dad came to visit from Italy, and THEN we went to DC/Cumberland for 8 days for the holiday combined with Erik's work trip. We got in around 1am last night and are recovering well :)

BTW, if you are asthmatic and are thinking of getting the H1N1 nasal vaccine, I highly recommended reconsidering and maybe getting the shot instead if you can. Lord, if I had known...

But more importantly, Stella is growing like a weed and doing ridiculously cute stuff. She is almost FIVE months old and is now rolling, laughing out loud and grabbing her toes when she lays on her back. I will post more recent pics in my next post, but here are a few catch-up photos :)

Brunch

Bath time!

Snoozin' in her car seat

3 Months Today!

There is so much to say but I am one-hand typing...so I'll post pics for now : )

But I have to say that Stella rolled for her first time today (twice!), on her 3-month b-day! I did not expect this reaction, but I balled. And then I cried again later when I thought about it... Oh what joy does to me!

Outdoor movie in our park!

We picnicked of course!

Happy Birthday, Rosebud!

The Story Behind the Post

Perhaps I should share the story (the last straw) that prompted me to write a post about attacks on our "parenting style". It's funny because it will seem to you like the exact opposite happened of what I was saying about our actual "style", but it's the sentiment (or lack thereof) that was at the heart of my fury.

I was at the tailor getting a cheap dress from Target hemmed, thinking that it would be a good dress for breastfeeding, and for hiding my postpartum body (nothing fits yet!), otherwise I would not be going through the trouble (I don't go anywhere that matters these days, but I'd like to have at least one thing that fits that's not maternity). Here's the dilemma: in order to try on a dress and wait while a woman sits at your feet and pins it to the appropriate length requires you to not be holding a baby (especially not in a sling which would affect the length of the dress). So for one time only, I agreed with myself that instead of asking a stranger to hold Stella while I have this done, it occurred to me that people leave their babies in their car seats when they need both hands for a minute. People leave their babies in their car seats for entire shopping trips, naps, etc., but I just needed 5 minutes - just 5 minutes in the car seat. Oh, did I mention she hates the car seat, even when she's in the car? Well, there you go.

So I carry her in her car seat into the little fitting room to put the dress on, sweet-talking her and touching her all the while. I turn her toward the multiple mirrors so that she can see herself and me while the woman is pinning. She is unhappy. I reach down and pull the car seat up to eye level with me, and I use my free arm to put my finger in my mouth (her pacifier...she won't take a normal one), and she is still unhappily crying. The woman is doing exactly the opposite of what I am requesting, and so she is taking way longer than she should.

Finally, she has finished. I hangout with Stella on the floor for a few moments with lots of physical contact, trying to calm her down so that I can get undressed and dressed (again, I need two hands for this). "Couple more minutes, Baby", I plead. She is half cooperating.

When dressed, we run over to the counter to get our ticket stub and pre-pay for the job. I am kneeling down next to her (so that the lady behind the counter can't even see me), I'm fishing for my credit card, and then I'm signing the credit card slip on my knee with one hand while the other hand has a finger in her mouth.

While this is happening, a large older woman (like mother hen or something) is sitting in a chair commenting on exactly what I should be doing, and asking why I am not doing something different. "Why is she in that contrapment? She doesn't like it!", she goes on, pointing out the obvious. "Oh, she hates it. I never do this but I needed free hands for a few minutes", I explain, frazzled. "Well, she needs out of there - take her out!", she demands. "I would except we're about to get in the car and, believe it or not, she actually hates it more when I take her out and put her back in again...", I reason. "Well, take her out! Don't give her that fake finger-thing! Where's her bottle?!". "She doesn't take a bottle!", I exclaim with increasing annoyance at her judgmental, non-helpful demeanor. "Oh, she's breastfed? Well, at least she's breastfed...", as if it's the only thing I'm doing right. "Well, get her out of there!", she starts up again, and she advances toward the car seat and proceeds to try and take her out of it while I'm sitting there with her with my finger in her mouth! "She is FINE, THANK YOU." I say bluntly, staring her down.

As a commenter commented (thank you for your comment!), I experience plenty of harmless parenting advice (and yes, I may act like I don't speak English next time - thanks for the tip!). And as I said in my earlier post, I let most of it roll off of my back. I sincerely enjoyed all of the attention I got when I was pregnant, feeling like there was a sudden interest in my child from the entire universe, and like there was this connection that did not require knowing me to approach me with advice (not typical for our social norms). I mostly take this attitude now as a new mom - I am rarely defensive, and I don't feel like I have anything about which to be insecure (and hence, defensive). But as I stated before, it is the underlying judgment that I just can't handle. And like I asked before, where are the compliments (thank you, Commenters, that have sent in your props!)? I don't walk around looking for kudos, but I'd sure like a balance! I'll hear 20 pieces of advice in any given day about how I shouldn't wear her too much, or I shouldn't hold her, or I shouldn't let her suck her thumb (even though she doesn't), or I shouldn't let her sleep with us or let her "bully" us with her crying... But it is rare to walk through a store and hear, "You are such a good mom to be wearing your baby, or talking to your baby like she's an actual person!" And again, it's not that I'm looking for that; it's mostly that people are so quick to judge and be negative then to compliment or praise.

Just sayin'...

Thank you for all of your comments! I totally appreciate them :)

Dear Stella

This past week you discovered your toes. One afternoon as we finished an errand in the car, I was wholly curious as to why you were not screaming anymore as you do the whole time you're in your car seat (you just hate it - we don't know why). I pulled up to the house and hopped into the backseat, ready to rescue you from your evil car seat, but you didn't make a peep. Instead, you were quietly observing your toes out in front of you, wriggling around and waving back at you. I imagined you asking, "Am I controlling that? Are those 'things' mine?".

You've also started to develop recognizable patterns to clue us in as to your needs. After you awake in the morning, it is not that long before you're ready to go right back to sleep for a mid-morning nap. You are still only sleeping on your mom or dad in the Moby wrap or in a sling; if we lay you down anywhere after you've fallen asleep, you immediately wake up. So we've given in to wearing you for every daytime nap, otherwise you don't sleep and that makes for a very cranky nighttime Stella.

We have also learned to identify the difference between when you are tired, when you are hungry or when you just want a change in scenery (or when you have dirty britches). I can't really explain the difference, but I think every parent would agree that there is one.

My favorite times with you are when you're waking up. No matter from a nap or from nighttime sleeping, you are slow to rejoin the busy world. You prefer to take your time, stretching and cooing, looking around a bit, but mostly you prefer to quietly put your head on my shoulder while you continue to wake up. I love to hold your face to mine, kissing your ear and neck as I gently sway you and awaken my sleepy little bird. Once you've awoken a bit, the smiles start, and my heart feels like it might explode from too much love.

As I did everyday in DC before you were born, we listen to NPR in the morning to get our daily dose of domestic politics and world events (we also don't have a TV...). As quickly as I lose myself in the disbelief of what's happening with health care in this country, or the war, or the Middle East, I just as quickly bring my mind right back to you and all of your wonder. I stare at you in amazement to know how innocent you are to the world's nastiness and complexity. Yet I am excited for your opportunity to explore it with a clean slate and a full heart.

I honestly can't say what the world will hold for you. I'm sure that my parents, and their parents, thought that the world had turned into such a scary place that maybe they shouldn't have brought kids into the world. I don't feel that it's too scary of a place for you to live - I'm glad to have given you the opportunity to experience living in this world, even during this modern time. But I am scared and curious of the things you will surely experience either first hand or from afar. Will terrorism be an everyday-thing? Will your first car be truly electric? Will your country be at war? Will you attend a legal same-sex marriage (legal in the whole country)? Will local food in the grocery store still be an anomoly or something typical? Will you eventually have to pay to even stand up and stretch on an airplane???

How strange to think that you may be a bleeding heart (like your mom and dad), one who wants to defend those without a voice, always looking for justice. I may have to brace myself when you tell me in high school that you're a vegan and that you're moving to New York City as soon as you turn 18 so that you can fight the good fight, and that school can wait... Or will I pace night after night, waiting by the phone for a call as you travel across the country in a beat-up car with a friend (or boyfriend) of whome I disapprove? Or perpaps you will be addicted to Dr. Pepper and Milk Duds, never leaving the house because you can't put down the most popular hand-held gaming device of the moment, or you are beating a computer game for the millionth time (but it gets harder everytime), and I'll be begging you to go outside and play or to go "partying" with your friends.

But for now, even as I type, you sleep peacefully on my body, unaware of the future or even the past. Your world is full of the most basic and essential of needs: food, warmth, shelter, sleep, activity and love. Your parents fuss over every little detail regarding you: is it too hot for socks, should we give you Gripe Water and Mylicon Drops, should we let you finish your nap (the one you so desperately needed) in your car seat or take you out and risk having you stay awake? Whatever the subject matter, it always seems crucial to us as we learn our way and as you learn yours. It will be my job not to suffocate you with concern (something with which a sybling will surely help :) , and it will be your job to love your life...the only one you have to live.

Bless you!

Opinions

I hold our daughter a lot. We hold our daughter as much as we can. We respond to her cries, to her yells and even to her fidgets. We respect when we think she's had enough (in terms of being out and about), and we watch for her cues for signs as to what she needs or wants. We keep her close. We sleep with her. We sing to her. We don't want to leave her behind yet for "dates" or any other reason. We sincerely enjoy her company, and we each get sad when we're away from her for any given period. This isn't to say that we don't give each other breaks, but they are short and sweet.

People are very quick to tell you that you are spoiling your child from holding her too much or sleeping with her. They're quick to judge you, thinking that giving your child as much attention as you can means that they will never get along on their own. People won't hesitate to tell you that she is screaming because you hold her too much and now she wants nothing else, or because she'll hate everything that doesn't have to do with you. Or that she's behaving badly because she's spoiled.

My question is why aren't people more willing to give you compliments where they are due on the hard job of parenting? Where is the support for having read tons of research and deciding that children fare better and trust you more (and themselves) later in life when they are not ignored or left behind as infants and toddlers? Why do people think that a couple of people like Erik and myself that research everything wouldn't have stopped to read and purposefully decide about what might be best for OUR child?

I am of the opinion that it takes a village. But I am not always sure that I want the negative village with which I am sometimes surrounded. If people are going to assert themselves and their knowledge onto me about my parenting choices, they'd better be a little more in line with my philosophy or they won't get far. I have read both sides. I have seen all different kinds of parenting styles. I have LIVED those different styles. And from experience, I can tell you that there are worse ways of raising a child than how we are raising ours. I happen to think that our parenting style is closer to the top of the scale (good) rather than down in the red danger zone.

I absolutely welcome advice around what worked for other's children and what didn't. I love being exposed to the different ways that my friends are raising their children. I think it's important to always challenge yourself and to ask questions about what you're doing, comparing your style to others that you know. But by no means do I welcome the judgment that so often follows "harmless advice". I don't know what people are trying to accomplish by telling me that I hold my child too much or that I should give her a pacifier (which she will not take!). But I'm guessing it's because they don't want me to suffer, nor do they want my child to be rotten like an apple that fell off a truck (as if I do). I will say, however, that if the "harmless advice" is not completely sincere, or if it has even the slightest hint of judgment, then it can be withheld or shared with someone that's actually listening.

Can you tell I've had a few incidents? I wrote this post weeks ago but reserved publishing it right away for hope that my emotion would "settle down" a little bit. But every time I encounter that familiar "you're not raising your kid right" stance, I go from zero to annoyed right away. I know it's just the beginning of people butting into how we parent. And some of it I sincerely let roll off my back, completely unaffected. But it's that hint of judgment that can't escape my peripheral vision. Just like I did with any nastiness that came out around my wedding (another place where people tell you how to do it), I just won't tolerate unproductive judgment, especially from those that have nothing to show for "the way they did it".

Yoikes, Scooby!

I was looking up some products that I received as a gift to see if they contained carcinogens, etc. Because I had heard that they were far from organic, I wasn't surprised to find that they weren't rated highly. But I was surprised to find that the specific products I received of this brand were ranked among some of the worst in terms of bad "stuff" in them. and they are baby products.

I recommend the below site if you're making the move to have safer cosmetics (lotions, shampoos, make-up, etc.) in your life. I actually made the switch long ago to using all organic cosmetics and beauty products (mascara, lotion, hair stuff, moisturizer, etc.), but there are still the occasional gifts that I'm not always sure about. Of course, there is the opinion that one little bottle of whatever isn't going to hurt you, especially when the fumes from cars and second-hand smoke you breathe are so much worse. But my attitude is that as little of all that bad stuff as possible is better, and I will control what I can. My end goal is to be around for a long time - to watch Stella have babies, and maybe even to watch those babies have babies (my grandmas are still around - they are Stella's great grandmothers!). I'm glad sites like this exist so that I can make that choice for myself, and so that I can protect Stella as much as I can until she is old enough to choose for herself.

Cosmetic Database

Storing it Away

I am trying to make myself remember these perfect times with my new daughter. I am often torn between just absorbing the moment with her doing something ridiculously precious, and running to grab the video/camera and watching it through a screen, but capturing it for all time.

As I recently told someone in an email, Firecracker has all but told us outright that sleeping at night is not her thing anymore. Yes, during the day she takes great naps, but only on me (in the Moby). And yes, she sleeps for a couple of hours at a time at night, but only next to me (and she does a lot of endless writhing routing even when full, keeping me up. Breastfeeding co-sleeping moms, you feel me, right?). But last night, she would only sleep on me (as in the Moby). So I "slept" - yes - sitting up, something I haven't done since I suffered from heartburn during late pregnancy. And yes, I'm starting to believe that the late stages of pregnancy are indeed preparation for the early stages of motherhood, except that there's really nothing that can actually prepare you for this kind of sleep deprivation.

But, when she awoke this morning, she stretched and yawned and stretched and made crazy animal noises and yawned until her eyes met mine and she broke into a huge smile, kicking her feet in excitement and flirtation. Nothing. NOTHING. Makes my heart feel the way it does when she looks at me like that.

Of late, I am reminded of my long-time absolute favorite poem, one that I always related to how I feel about my partner. But it has an even deeper meaning to me now, something I didn't know possible.

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

E.E. Cummings

Clarification

I have been meaning to follow-up my last post with a comment, but I'm doing it later than I wanted to (I blame my child :)

While no one is accusing me of this at all, I just wanted to let friends and family know that my last post was in no way intended as a slap. In fact, I meant to write about how I understand that people don't always know how to react to death and how to bring it up, especially when it seems someone may have moved on and may not want to be reminded. I meant to say that I totally understand these intentions and that I blame no one. I think more than anything, I was exercising my true emotions in preparation for my group. I meant to say that I actually think it's interesting how it's all played out with people close to me, and how I've been able to learn a lesson that you just can't learn unless you lose someone (unfortunately). It's not a lesson I would wish on anyone . I'm glad most people don't exactly know how to react because it means that they've suffered a loss - not something I want for them at all.

And so I offer an apology for the way I came across and didn't intend to. My friends and family are what got me through this terrible mess. I don't feel abandoned in any way. I feel like people are afraid to ask and I don't blame them (I meant to say that, too). But after some comments and emails I've gotten, at least now I know that people haven't forgotten. I love you all and I appreciate your continued love and support.

A Thousand Splendid Suns

My daughter has reclaimed Tuesdays. Since December 30th, I had associated Tuesdays (especially mornings) with losing my mother. Then Stella came along and was born on a Tuesday (barely).

Since she was born, I have not been back to my grief support group for motherless daughters. I am finally going next week, and not a moment too soon. I didn't stop going because I stopped needing it - it's the opposite of that. I need it more than ever. I've just not been sure how to manage a baby, and to disappear physically and emotionally into a group for 1.5hrs. More than that, however, I was not sure I could handle publicly what I've been struggling with internally.

Where would I even begin. With the 5-10 minutes or so that we each have to speak, I feel that maybe I would cover just some of my emotions associated with just the birth itself and the lack of her presence. That would be without mentioning the entirely different weight that motherhood brought upon me because of a sudden understanding and empathy I have for her life - and all too late. That would exclude the sheer horror I relive everyday, picturing how she must have felt when she lost custody of both of her children - something I couldn't really relate to before. That would exclude the terror that visits me every night when I can't get an image out of my head of her taking her last breath, fighting for air - not being able to call out for help. That excludes the times that I look at my daughter in disbelief at the similarity she has to me as a baby, now knowing the unmatched joy my mother experienced when she gazed upon me in those early weeks of my life. That excludes the desperate feelings I have when I want to call her and ask her questions about how she felt about one thing or another during this point in motherhood - how she dealt with the sudden shifts and challenges of being a new mother. How she dealt with colic. I picture the stories people told me at her funeral about how they used to rock miles in a rocking chair trying to get me to quit crying and that I would never stop. Did I also cry it out in a crib at night? What eventually happened or changed? How did she get through it? How different the feeling is that my mother's not just unavailable to ask or just not home, but that she's dead. And that I'll NEVER. Know.

I recently read a novel about two different women growing up in war-ridden Afghanistan - two women that didn't know each other but that come together after tragedy strikes their lives in different ways. The book was so incredibly well written that I felt every single twinge of emotion associated with each character. When I'd shut the book or would be interrupted by my baby crying or falling off my breast (I was often passing the breastfeeding time when I read - when else would I read?), that I would be shaken into reality after being lost somewhere deep in Kabul. But more than that, these women both had mothers that reminded me exactly of mine, and they both lost their mothers (in different ways). In case you ever read this book (which I hope you do), I won't relay the similarities or give more of the story away. But I will say that these women experience the same awakening and reckoning regarding their mothers that I have experienced - only able to understand things their mothers went through as they started to go through those things themselves. Feeling guilty, selfish and so un-empathetic for the things they couldn't have possibly understood about their mothers as girls.

I did not expect to relate to the characters in this novel in any way. I have not suffered the hardships of war or abuse or hopelessness the way these women had, and yet I could relate. And I was not ready to relate like that - I was taken completely off guard. At several points during the book, my mouth would drop open in disbelief at how accurately these particular emotions were described - emotions I had never seen in print nor had heard uttered, and yet they were my feelings exactly, laid out right there in front of me on a page. And I thought it so strange that I had not read a book from cover-to-cover like that in a long time (except for pregnancy books), and yet I randomly picked that book to read (and couldn't put it down). Because it was a hardback book, it had no description on the cover, and yet I picked it to read anyway without having any idea of what it was about.

No matter the decade, the race, the country, the socio-economic status - I believe that women can relate to each other over losing our mothers more than they can relate about almost anything else. Even if the relationships with our mothers differ from each other (good, bad), there's just a certain understanding that ensues - a certain emotion that takes over no matter the previous emotions. And though I can't speak for sure, I think it's probably different regarding women losing their fathers. Maybe women share similar emotions to each other when they experience the loss of a child. God help me, I hope I never know. But that might also be something that completely spans the kind of relationship that existed - you just want to die when it happens no matter what.

This is why I won't go the rest of this month without facing my pain head-on with the women who can support me most. I tried it without them and it doesn't work. They don't take the pain away by any means, but they listen in a way that says it all. When they nod their heads, there is an understanding that's communicated that isn't there when others nod their heads as they listen. While everyone means well, only someone that's lost their mother can truly know. It perplexes me that it means so much to be understood. Why does a roomful of simple nods mean so much when you've endured loss? It seems that general empathy from people who care about me should be enough, but it's just not.

It's also the case that, simply put, no one has asked me how I'm doing regarding my mother's death since my baby was born. No one. While people have commented that they hadn't asked because they didn't want to bring it up, they still didn't ask. Is that truly what I need, to be asked how I am? I guess I don't know since it hasn't happened. But there is one place where I know it will happen.

First Shot :(

Stella endured her first shot yesterday, and she took it like a total champ - much better than I did. On the way to the pediatrician, I literally cried when I pictured the actual shot and the pain she would face and not understand. I nursed her during the shot to try and comfort her and keep her screaming to a minimum, but like the nurse warned, it didn't work. She was happily suckling, and as soon as she felt the stick, her mouth opened as wide as it could and a huge wail escaped her throat. But then only normal crying ensued, and not even for very long at all. We certainly deal with much, MUCH worse crying fits at home due to colic or reflux or whatever it is that dominates every single evening from 5pm-midnight.

Just to be fair, her parents also endured a flu shot on the same visit (what a very convenient courtesy our pediatrician provides for a small price!). We were not planning on receiving flu shots at all because we never get them, but as it was pointed out to us, it's different when you have a baby. We don't want to be responsible for passing on the flu to her, especially since she cannot get a flu shot of her own and cases of swine flu are already being seen in our pediatrician's office. We were glad to know that we could take it instead of her!

Stella also received her first written prescription for heartburn medication. As I have blogged before, she seems to be suffering from pretty severe heartburn that is consistent and persistent every evening. I absolutely detest using prescription drugs when other more natural options haven't been exhausted, especially with children. That is why we have been using the homeopathic and harmless over-the-counter remedies that have been recommended. But they haven't been working, and more than I hate prescription drugs, I hate seeing my daughter in constant pain. If it will bring some relief to her, I feel like we owe her that much.

We have not filled the prescription yet because I want to do my own research on the side affects, and anything else I can find about it. Then we'll see...

Daddy comforts her after the shot

On the way home from the "dumb shot!"...

Back home and back to playin'