Category Archives: Motherhood

Be Vewy Vewy Quiet

Last night was hard on everyone. We are trying to help Bean learn to fall asleep in the crib. Hours of crying later, she’s either starting to understand or she was simply too exhausted not to sleep.

This morning she woke at 6 a.m., ate, played briefly, and fell asleep in the swing around 7:15. As of 11:15 she remains asleep, though she is stirring slowly awake.

All morning I tippy-toed around the living/dining/kitchen area, because the longer she sleeps, the better off we’ll be this afternoon. I make it a kind of game: how quietly can I open the refrigerator and extract the milk? Can I retrieve a knife to spread peanut butter without clinking other cutlery? Bean is such a light sleeper. My joints creak and crack (always have). Sometimes when I move and one cracks, it startles her in her sleep. Yet the hum of the dishwasher doesn’t. It’s the sudden abrupt sounds, even small ones, that penetrate her sleep.

We’re headed to M&K’s home for dinner. (They are the Emergency Backup Parents.) We’re bringing apple pie and pork-sage sausage stuffing. M&K are cooking the turkey and other goodies, and another family will be there with yummy food too. In all there will be six adults, two toddlers, and a baby in a small two-bedroom condo. Since Bean is good for about two hours of contented wakefulness upon awakening, this means that if she sleeps until 11:30, then wakes to eat, when we show up at 1:30 (when dinner will be served), she will be at the point of needing to nap. But she’ll be in a strange place with lots of stimulation, so either she’ll cry there, or she’ll be so stimulated that she’ll be awake for hours and then she, Husband, and I will pay with hours of crying later. I have struggled with wanting to stay home, to hide in my protected little bubble of familiar space and routine. But one must rise to the challenge, eh?

That’s the way of life with babies. It’s survivable. And dammit, I want some turkey!

Happy Thanksgiving!

If I Bring It

Long ago when I started baking, I decided to make it a point of pride to learn how to make pie crust from scratch. My crusts never come out perfectly, but they do the job well enough. However, I have never had a massive failure — that is to say, I’ve never had dough that was too flaky, gooey, or dry to handle. I’ve always managed to get it rolled out large enough to cover the pan and topping (if it’s a two-crust pie) with enough to crimp the edges. You know, a proper pie crust.

Today I experienced pie crust structural failure. I made the dough last night and refrigerated it. Perhaps I measured the ingredients incorrectly. (Although how can you mess up something that’s made from flour, salt, shortening, and water?) I rolled out the bottom and barely got it into the pan. I patched the broken spaces. Then I tried to roll the top. Ugh. Flakes everywhere. It fell apart under pressure. I tried briefly warming the dough in the microwave, thinking the shortening might soften up. It actually started to cook the dough. In the end, I decided to stop fiddling and just deal with what was in front of me. I didn’t have the energy or heart to make more dough. I still have stuffing to make.

So I decided to plop the partial top crust onto the apples and call it avante garde apple pie. My friend (who’s hosting a bunch of us) had stopped by to watch Bean while I prepped, and he said it’ll taste good anyway. Apples and sugar and spice. What’s not to like? He made me promise to bring it. Do you think if I bring it, they will eat?

avant garde apple pie

[cross-posted at Knit Together]

Two Steps Forward, One Back

We had several good days and nights in the past week. Then yesterday at 10 a.m., Bean began to cry loudly and angrily. I knew why. She was working on a Superpoop. She screamed and sobbed for an hour, then fell asleep in my friend’s arms (who happened to arrive just as it started, so we took turns holding her). Then at 11:30 a.m., just as I was about to run errands, she woke up and let out the loudest series of farts, followed by the sound of poop production. Ick, I know, but it was hilarious, actually. Especially when I said to my friend, “Well, I’m off now, have fun!” (Then I offered to take care of the diaper anyway, but my friend shooed me off.)

Bean has been increasing her intake from an average of 18 ounces a day to about 21 ounces, and it stresses her digestion, so we have episodes of this. Lots of times while she’s eating, she has to pause to attend to business on the other end, and sometimes she pulls off the bottle entirely, wanting to eat still but unable to continue (pain? strain?) and angry that she can’t. The vibrating bouncer seat usually shakes her loose. Problem is, crying episodes sometimes happen in the wee hours of the 2/3/4 a.m. feeding. She was up at 2 a.m. this time; husband came to bed at 5:45 a.m. saying it was my turn (I wish he’d gotten me at 5 a.m.) and that she’d been screaming for an hour and that, though exhausted, she wouldn’t stay asleep. He could barely string words together to make the sentences, and yet he has to go to work too.

By the time I got to her, she was hungry again. I fed her and cuddled, then put her in the swing pleading with her to sleep. She was awake for half an hour, but quiet, then dozed for half an hour, and now she’s awake again. Oy. She will be 11 weeks old on Saturday. I’m beginning to suspect that the magical change at three months that everyone promises is not going to happen for us. Yesterday at the grocery store a couple in line had a cute baby, and I asked how old. They said she was four weeks old, and then proudly shared that she’d started sleeping through the night. I turned green with envy.

I’m really glad my mother-in-law is coming.

Roll On Over

When Bean was 10 days old, I put her on her belly for tummy time. Grandma was there in the room, so I left for a moment. Upon returning, Grandma said Bean rolled herself onto her back. I was amazed. I didn’t disbelieve my mother-in-law, but I’d missed out on it.

A few days later, Bean did it again, in front of me this time. She hated being on her stomach so much! Since the colic was beginning, I decided to hold off on tummy time for awhile. No need to add more crying to the mix. We shared this news with the doctor, who was astonished.

Yesterday, again during tummy time, Bean rolled over. What she does is manage to get her left arm close to her body under her and lean to the left while pushing with her right arm and leg. Her head, since it’s so heavy, then topples her over. She looked surprised and relieved. Then she cried.

Crossing The Rubicon

I faced a fear today.

About half a mile from my home is a large urban park with fountains, trees, green spaces, populated by geese and ducks, pigeons and seagulls. It’s close to a first-class public library. It’s a walkable distance to get there and would make a great daily walk destination. Except… to get there requires crossing a not-quite highway called an expressway. These are six-lanes (both ways) with extra lanes at intersections for turning, and with no-stop right-turn merge curves that many people hardly slow down while taking. Oh, there are crosswalks and pedestrian lights. However, the stated speed limit is 45 miles per hour, and I know people easily drive 20 miles per hour over the speed limit. I’ve crossed the road on my bike, but until today I was terrified to walk with Bean in the stroller (or even by myself). Well, terror might be an exaggeration; let’s just say prospect made me very uneasy. I mean, would you feel comfortable crossing this?

san tomas rubicon

When I started the walk I didn’t plan to go. My feet just took over. Except for the right-turn curves — where I made sure to look thrice and wait for oncoming drivers to slow down, see me, and wave me across — it was easily done. I will never attempt this at dusk, dark, or dawn, but I could see us taking walks there more frequently. I suppose I could load the stroller in the car and drive to the park, and save all the walking for the many paths, but a) it seems like a lot more effort and b) it kind of galls me to drive half a mile to take a walk. If you were me, what would you do?

Charts & Graphs

charts and graphs

I spend my days making these notes. Evidence that I do something! (We also have another notation system for food intake and poop output.) There’s no sleep pattern yet, but the letters make fun combinations. Husband and I joke, “Charts and graphs, yup, charts and graphs.”

Madres

I took a walk yesterday with Bean. As we walked, I talked to her, describing and naming the visible things and the sounds. A woman walking her tiny dog approached from the opposite direction. As she neared us, she said, “You have the most loving, beautiful expression on your face.” How sweet! I stopped and chatted for a moment, introducing her to Bean. She oohed and aahed over Pixie, telling me how beautiful she is. After a couple of minutes of this, we wished each other a happy day and went on our way. That encounter added a sparkle to my day.

Last night there were about 11 women gathered for the potluck. This was a group of mellow, warm women. I felt immediately at home. It was also really nice to talk with contemporaries who share similar growing-up reference points, and who could relate to the challenge of the mental shift required of older, independent women who become mothers for the first time.

The interesting thing (to me) is how much cheering I received for getting myself out of the house to attend. It felt heartening. I’d even showered before I went, so I was, like, all put together (or at least not stinky and covered in spilled milk). I received the requisite encouragement that the schedule starts to settle more around 3-4 months, and so on. We also got to share and compare birth war stories.

Oh! Another neat tidbit: one of the women at the potluck is someone I met in 2004, just after I moved here. She and I trained to be volunteer grief counselors in October/November at The Centre for Living With Dying. However, I didn’t continue after the training, as my father-in-law’s cancer had returned, and he was dying. I had my own living with dying to deal with and nothing to spare for another grieving person. Anyhow, I felt such pleasure running into her. I know I’m home when I finally begin running into acquaintances in ordinary places like the grocery store, other gatherings, and so on. In Austin it began to happen about three or four years after I arrived; until then, it was surreal sometimes to do ordinary life tasks but feel like a stranger moving through a foreign world.

I’m really glad I went. I got home around 10:00, and I’m so gonna need a nap. Regardless of how tired I am, I always become conscious at about 3:30 a.m. and try to relax back to sleep. Usually it’s a light doze, if that, until 5 a.m. when I decide it’s pointless and make coffee. I never used to wake up at 3 a.m. — instead, I was often awake at that time because I couldn’t fall asleep in the first place. Back then I could sleep until I was refreshed and woke naturally. Not anymore! What’s the saying? I’ll sleep when I’m dead — or when I can catch a nap.

Also, new photos of Pixie for friends and family are up at Flickr.

You Bet

I joined Las Madres a couple months ago. I found there’s a group for mothers age 40+. Tonight there’s a Mother’s Night Out potluck. Do ya think I’ll be there? I plan on it. I can sacrifice an early bedtime for a chance to make new friends and find support.

A question: Would I be an evil person, in that I’m wasting a precious resource, if I run the dishwasher only partly full in the morning because the sound helps my daughter sleep in her swing? If the answer is yes, does the fact that it’s loaded with baby bottle paraphernalia, and that I use the extra hot water and sanitize settings to get them really clean, forgive this?

The Forecast Is Variable

Yesterday was a remarkably good day, considering. Bean had a good morning and napped in her swing. In the afternoon she was tired, and I thought I’d try the crib. First I rocked her until drowsy with the routine as Husband does it (consistency is good, yes?). Her eyes became heavy and she was nearly asleep; I put her down in the crib just as Husband does. Her eyelids flew up like broken blinds, practically flapping up to her eyebrows. Squirm. Wiggle. Whimper. Preparing The Face. The Dreaded Chin of Doom began to emerge. She was winding up to pitch a major fit.

I took off the swaddle in case that was what bothered her (she doesn’t fight it with Husband though). Rocked her. No dice. Rather than fight with her and go through the rock/hold then put down and scream/fight, ad nauseum, I chose my battle. I put her in the swing, flipping my finger in the face of one of The Baby Sleep Experts who says motionless sleep provides better quality rest. I made her cozy with a lovely blanket from Emy (it’s the perfect heft and weight, is washable wool, and it’s handmade with love). Then I crammed in my earplugs and sat there on the sofa next to her, determined to ride out her storm. Oh, my nerves jangled, but I grit my teeth.

Twenty minutes later, after whimpering and grousing, she was sleeping angelically. She didn’t wake until 2:40 p.m. Then she guzzled four ounces, and I put her in the bouncer to watch out the window. I decided to attempt to start dinner. And imagine this, I was able to get the whole dish assembled! I looked at Bean and said, Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?

Nana Eileen came by late afternoon around 4:00, and we had a lovely visit. She played with Bean and Bean was cheerful. Bean got tired, on the verge of fussy, so I put her in the swing while we visited. She fell asleep for a catnap around 5:00 — 20 minutes. Eventually Eileen had to leave.

And wouldn’t you know it… 20 minutes later the Hurricane made landfall. At 6:10 I changed Bean, and as soon as I finished she began to cry. And cry. And sob. And scream. I held her while sitting on the sofa, wishing Husband would get home soon. I watched my little girl as she wailed and writhed for 20 minutes in my arms. (She seems to like that timeframe, and yes, I do track the time a great deal. Go ahead and laugh.) Then she stopped, heaved a sigh, and looked in my eyes. I talked to her. I said, “You must be so very tired. You just don’t know what to do with yourself. Poor girl.” She smiled faintly and then cooed. She stuck out her tongue. I smiled back. One second later she was back to screaming. Okey-dokey. We’ll just ride this out!

Five minutes after the encore, she stopped, and Husband arrived home. He ate my lovely dinner; I held her on my lap at the table so we could all visit. She was calm and cute, but (can you guess what’s next?) after about 20 minutes she started the wind-up again. We promptly bathed her. He then swaddled her and rocked her to drowsiness, and she immediately fell asleep and stayed asleep in the crib until 9:30 p.m., when she woke as expected for a bottle. After she ate, she fell asleep again within minutes. Daddy has the magic. I want some too!

Today has also been even-keeled and happy. She’s eaten and napped well, and we took a walk. Now she’s sleeping in the swing and she didn’t even fuss first. We’ll see what happens as the evening arrives.

You know, it occurs to me that it’s not Bean who has a problem with crying. It’s her Momma. Somehow eventually she and I need to work out a nap arrangement that allows her to be in a safe, quiet place (maybe her crib, imagine that!). Her being in the swing means I don’t feel comfortable doing anything in another part of the house; plus I feel I need to be more quiet than usual.

Well, that’s an update. I hope it was entertaining and that you enjoyed my use of mixed metaphors — variety is the spice of life. Also, I took this photo today after our walk. Sweet, eh?

Bean and stella watch birds

Stella Introduces Bean to Kitty Television

A Little Humor

emergency bacon

Emergency Bacon

Husband brought this home for me from work. This is a routine snack in their fridge — “microwave 60 seconds and enjoy.” I was at wits’ end with a crying baby, so he thought I needed this.

P.S. After 25 minutes of hysterical crying (not me, my daughter) I went back and picked her up to rock her. She went instantly limp into a doze in my arms. Husband came home 20 minutes later and she woke. He held her for 20 minutes, talked quietly, she fell asleep, and now she is asleep in her crib. It’s not fair! (But I’m grateful that he is such a good father and that she will fall asleep for someone.)

What Have I Given Birth To?

The witching hour is back. What appeared to be an improvement with Zantac has disappeared. At this moment she is screaming in her crib while I take a momentary break to keep my sanity. She is hoarse from crying most of the afternoon. She did sleep a lot this morning and a bit this afternoon (interspersed with crying). She fights her sleep. I try to make sure not to keep her awake too long between sleep sessions: she wakes hungry, she gets fed, changed, played with a very short time, and as soon as she shows drowsy signs, I try to soothe her. It worked a little earlier in the afternoon, though she would not sleep in her crib alone more than 30-40 minutes. However, as the afternoon progressed the crying increased. She thrashes in my arms whether swaddled or not. She does not respond to soft humming or soft or loud shushing sound. She will calm momentarily and start to drift into sleep and then become alert and start crying, screaming, and thrashing while in my arms. If my friend had not come over to visit today and spell me a little while I think I’d be screaming and thrashing right now too.

It’s manifestly clear that she’s exhausted. She’s fed, clean, dry, held lovingly. She is not ill. I’m helpless. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help her get sleep. I’m angry. I’m sad. I’m alienated. I’m having a hard time focusing on empathy for her and letting go of my ego-driven desire to have a child who is more convenient and less a mystery. Less challenging. Less difficult. I’m having difficulty keeping her company whatever she is going through. In this moment I do not want this relationship, this job, this vocation of mothering and motherhood. I’m insecure and scared and have standards I can’t live up to. And I plain don’t like being helpless and ignorant and watching someone I love suffer.

I’m going to leave comments open, but please, no advice, or suggestions that start with Have you tried….

I think I need help. I need extra hands and arms and someone who has experience being a parent. I’m going to talk with Husband about asking his mother to come back. She’s coming for Christmas December 20-30, and I feel like asking more is an imposition and also a sign that at 44 I still can’t fucking handle responsibility, and am shying away from being a grown-up, and that I had no business procreating. And oh my, this is my life now, and the rest of my life.

I Just Want To Say

I am so pleased that I decided to participate in Art Everyday Month this year. I’m enjoying it, and since I decided to focus only on photography, I don’t feel any stress about coming up with something. I can carry out my motherly duties and still make stuff. That feels good. 🙂

A Rough Time

Inexplicably, Bean is not sleeping again, and she’s so overtired she’s hysterical. This hysteria is frightening to witness. We are doing all the things we usually try and it’s not helping. So the hysteria begets more exhaustion which begets more hysteria. Sometimes she will sleep in our arms, but more often as soon as she drifts off she startles at nothing and begins crying again. Her appetite seems good, but who the hell knows when that will change?

The doctor has no advice. No one has advice. And while it’s well-intentioned, I don’t want advice. I just want it to improve. I just want her to feel better. I just want her to be happy and rested. Oh, and I’d like to be happy and rested and have a cheerful child. And I don’t know if or when this will happen. And unless you plan to come live with us and help out, all the advice means zero. Though I do appreciate the sympathy that would prompt it.

Parenting is scary.

Comments are off so the temptation to leave advice is removed. I just need to express what’s going on.

Message From?

Last night the battery on my laptop died.

First, two laptop power cords have been (presumably) chewed through by the cat, requiring their disposal. Now my laptop battery is konked out.

I still have one cord left and am in the office madly typing this. Soon the baby will wake and I’ll not get back into this room again until evening, probably.

I ask (only partly in jest): Perhaps the universe is trying to tell me something?

I Lost The Bet

Bean weighed in at 9 pounds, 7 ounces. I thought surely she’d gained more! But any gain is good. She also got four immunizations today, three in the form of shots in her thigh. Poor sweetie screamed at a pitch I’d not heard before. She calmed down fairly fast. I really like the pediatrician. Every visit she makes sure Bean is covered and warm, and takes her time answering my questions and examining her. They also, if they don’t have a lot of patients coming in after us, allow us to stay and feed her in the examination room. (She’s irregular enough that it seems she always gets hungry during an appointment regardless of when it is.)

Karen had suggested the stakes; Husband and I never got around to setting them actually. So nothing gained or lost on that front.

The visit with Aunt LP is wonderful! Bean loves her aunt (not that I ever doubted it). I love Bean’s aunt too. 🙂

Art Every Day Month – Day 8

Wednesday was a very hard day with Bean (for me) — it started out with her cheerful. But her erratic eating, overstimulation, inability to sleep, more colicky crying late in the day put her over the top with exhaustion, but she could not find a way to sleep (despite all the usual that we do). Every day is variable. Keeps me on my toes. On days like this (and the past couple have been a little choppy) I feel anxiety. Just when I start feeling competent, things change. I guess this is parenting!

My art:

art everyday month 07 - day 8 - california dreaming

California Dreaming

Yoga For Kids

The Yoga Adventure for Children: Playing, Dancing, Moving, Breathing, Relaxing, by Helen Purperhart

This is a clever little book. It’s simply written so that even a child can read and implement the instructions, and the drawings of poses are helpful. I also like organization of information. There are sections for breathing, yoga, visualization, etc. At the end of the book is a handy index showing which exercises and games require props and which don’t. The only device that isn’t as helpful and I found confusing was the way the exercises are identified by age group. The icons representing the four different groups look too similar, making it difficult to remember if it means the age group for ages 4-8, 4-12, 6-12, or 8-12. On the whole it’s a useful guide for teachers, parents, kids, and childcare providers.

It’s a little soon to begin with Bean, but I’ll definitely keep it in my library for later.