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.

No One Else

Coming home from very lonely places, all of us go a little mad: whether from great personal success, or just an all-night drive, we are the sole survivors of a world no one else has ever seen.

–John le Carre

I posted this for Laurel.

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?

LOL For Geeks

I’m sorry I’m posting so many images today (for those who have dial-up connection). But this tickled my geeky-bloggy funnybone. Since I’m a master of bad HTML coding, I must share. For those who don’t know, these are hexadecimal color codes used to make the pretty colors on the blogs you read.

funny pictures
moar funny pictures

P.S. I should post when I can now, right, because as soon as Pixie’s able to move on her own I’ll have no time to blog.

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

Surreal

Surreal

At the turn of the century
it is a long way down
to the mind’s I. A treehouse
chronicles my journey to this
lost continent, which requires
the amber spyglass to navigate.
When I arrive I am barely a
shadow. There is
snow falling on cedars; through
the woods I hear the single hound
wailing for her hometown. After
twenty years at Hull House, I
mourn for that bastard out of
Carolina who left her tender
at the bone. I wander through
trees toward her cries and find
her. My journey ends across the
river, past the canal town. Before
crossing over, I ask her for
directions. “I don’t know,” she
replies. “I’m a stranger here myself.”

–Kathryn Harper

Asked And Answered

My mother-in-law is coming back to assist. She was willing to come as soon as tomorrow. Despite the fact she also plans to fly to Kansas for Thanksgiving to see her other son from November 20-28, she was willing to come here first and then return to us after that trip. Husband and I decided we could muddle through until the 26th, and she’ll move her departure from Kansas up a couple of days. She’ll be coming for an indefinite stay. Who knows? Since she’d planned to come for ten days at Christmastime, she may just end up staying the whole month.

Soon the weekend will be here. I just need to cope with today, tomorrow and Friday. Next week Husband plans (we hope) to take Monday and Wednesday off, and I can see if a friend can spell me on Tuesday. Then he’ll be off the remainder of next week for the holiday, and before we know it, the 26th will arrive.

I feel encouraged and relieved, and much less depressed and anxious.

I know I’ve got to come to grips with my role as a mother. I’m the adult, after all. But this is a relationship unlike any other; I’m a little long in the tooth and had years to become comfortable with having my way and only taking care of myself. So having some help through this growth spurt is much appreciated.

One of the things I’ll need to embrace is that I’ve got the child I’ve got, and she’s so young it’s too soon to draw conclusions. Maybe she’s a fiery personality and I’ll have my hands very full the rest of my life. Or maybe it’s just that she’s not been on this earth even 70 days yet, and her nervous system is immature, and/or she may naturally have ultra-acute senses, and that she’ll grow into a more settled state (like everyone keeps promising). This little person may simply need to be kept company while she thrashes her way through life (if indeed that’s how she needs to do it), and if I can step back from fear of “doing it wrong” and release resistance to not having my way, maybe I can see more clearly how to provide that. Rather than feel vexed that I can’t soothe her (so as to have a calm life and support my wish to feel competent), I can smile at her with the wisdom of having been alive much longer and feel less desperately helpless. She needs room to be herself and a mother who can tell the difference between mother and daughter.