A Letter to Boodge on his Third Birthday

I started this post a while before Boodge's birthday and was just unable to get it done, thanks mostly to a nasty stomach flu that swept through our house the week before.   Here it is, one day late.  Boodge turned three yesterday. 

Dear Boodge,

You are sleeping as I write this.  We are gearing up for your birthday, cleaning house, setting up guest rooms, gathering supplies for the party of cousins, family friends, and grandparents that is about to ensue.  Just before you fell asleep you cried because we would not give you candy from the machine at the grocery store, then cried all the way through two more stores until we called it a day and brought you home for your nap.  As you cried, you sometimes said, "Mommy, I'm wei-woe." and I would respond, "I know sweetie, you are so wei-woe."  It's your word for that kind of feeling--tired, jumbled up, nothing is right and you just have to cry.  You do that now, you make up words and we adopt them ourselves since they are are often just right to describe something we have no words for.  You say things like, "Mommy, in English we say 'pee, poo' but in Hugriach we say 'po, pa' and in Frgush we say 'maa, foo'."  You say we need to read the "can-structions".

Almost a year ago, more two than three.

I wish I had more words myself, to describe just how my love for you feels.  You are three.  Every time I write these (all three times) birthday posts I realize how much has happened in one year of your life, and I'm in awe of you.   When we started this year you were stringing words together into basic sentences.  Now you are telling stories, making up worlds.  You talk pretty much non-stop a lot of the time, your body moving too as you chatter, running and building and figuring and telling. You tell me about the monkey in your lego tower, how he only ate the bananas when the tree said it was ready, but then he ate them all up and the tree didn't make any more so he went to sleep.  "There was a Daddy named Sean and a Mommy named Katy and a little sister named Peanut and a big brother named Boodge Brookes," you said this week, flying back and forth on the swing,  "And that's the story of us."

This is the year that our story changed, to add a little sister.

She adores him already, but he's not sure about it all....

You struggled with it a little, and I struggled with the adjustment too.  But mostly, you did it with real grace, and the willing sweetness I love in you.  You learned how to share me, and now you are learning how to share all your toys, with your little sister.  She grabs your hair and puts your lego in her mouth.  She wakes up and we have to come inside from the yard, or stop our cuddles.  You don't like all that, but you love her, I see it.  Sometimes your face lights up when you see her, and you stop what you are doing to give her a cuddle and a smile.  She is part of all your games--you build her houses in your toybox, have her driving in your toy car road rally's.  There's always a big brother and a little baby in your make believe families.  You know she's part of us, now.

I saw you go through it, first trying to compete for my attention and pretend your sister didn't exist.  Then a lot of tears as you accepted that things would not be the same.  And then you stretched out and you grew, and you accepted your sister into your heart.  You became a big brother.  

Yep, she's cool.

It didn't hurt that she regards you as her personal superstar.  You learned to hold two things--frustration, sadness, and resentment alongside love and joy and protectiveness.  Something has calmed in you now, and you've embraced the big boy role.  You found the gift in the difficulty, and you turned it into new growth.  It's not an easy thing to do.  You're learning about your emotions, and sometimes they take you out of control, make you feel ugly.  Other times, you can say to me, "Mommy, I'm SO mad!" or "I want some attention!" or, "Mommy I think I just need a hug. I feel a little wei-woe."  And I'm so glad to hear it, and know how to help.

Sometimes you get scared.  Your imagination is in full flower, beautiful to behold.  I love hearing where your mind travels and what it brings back.  But the limitlessness of it all still confuses you.  You believe there is a wolf hiding in the dark shadows of our hallway.  When you wake from your nap you run down the hall as fast as you can.  Once after your sprint you climbed onto my lap where I sat at the computer, and looked back down the hall.  "No wolf down there." you declared as you softened against my tummy, relieved.  "No, no wolves," I murmured, kissing your head.  I was just so happy to be your safe place for a moment, my arms wrapped around you, my nose buried in your soft hair.  Happy to cuddle with my baby.

But you are not a baby anymore (of course you will always be mine, just like in Robert Munsch's "Love You Forever", though I promise I will not sneak into your house one day when you are a man and rock you in my arms while you are sleeping).  You're a kid.  A little one, but a kid, nonetheless.  When we go to friends' houses, you are off with the other kids rather than staying with the grown-ups.  You need your safe place less and less.  That's OK, because you know I'm right here when you do.  And I love watching you flex out those wings and fly away to discover the world in the way only you can.  I love watching you become more and more of who you are.

Thank you for another precious year of lessons for me.  Parenting you this year has challenged me to become a better person.  I've learned to stand by you even when you are not behaving as I'd like.  I've learned to hold patience and compassion for your intense emotions rather than take them personally.  I've learned to yield power in order to gain closeness, and ultimately, cooperation.  And I've learned to turn my attention to the positive things and watch them grow into that light.  Thanks for fumbling through all our changes this year along with me, and showing me that we can handle storms and come out in a sunny, calm spot, with a deeper appreciation of each other.

I do appreciate you in a whole new way now, your generous little spirit, your patience and willingness to help, your rawness of emotion, your eagerness to learn, and the freedom of your mind.   I appreciate you as a full fledged member of the family with new ideas and useful feedback.  As I like to tell you, I love you bigger and bigger each day.  You just keep getting better.  And now you are three.  Happy Birthday little Boodge.  Here's to a long life together. 

It's not a wine crate, it's a boat. 

Love,
Mummy

My Two Boos

If you're not interested in the ins and outs of my tandem nursing experience, this post is probably not for you.  And I'm not sure how many readers that will leave--but I'm compelled to write about it not just because it helps me make sense of it all, but also in case I may help some other mother out there doing the same thing by sharing my story.  Amazingly, I've met three other mothers in my little area who told me they tandem nursed too.  So although tandem nursing may not be as uncommon as I think, it is definitely hidden and not talked about much.  Sometimes, I'd love to hear of another mother's journey, and get some compassionate support, so that's why I share mine.

I'll admit it, I'm finding tandem nursing hard.  I'm even beginning to think about weaning, suspecting that I will reach my quitting point before Boodge reaches his.  I'm not sure when that will be, though.  I'm not enjoying nursing him anymore, most times.  It must be something about contrasting it with the sweet, sacred-feeling of nursing a little baby.  Boodge seems too big and insistent, his cold, sticky hands twitch and flick an pinch at my skin, he wiggles all around, yanking my breast in his toddler sized vaccuum-suck.  It bugs me. I set limits (stop flicking! leave my belly button alone! don't squish it!), and then take him off the breast when he transgresses.  Sometimes, he melts down when I say we're done, or I don't want to.  Our nursing relationships has taken a sad turn, and I'm not sure where to go with it anymore.  To complicate things, often when he does get his chance to have some, it is cut short by his sister crying and needing Mommy, or by my own irritation.

Online, I found other tandem-nursing mothers on forums discussing some of the same conflicted feelings I have--disliking nursing their toddler, but realizing how much it still means to the toddler to continue.  I also was reminded of my reasons for doing it--to ease the transition to siblinghood for Boodge, and hopefully promote bonding between siblings.  But is it doing that? If I can't hide from Boodge that I often dislike nursing him but love nursing his sister, to the point where I wean him...how will that affect sibling rivalry, and the transition. 

I realized that the approach I've been taken lately, limiting Boodge to a specific number of "boo" times a day and not usually letting him nurse with his sister (because I nurse her first, then give Boodge the "leftovers"), was working against my intentions.  It was making him feel jealous of his sister, who gets it whenever, wherever she wants, plus interrupts his sessions, and it was not giving them the cuddle time that makes them appreciate each other.  So I stopped emphasizing the number of times, just saying no or yes depending on the situation, and tried to say yes when he wanted to nurse with his sister.  This has actually made things a bit better, and he is not nursing any more often, really.  I've also talked to him, in calm moments, about how when I say no or that's enough "boo", I need him to respect it, not freak out unnecessarily.  "It's my body, and I'm sharing it with you, but you need to respect it when I say no."  An important lesson to learn, anyway, hopefully one he will absorb if I can "play" it right.

So, I'm staying the course, though conflicted.  There are practical considerations too, like, am I prepared to give up Boodge's naptime, which may not happen without a boo-down, and am I prepared to be strong and loving and sad and torn and all that will likely come with weaning Boodge, for however long it takes.  No, and no.  I'm not ready to take on those changes. It's still a mix of good and bad--as this little story from yesterday may illustrate.

It was naptime, and I had tried to time it so Peanut would nap and nurse with Boodge. Unsucessfully, because she fell asleep in my arms before he was ready, and then woke up when Boodge and I disturbed her with our nap preparations.  She was hungry too, and promptly started freaking out in a way she rarely does.  I tried to nurse her, but it only made her more angry.  Boodge, who I had brought to his room with a promise of "night night boo", was patient at first, but waiting to nurse started to get to him and he got in the game with his own freak out.  So they were both screaming, and I was getting through it by saying loudly, "It's OK, we're gonna figure it out, don't worry." (Incidentally, I was surprised how well that worked to calm both me and Boodge. Try it next time you're ready to lose your shit.) Finally, I did figure out that Peanut would be happy to nurse on the left side, thank you very much, just not the right (fuller) side like you were offering, Mama.  I quickly reconfigured pillows and props, got them both latched on, and leaned back. Whew. "That was hard," I whispered, to myself and my babies.

We all started to relax and soon Peanut was asleep.  Boodge, halfway asleep himself, reached across my chest and played with her little fingers, holding one in his grip.  I explained to him, before Peanut was born, that she would grip his finger in her hand like that if he offered it to her. He never quite got it...he always grips her finger instead.  Then he reached out to hold her whole hand in his, pulled it to the center of my chest and held it there.  He drifted off like this, and I was there with tears in my eyes, melting at the sweetness of my two dear hearts.  See how it's not simple? 

So, time will tell where, when, and how this journey ends. In some ways, it's helpful just to be thinking about weaning, too, and talking to Boodge about the idea that he will not always nurse.  I'm curious to know how other mothers have weaned their children in a similar situation, where the child is still very much attached to it but the mom is feeling done.  Is there a gentle way, or an easy way?  I'm open to your wisdom...please share. 


   

And Another Thing About Tandem Nursing

So, now that I'm "out" (whew, I feel better), I want to talk more about my experience tandem nursing, just to share my experience in the hope someone finds it useful.  For me, tandem nursing and my decisions around it were all mixed up in my desire for my kids to have a good sibling relationship, and to help Boodge adjust to his sibling in a way that encouraged bonding and sharing rather than jealousy and insecurity.  Now I know I can't control the sibling relationship, and how it goes...so much depends on who they are innately and the many experiences they will have together.  But I do have some influence on how they view the relationship and in not creating any dynamics that intensify sibling rivalry in regards to my attention.

I think nursing is just representative of anything a mother can do to ease the transition and make siblinghood feel like a good thing.  It's a form of attention I give my kids, one that is nourishing and loving and very special time for them and for me (though believe me, I frequently forget to appreciate how special it is and just feel annoyed or rushed).  And it's a form of attention they still really want.  Just like Boodge will one day outgrow the desire to have me sit with him while he has a poo, but will want me to watch him play soccer, he will also outgrow this form of attention and want a different one. But for now, it is important to both my kids in different ways, and though tandem nursing helps Boodge feel included and secure, it is still terrain that needs to be negotiated carefully.

This is what I want to say to tandem nursing moms....you should prepare yourself to set some boundaries.  You may not realize what they are until you are in it, but how you set them probably helps, so if you can think about it in advance, you may avoid some bad scenes.  If your toddler is not one of those magical ones that says, "Ok, the baby can now have the boob, I'm done"  (which, apparently, happens!) then you are faced with deciding how your kids can share this precious resource.  There will be lots of milk, but it is not infinite, and you will likely find that you too have a limit on how much you want to nurse, though I can't say what that will be for you.

Boodge was gracious about sharing the first time.  We were in the hospital, and I had to nurse the baby, and he said he wanted to "Boo."  I thought, "Ok, here we go, this is where it starts." I allowed him to latch onto the other side, and I sat there in a room full of people feeling akin to a nursing pig-mama.  (the word sow is too much for me!)  But then I looked down at my babies. Boodge was studying Peanut's face, taking it all in with that serious look he gets around new and intriguing puzzles.  Peanut was nuzzling and grunting, a new, tiny piglet. And then Boodge reached and very gently stroked her head, her face, and reached for her hand to play with her little fingers.  I melted completely, and in that moment felt very committed to tandem nursing.

Then we got home and over the next couple of weeks, I figured out where my limits were.  Boodge wanted to nurse every time Peanut nursed, and then some, where before he had been down to 3-4 times a day.  But when it was time to nurse to sleep, he was distracted, and tenacious too.  He wouldn't let go into sleep, he wouldn't let the "Boo" or his mommy go at night time and naptime. He missed naps, I missed breaks from him. I got tired and then angry, overwhelmed with all the newness and change myself. 

Though I did my best to realize that Boodge was also adjusting and tired, we had some bad moments.  I lashed out at him for not falling asleep fast enough at times, or for refusing to nap.  He acted out, doing things he knew were not allowed, one after the other.  I yelled, I cried in front of him.  And sometimes when he asked for "Boo," I refused him in a very angry way.  Sometimes, I refused him because I didn't feel like being exposed to guests, both breasts out.  And he cried in a way that I knew I had hurt his feelings.  It is hard, and I suppose any way you navigate it, adding a new member to the family will destabilize things and cause some friction. 

Now we are almost a month in and things are stabilizing.  Boodge is not asking to nurse as much, though it is still more often than it used to be.  I found it helped when I prepared Boodge in advance for the change, and explained why it helped his little sister.  For instance, the first time I had to tell him he can't have both sides on his morning session anymore, I didn't prepare him, and I was impatient when I told him.  He freaked out.  But over the course of the day I managed to pull it out by revisiting the scene, validating his feelings and briefly explaining why ("cause your sister is hungry in the morning too, and she can't have pancakes or granola and yogurt").  Then I reminded him of it before bed, and in the morning when he came into our room to nurse.  And he was totally gracious about it then, and from then on has never tried for the other side and often mentioned that it's "Peanut's side".

When I heard about tandem nursing, I couldn't imagine having two babies latched onto me at the same time.  I thought I may choose to only nurse them separately.  But I've learned that if one is nursing at a time, you have to worry about what the other is doing.  If Peanut is crying, I have to interrupt Boodge.  If Boodge needs to pee, I have to interrupt Peanut.  And Boodge invents scenarios that require attention...inflating an injury, smashing his toys into the window...you know how 2-year olds are.  So I've found I really appreciate those times when they are both latched on and my mind can drift while my body rests under the weight of my two sweeties.  And now that Boodge is used to nursing with her, it helps get them both to sleep at the same time, which is totally amazing, because...look at how much time I have to blog!!  We had to change Boodge's routine of nursing to sleep in the living room and being carried to his room asleep.  Now we all lie down in his bed and I nurse both, or cuddle sleeping Peanut in one arm while he nurses to sleep on the other side. 

And how is it all working for my main objective, the sibling relationship?  Mostly, great.  Boodge will sometimes say "I want to nurse with my little sister." He holds her hand and he strokes her head, and he sometimes pulls off to make some observation like "Peanut is soooo teeny weeny."  There have been moments when I see him looking at me while I nurse Peanut, and on his face is pure longing sadness and envy.  When I see that, I will invite him to nurse or cuddle or read a book, and make sure I reinforce to him how much I love being with him, and that it is sometimes hard for him that Mama is not always there in the same way.    I also point out to him the advantages of having Peanut around, "There's all this yummy milk now," and "You get to boo so much more!"  And I really thing Boodge likes Peanut, and though he is still pretty much absorbed in his own thing (you know how 2-year olds are), he likes to pause and see how she is, or give her a "little nose kiss" or a cuddle.  He'll bring her a blanket or play a song for her when she is crying.  And he seems to be feeling pretty secure and comfortable with the new status quo these days.

Peanut, for her part, is gaining weight like crazy and seems pretty chilled out.  Luckily, she is an amazing nurser and can find her latch and stay on through a fair amount of jostling and in a variety of awkward positions.  I look forward to seeing how it evolves as she becomes more alert and interactive.  She still gets a lot of solo "boo" time, and Boodge gets his morning and evening nurses solo.

If you're going to try tandem nursing, or are doing it, or are just introducing a new sibling, I hope this is helpful. Those first few weeks are tough...and I'm sure there will be lots of tough times ahead.  But things do get better, we all grow, and babies grow up so fast.  And let's all remember to go easy on ourselves and our kids.  Parenting is a learned art.  I'd love to hear anyone else's experiences navigating the terrain of having a new baby, and how you share the love around and help your kids bond and connect.

I, Tandem Nurser

It's hard for me to be "out of the closet" as a tandem nurser.  I was pretty comfortable nursing a toddler in front of people, but less comfortable nursing when pregnant, and now, when I have both my baby and toddler latched on in front of anyone but my husband, I feel varying degrees of cringe.   It is admittedly a unique sight, and I get it that people almost can't help but stare with fascination.  And they're usually family or close friends, but still, I feel like a bit of a freakshow tandem nursing in front of them.  Most of the time though, people can't help but display a little melting and utter an "awww" when they see Boodge reach out to hold his sister's hand, or stroke her head, and that makes me feel a little better.

I must admit, most of my extended family and friends have been very accepting of what I know is not a mainstream decision, and though some gently challenged my intention to tandem-nurse while I as pregnant, nobody has done so since Peanut has been born.  Still, I can't help but wonder if privately, people are thinking I'm a freaky, over-indulgent, over-involved, hippy-dippy, extreme natural parenting nutcase mother.  And there are some in my life who I know would think one of those things, with whom haven't confirmed nor denied that Ardan is not weaned.  Not that it would change my choice what anyone thinks or that it is anyone's business but my family's.  Nonetheless, a discomfort is there, and I don't really like letting Boodge latch on in mixed company. 

I just read something in Mothering Magazine that struck a chord.  Peggy O'Mara was writing about the necessity of making informed choices about what we feel is right for our families which are not based on changing trends or customs or media campaigns.  "We are left then with just a few constants; our observations of our child, our trust in ourselves, consultations with experts, the scientific evidence, and our own common sense.  These things are enough.  And it helps if we're already comfortable with being part of a minority."

When I look at these things, I know my choice is right. My knowledge of Boodge told me he wasn't ready to give up nursing, and I felt that if I weaned him during my pregnancy, he would not forget the "boo" and it would be hard for him to see a new baby nursing.  Breastfeeding, as I've mentioned before, is about so much more than nourishment--and for Boodge and I it really has been a strong source of connection, nurturing, and love.  I thought that weaning for the new baby would be difficult for his relationship with me, and could create jealousy with his new sibling.  Nursing them both would send the message to Boodge that though he had to share my love, there was plenty of it to go around.

The benefits of extended breastfeeding are well recognized, so there was no question of whether it went against science or expert opinion. And my common sense tells me that if some people find it weird, that is their discomfort to deal with, not mine.  But unfortunately, I am not generally "comfortable being part of a minority". I'd like to be, because a lot of my views and lifestyle choices go against the mainstream, and I admire the men and women who are comfortable loudly challenging the status quo.  And I ally with those men and women who have always had no choice but to be part of a visible minority, and who have faced the discrimination and judgement.

But though I will speak up when I perceive an injustice or oppression, I don't enjoy debate about my opinions, and especially not my personal choices.  How I choose to live is based on what I feel right in my soul, and is usually deeply thought out and deeply personal.  When people challenge that, I  usually get too defensive.  But I believe in "live and let live", and I really try to accept and love people as they are.  I like to get that treatment in return. 

One thing parenting has pushed me to do is be more open about the ways in which I am not with the mainstream.  I can't allow other people's judgments and opinions to stop me from parenting according to my heart and my values, and I also need to demonstrate to my children that it is OK to be who you are, and the people who truly love you will accept that.  And it's been wonderful to discover that being who I am, openly, creates much more honest relationships and opens the door to new connections and interesting conversations, when others are open too.  Which it turns out, people often are.  And if they're not, well, I've learned something valuable about how deep I want to go with that connection.

I'm grateful to the parents who have shared their experiences and the judgments they faced for their parenting choices, and helped open my mind to the vast terrain that parenting is.  I'm sure this has happened to almost every loving, devoted parent, no matter what their choices.  And it helps to find others who are going through something similar.  Which is why I wanted to "out" myself as a tandem nurser.  Yes, I nurse 2 babies who are 2.5 years apart. And it's sweet and lovely and empowering and also challenging and annoying. This post really was meant to be a preamble to talk about what I've learned about tandem nursing, and how to make it work, in an effort to reach out to other mothers who are thinking about it or doing it.  But that is a post for another day, in another blessed moment like this one when both babies have nursed to sleep at the same time, one in each of my arms, and both are now sleeping while Mama gets time to reflect.

Peanut's Grand and Graceful Entrance

I'm pretty sure you all have guessed where I've been lately.  Our little Peanut has been with us for over 2 weeks now and time to write here has become very, very scarce.  She came "into the light" at 2:04 on October 16th, 7lb 10oz and 19 inches of pure sweetness.  I am one incredibly blessed woman, to be given the gift of two beautiful children to raise.  And what's more, Peanut came into the world so gracefully, her birth so surreally smooth that it barely disrupted anyone's day.

For a few days before it started, I was getting annoyed.  Lots of contractions, and not painless ones, either.  I felt like one perpetual menstrual cramp.  At night, I was woken by contractions, and on the Thursday night before she was born I was kept awake until about 4am by so many of them I wondered if I was in labour.  It turned out to be what they call prodromal labour, sometimes called "false labour" but since it feels very real, let's honor it with a proper name.  Some poor women online reported having this for weeks or even months before they went into labour, and learning that discouraged me quite a bit.  

So when I was woken the next morning at 5am with contractions (after already having a couple that woke me previously) I was skeptical.  I lay in bed checking the clock and noted that they were pretty regular, every 8 minutes or so.  When Sean woke up at 6:30 they were still coming at 8 minutes, and we lay in bed cuddling and talking, cozy, while we timed a few more.  Boodge woke up and came in for his pee and morning "boo", and then we all got up and had coffee.  Sean made me eggs and toast, my mom and my cousin (who had come for the weekend in the hopes she could witness the birth) got up.  By then contractions were every 6 minutes or so, but I was still skeptical that it was the real thing.  I guess I didn't want to be disappointed again.

But also, I was aware of not wanting to make a big deal of labour.  My last birth, everything was so focused on the labour, I ended up a watched pot that stopped boiling.  This time, I didn't want to feel like the center of attention, I just wanted everyone to go about their business.  I was inspired by birth stories I had read in which women were finishing painting the rocking chair or working in their garden right through early labour.  That is the type of birthing woman I wanted to be this time.  So I told everyone that I didn't want to be watched, and we should just go about the day doing what we needed to get done.

So Sean started puttering around, replacing light bulbs, fixing squeaks and leaks, charging phones and cameras.  My cousin Natasha made some playdough and my mom, she and I play-doughed with Boodge for a while.  When a contraction happened I told Natasha and she noted the start and end. 

When they had been coming every 6 minutes for a while I called my doula.  She said things sounded promising and asked me what I wanted.  I didn't want her to come over yet, I felt like that would put too much emphasis on the labour.  So I told her I'd call her back when I felt I needed help.  About half an hour later I called the midwife while pushing Boodge on the swing outside.  She said I sounded too perky and to call her back in half an hour or so to see where we were.  By now, I was pretty convinced it was the real thing, so I decided to go inside and make Peanut a birthday cake.   Boodge and I got busy mixing the ingredients, and my contractions moved from 5 to 4 minutes apart while we cooked.

 Yep, I'm having a contraction here.

As I turned on the timer without putting the cake in the oven, I realized I needed to start focusing on the labour.   It was Boodge's nap=time.  I spoke to my midwife, and when I told her I was about to nurse Boodge to sleep she was confident that it would kick things into gear.  Nursing releases oxytocin, which stimulates labour.  And so it was, when Boodge was asleep, I put in my contact lenses so I could clearly see my babe when she arrived,  and announced that I needed to go to the hospital.  "I don't want to be here when Boodge wakes up.  Let's just go and get this done," I said. I called my midwife again, and as soon as I said hello she said, "Ok, your voice sounds ready."  In no time we were in the truck and on our little joyride to the hospital. 

We arrived at about 12:30.  My doula met us at the door.  I had a contraction before I got out of the truck, right after I entered the hospital, two on the way to the elevator, on on the way up, and one as soon as we exited.  I checked in, had a contraction, my midwife met us, I had a contraction, we got to the triage, I had a contraction.  In between contractions she checked me and the baby and then checked my dilation.  I was six centimeters.

Here we had our only little hiccup. When she checked me, the sack of waters was so hard she wondered for a minute if it was the baby's bum, coming breach.  All of a sudden a doctor was paged just in case, and an ultrasound machine was brought in.  But with the ultrasound and another check, the midwife was able to determine that Peanut was indeed head down, ready to go/  I was checked into a room with a big soaker tub, which my cousin set to filling right away.

By this time, I was hurting.  The tub was a great relief, taking some of the gravity and pressure off my abdomen, but still, the contractions were intense and I was using some choice words to get through them.  "This f@$%ing sucks. I don't want to do this anymore," I told Sean once or twice.  But I knew that feeling that way meant I was probably pretty close, and sure enough I soon felt the "pressure" my midwife and doula had been asking me about.  I called out to tell them, and my midwife told me that I would have to get out of the tub--hospital policy is that we can't birth in there.

After the next contraction ended I eyed the distance from tub to bed, and mentally prepared to make the move.  Another contraction, and then I rose up and out, pushing aside the towel Sean tried to cover me with "I don't care about decency or anything like that. Just make sure I don't slip. I have to get to the bed fast." I believe that was what I said.  "Wow, you really are a 'get her done' kind of birthing woman," my doula commented.  Everyone laughed that she was repeating the phrase I had used when I announced we had to go to the hospital.

Turns out Peanut is a get 'er done kind of woman too, so we worked well together.  At first, I wasn't sure if we were in the pushing phase.  With Boodge, I had a long "calm" period before pushing, and then the contractions changed very distinctly.  This time, my midwife didn't check my dilation after the first check at 6 centimeters, so I wasn't sure we were "there"yet. But then she commented that "my body was very telling" and my doula explained that she didn't need to check because my body was clearly ready.  I gave a push and the midwife commented that it had been my first really good push.  Never one to back away from a challenge, I thought, "Oh, so we ARE pushing? I'll show you good pushes then."  The next push broke my water. Two minutes later I pushed out the head.  And two minutes after that, Peanut came shooting out into the world.  I pushed for about 8 minutes.

I mentioned in my Hidden Tigers post that my fondest wish for this birth was to be able to cuddle and nurse with my baby with no worries after the birth. To bask in the afterglow and the love.  And I got that wish, and it was every bit as elated as I hoped it would be. I felt like a superstar, and I fell in love with my baby the moment I saw her.  She latched on like a pro minutes after she was born, and nursed for almost an hour.  We knew each other already, that much was clear.  After all my anxiety during pregnancy, and my guilt over thinking only of how Boodge would adjust and paying little attention to the baby inside me, I felt so as if Peanut was letting me know it was OK.  And besides that, she was going to be gracious and accommodating enough to come into the world in a way that never disrupted her big brother's schedule.

An hour after the birth, my mom and Boodge showed up and he met his little sister.  He was hyper and happy and his normal, rambunctious self, more interested in the buttons that moved the hospital bed up and down than in his little sister. The midwife and nurses came in and out delivering papers and taking vital signs and making me pee, and decided I was OK to check out that same evening at 7pm.  So my mom and cousin went to find us some take-out food (after the hospital delivered what looked like dog food for my dinner. It boggles the mind that there is a dietitian overlooking the menu at the hospital, and the food is going to ill people....and it's SO crappy!).  We ate, and by then it was pretty much time to go, so we bundled up Peanut and got the hell out of there.

Once home, my mom mixed the icing for the cake while we cracked the champagne.  Boodge and I iced the cake, and we all enjoyed some of Peanut's very first birthday cake.  It was Boodge's bedtime then, so while Peanut slept in my cousin's arms I nursed him to sleep, right on time like I do every night, and he was none the wiser that his life had just changed dramatically that day.  Then Peanut and I crawled into bed and snuggled close, my body still craving her just as I'm sure hers still craved mine. And we drifted off into a long, beautiful sleep. 

An Ode to the Boodge, a Terrific Two

I know that the age of two is supposed to be terrible.  I know I've complained about the whining and the contrariness coming out of my little dude.  Sure, he pushes the boundaries sometimes, but when I do the right parenting thing and get down to his level and speak to his face, or gently physically remove him from what he is doing (instead of shouting orders from across the room), he is pretty cooperative.  Maybe it's because he's pretty good with language and that helps cut down on his frustration, but we haven't seen a full-on tantrum since before he turned two. 

I was just talking to a mother at a drop-in yesterday who said her son also was pretty agreeable until he got to about two and a half, and then he switched.  Her son is now over 3, and when I told her I feared three more than two she said, "Yes, be afraid."  One of my fears is that Peanut's arrival will be the catalyst to Boodge turning into more of a terrible than a terrific.  I hate to think that the arrival of a new baby, which will already cause a big shift in our relationship, could coincide with what my mommy-mentor has told me is a sort of "falling out of love" that can happen when your child gets over the age of two.  I am so in love with my little dude, it breaks my heart a little to think that our relationship may become more confrontational.

For right now, I'm doing my best to enjoy him and love him up as much as I can.  And knowing Peanut is on the way and will detract from my appreciation of him, I just want to take a moment to celebrate all that is great about Boodge.  For instance, he comes out with some one-liners that have Sean and I in stitches, pretty much every day.  The other day when Sean was singing "Welcome to the Jungle" at the table, and when he paused Boodge piped in his own lyrics "And welcome to all the babies that are coming to the jungle!" (That's you, Peanut).  Or my current favorite, when he found his testicles and declared, "There's a ball in there, Mummy! There's a little ball in there!"

And sometimes, he's downright amazing, like the other morning when I announced that I was going to vacuum the living room and he said, "I'm gonna clean up my toys!" and ran ahead of me to clean all his little toys off the floor so I could vacuum. Or when Sean was angry at him for switching off the PVR in the middle of the football game it was taping, and he said so sweetly and quietly, "I didn't mean to hurt you, Daddy." Or when he holds my head in his hands and kisses me, over and over and over, or kisses my tummy and pats it and says "I'm patting Peanut gent-awy." (gently) It's moments like this when he surprises us and melts our hearts with how tuned in and caring he can be.

But the best part is his singing. He loves music, and he is starting to know a lot of songs as well as make up his own little babbling songs as he goes about his business. I guess part of why I love this is because Sean and I are the same way, always singing around the house and making up little jingles. But also, his exuberance when he sings cannot be beat, and it never fails to lift my spirits. I wish I could share some video of it, but I'm having a hard time getting a good video in which he also has on pants.  Once you find a ball attached to your body, it's hard not to want access to it 24/7.

I know having two kids will be twice the blessing and twice the cuteness, and that my love will expand, rather than diminish for one to be there for the other.  But my ability to give attention to Boodge, and to hug and cuddle him and indulge him and be patient with him, will change.  And he will struggle with sharing me, and the baby will change his routines and probably even disrupt his sleep sometimes, and all of this will create behaviors and feelings that are hard for both of us to deal with.  With the big number "38" gracing this week on my calendar (that's weeks pregnant, y'all), part of my inner work is to come to terms with the grieving of my exclusive love affair with my little man.  The hardest part of it, in some ways, is knowing that I can't prepare him for it.  I just pray that I can be there in the way that he needs me to be, to make him feel secure and happy in the change. 

It has been such an incredible gift,  these 2 years and 5 months with you, little Boodge.  You are such a special little boy, and you fill me with love and gratitude and joy.  I know by the time you read this, none of these sad feelings I'm having now will matter all that much.  We'll have adapted and we'll be just fine.  And sometimes, I wonder if I underestimate you, and you will actually adjust better than I imagine.  Just now, I woke you up from your nap and you cuddled into my belly and said, "Hi, Peanut." and then "Mommy, get that Peanut out of your tummy."  Maybe you're ready to share me, even more than I'm ready to share you. I hope so.  We can only trust, and let go, and keep on loving.  With you, the last part is so easy. 

Change is Cranky and Whiny

Maybe it's the heat, maybe it's the extra 20lbs strapped to my belly, maybe it's the hormones...but man, I've been cranky lately. It's a sort of chronic irritability that I have to try to keep firmly in check, but still leaks out all over the place. I don't really want to go anywhere or see anyone, I'd rather stay home in my little nest and routine. I remember at this point in my last pregnancy feeling this same sense of needing to withdraw and go within. I suppose it's a natural gathering of strength for the huge effort that is soon to come.

I don't remember this much irritability, though. Of course, things are different this time. Last time, our last 8 weeks were a blind panic as we tried to find a new apartment and move. My sole focus was re-assembling a home to have the baby in. Still, even in that state of chaos, there was the ability to take ample time to myself to relax and meditate on what was to come.

But you live with someone who is completely engaged in every moment of the day, and persistently demands your co-engagement in most of those moments it's not quite so easy to just sit and gather strength. Boodge is not the kind of child who likes to sit by himself and read books or play on his own. Some days, and weeks, when he's had enough sleep and things are stable, he can be that way. But usually he wants to do things like play ball or climb things or build things with Mommy's help. He's also what his grandmother likes to call "a charged particle" who rarely stops moving and whose safety has to be monitored pretty closely.

And though he's usually a pretty happy go lucky guy, lately he's been mastering the art of whining and disagreeing. Even a request like "Wanna go to the water park?" is often met with a big "NO!" So you can imagine that "Time to put on your pants," or "Please stay at the table," are even more offensive to him. Every little thing feels like it requires a fine finessing, or a power struggle.

When he's tired, like, first thing in the morning, the whining comes. "Mommy pick you up! Mommy pick you up!" while I'm trying to make a pot of coffee or breakfast or even have my morning pee. At the witching hour, which is exactly when he and I are both tired and I'm trying to make dinner, he will whine and cry for me and nothing satisfies him except my complete attention, which I just can't give him then. He clings to my pants while I'm working on the hot stove, his little face wet with tears and snot. The whole scene makes me want to sit on the kitchen floor and cry these days.

Pregnancy has a way of preparing you for what's to come when the baby is born. At the end of my first pregnancy I got a taste not being able to call my body my own and waking up several times a night. Now, I'm seeing that I may have to rearrange things--not expect myself to always put together a nice meal and keep on top of housework, or do it at different times. I'm also getting a taste of not having the energy, patience, and strength to satisfy the needs of both the child within and the child without. When Boodge is crying and begging to be picked up and I'm so tired that just lifting my arm feels like major effort, I envision the scene multiplied by two. Two kids crying, wanting my full attention, and me tired and at my wit's end. And when Boodge goes down for his nap or night, I'm finding myself more and more having to use the time to rest myself, rather than do things I enjoy more like yoga or writing. That's helping me get used to the idea that I won't have much time just for myself anymore. And both these things, frankly, make me feel anxious.

But pregnancy is also, in a way, preparing Boodge to have a Mama who can't always be what he wants me to be. I have to set more limits with him now, there's no way around it. I have to say, "No, Mommy can't pick you up, I'm too tired. You can walk." or "No, I'm not going to stand up to pitch the ball to you, I can do it from my chair," or "Sorry buddy, you'll have to wait, I can't help you right now." It's a natural thing to be happening at this age, when he's becoming more of his own person and needing more boundaries and discipline. But he's still fluctuating between independent big boy and baby who needs his Mama, and I'm still letting go of him as my baby. It's a tough time for both of us.

The practice, for me, is to be able to set the appropriate limits with sensitivity and a level head. He's changing, and he can feel the changes in me too, and I understand that his whining and contrariness is coming in part from insecurity. I want to meet his need for a loving, stable, and consistent Mama. Right now, I find myself flying off the handle sometimes over little things, or giving in because I'm too tired to handle a meltdown, or feeling guilty that I'm so grumpy. Not all the time, and not so I'm beating myself up over it (I'm human, after all), but I notice it.

Parenting a toddler takes a different set of skills than parenting a baby. Nurturing, and intuiting and meeting the needs of a little one comes fairly naturally. But being firm and consistent and not letting my buttons get pushed, all of which seem to require a certain emotional detachment, is probably not my strong suit. Especially right now, when I seem to squeeze out a few tears every single day.

So, here we are. Boodge and I, both in a transitional state, swirling in the winds of change. I'm hoping to muster the extra strength to do right by my little guy, my Peanut, and myself. It's never easy not knowing what's on the other side. Change is usually good, but in the midst of it I always find myself wishing I could be somehow transported to the point where the dust has settled and the new normal is established. Until then, I suppose I can expect a bit more whining and crankiness--from Boodge, and from me. Here's your first installment.

The Second Time Around

The other day my husband remarked that he had just realized how checked out he's been this entire pregnancy. Yes, he tends to be painfully blunt like that. Luckily, I can take it. And anyway, it wasn't news to me--aside from the stressful period after we got our triple screen results, both of us have sailed through this pregnancy without noticing it too much.

I'm a lucky one when it comes to pregnancy. With both of them, I've only experienced the fatigue of the first trimester, with practically no nausea. After that, with Boodge, I've had virtually no discomfort except some heartburn and swelling near the very end. This one is proving to be somewhat the same, so it's been easy to not notice it until now, when I'm starting to feel heavy and the 10 week countdown to giving birth has arrived.

Some things are different, though. I am feeling a bit more tired than I remember last time, which is probably the result of having a much more physical job that demands longer hours. I'm on my feet much of the day now, and getting up and down off the floor, often carrying the 20 extra pounds of baby weight and a 28 pound toddler many, many times a day. I'm also doing a lot more bending to pick up things--the toddler, and all the toys, brooms, spoons, magnets, blankets, pillows, balls, shoes, food and other paraphernalia that he likes to distribute around the house. And whereas last time I spent lots of time sitting on my birth ball or leaning over it making sure the baby was in proper position, this time, whenever I get on it I'm immediately assaulted with "I wanna get on the ball! I wanna bounce with Mommy!" Instead, I lean over Boodge's tricycle, pushing him up and down the street--it probably has the same effect.

I feel vaguely guilty that Peanut isn't getting the same attention in utero that Boodge got--singing, anointing with oils and creams, regular one-sided conversation from Mommy. As a second child myself, I remember not understanding why my brother had a dedicated photo album of the first two years of his life, while I had barely a picture of myself alone as a baby. It can feel a little like you were less loved as as a baby, though I know that's not the case. Now, of course, I understand. The first child gets that amazing gift of one-on-one attention from parents, while the second one is always part of a balancing act, and will never experience that kind of undivided care.

I assumed I would make the extra effort to make sure that the second child got the same as the first. But I realize now that it's just not possible, and that it's OK, too. One of the things that I always felt I wasn't adequately giving to Boodge was the ability to be around other little people often enough. From the time he was very small, I could see that he loved spending time with other kids. It must be strange being the only small one most of the time, and though I try to make sure he gets playtime with others at least a couple of times a week, maybe that's been one of the disadvantages for him of being the first child of a stay-at-home mom.

But though Peanut may never experience my undivided attention like Boodge did, s/he will also never feel like the only little person in the house. Peanut will always have a playmate, a mentor, a person who exists closer to his or her level mentally and physically. S/he may not have me at her beck and call, but s/he will have the additional attention of his or her brother, and that is a different kind of special that Boodge didn't have. So it's OK to be second, it's just that the advantages are different.

I already notice some amazing things going on. Sometimes, when Boodge is particularly beside himself with over-tiredness and screaming his head off, Peanut starts kicking a drum-roll in my tummy. I'm not sure if it's to say "shut-up out there" or "hey, somebody help my big brother". But I sure do feel like s/he is connecting to Boodge from in the womb. In fact, Peanut will probably recognize Boodge's voice better than s/he recognizes his father's, because he is always around chattering non-stop, and often right at tummy level.

Here's Boodge riding Peanut


Another funny thing is that usually as soon as Boodge falls asleep, Peanut starts kicking. This isn't encouraging if I'm considering my chances of having downtime when there are two babies, but it's interesting--as if Peanut is saying, "OK, now it' MY time!"

I can't wait to see their sibling relationship develop. I know it will be a year or so before it becomes truly interactive, but I'm looking forward to the sweet moments between them, and to them entertaining each other as they get older. I'm also hoping that I can handle the rivalry that is sure to happen well, so that it enhances rather than divides the relationship.

I know that like so much in parenting, I can't control how they get along--it depends so much on who they each are and how their lives develop. But I'd love for them to have each other to count on through this life as they grow and after Sean and I are gone. There's nothing like having that one person who understands the bizarre dynamics of your particular family, and I'm hoping to somehow help rather than hinder them in becoming close.

If any of you parents out there have done something that you think has helped your siblings get along, please feel free to share it with me. I'm looking for any help I can get!

The Garden's Yields

A while back I mentioned that I was planning to plant a garden in our new place. I was originally motivated to do this by the rather morbid thought that Boo would need to know how to grow his own food in his future, as food becomes more scarce. But I had no idea how many other great things it would bring to him and I in the moment.

We started by putting in a raised garden bed, about 11 X 7. And when I say "we", I mean Sean with his buddy-assistant, Jimi. He went all out, getting concrete blocks to anchor posts in before building the frame.




We ordered 4 cubic yards of good, organic soil and "we" wheelbarrowed it load by load across the yard. Boo loved this...he was right in there helping with the big boys. After we were done though, we had to teach him that he couldn't walk in the garden box anymore--which was surprisingly easy.





Then we planted, starting in late April with some of the hardier plants like lettuces, kale, beets, peas, radishes, broccoli and carrots. Later I put in spinach, beans, cilantro, chives, celery, kohlrabi, pak choi, leeks, squash and tomatoes. I also have a separate patch, which may or may not make it, with more squash and some cantaloupe and watermelon, as well as a strawberry patch and some blueberry and raspberry bushes still in their pots.

First lesson learned: 2 smaller boxes would have made more sense, because I can't reach everywhere in the big box. I had to put down some paving stones to stand on so I could get to the middle, and that takes up precious veggie space, not to mention being awkward, especially as I get more round in the belly.

Miraculously, things started growing. I know, that's what happens. You plant a seed in fertile soil, and it grows. But we are still amazed, watching as tiny lettuce seeds turn into gigantic lettuces, and one hard little pea turns into a gargantuan clinging vine. By Boo's birthday, we were eating the radishes, and soon we were also eating spinach, lettuce, kale, and arugula. Last week, when I was away, my peas grew about 3 feet and started flowering, and just like that, we have little snap peas (lesson #2--next year, build a way better trellis). This week the strawberries started to turn red.




When Boo and I were outside playing, I would pick him a radish or a leaf of lettuce, dust it off, and give it to him. Soon he was trying to pull veggies out on his own. "No, no, sweetie, that one's still growing." I would say, "It needs more time. Just like Peanut is still growing in Mummy's tummy and isn't ready to come out yet." It became an amazing opportunity to give him a visual example of the creation process, and help him understand, in whatever way he can, how a new baby is coming into his life. Sometimes after one of these lessons, he would yell, "I'm gonna be a new big brudder!", and I could see that he was making some sort of connection.

I just hope he doesn't think he can eat Peanut. Maybe we should have chosen an non-food nickname for this one. But now he's kind of got it, what he can pick and how gentle he needs to be, and he doesn't raise a fuss when I tell him that strawberry isn't ready yet, and he has to wait. Even more amazing, he started eating raw greens at the table and saying "mmmmm, lettuce!" And one day, we walked into my cousin's backyard and he looked at her tomato plant and declared "Dat's a tomato!"





I had no idea, when I started this venture, that it would help him connect to the growth of his baby sibling, learn to like new vegetables, give him a chance to practice patience and gentleness, and teach him to identify plants. And that's only this year! I can't even imagine what he'll take away from gardening as he grows in understanding, and as we give him his own patch to plant and plants to tend.

A few people, knowing my history with houseplants, discouraged me from planting too much and suggested that I wouldn't be able to keep up with the garden. But it's not that hard, really, and it's way more interesting to me than houseplants because it's nourishing my family. An hour here and there, a weed or two every time I go out. And this year at least, watering hasn't been a problem--Mother Nature is doing that all on her own.

Who knows how much the garden will yield. I'm certainly a rookie--I'm still not sure if what I think is celery is just two big weeds, and the pak choi flowered before I picked any (I thought it would get way bigger). The tomatoes have tons of little holes all over the leaves, and I can see little black bugs on them which I try to kill--but they still seem to be growing. I figure it's a bit like parenting--you do your best to help and provide the right things, but so much is out of your control. You have to trust that the plants are resilient and know what they're doing and will grow right on their own. And you learn and you learn as you go.

Lessons From Solo Flying

This Monday began a long period of my flying solo as a parent. Sean is away for 12 days, back for 2, and away for 4 more. That means there are no breaks from the Boodge except naptime, so I let myself take it slack on everything else--tidying up, making meals, and general effort. I eat all my favorite foods that Sean doesn't like: roasted beets and yams with quinoa, artichokes, anything with a sweet sauce, pea soup. Tonight I think I'm going to treat myself to take out. I'm not saying I like having him gone--I don't. But I try to find things to look forward to about it.

Unfortunately, it's become a sort of cruel joke that the Boodge always gets sick when his Dad is away. Right on cue, he woke up at 4:30 the morning Sean was flying out with that barking-seal cough that strikes fear in parents' nighttime hearts. Lucky for us, Sean's alarm was just going off, so we got to relax in the steam of his shower to clear Boo's airways. I got his humidifier running, gave him some Nin Jiom cough medicine, then we kissed his Dad goodbye, read some books in bed, and went back to sleep. Four days in, it proved to be an easy cold. He's coughing a lot and snotting a little, but otherwise he's just as wild and crazy as usual.

But there were a couple of much more serious illnesses that happened during solo stints. The first time he had the croup, Sean was due home that very night at 11:45. At 11, I woke up to the sound of a wheezing, barking baby next to me. I knew only vaguely what to do...if I'd known for sure, I would have taken him out onto the patio and the cold misty air. But instead I took him into the bathroom and ran hot water, which can work but is not as effective. After some time his wheezing seemed to be getting worse, so I called the nurseline. The nurse asked me a series of questions. The last question she asked is whether his chest was pulling in with each breath. I felt it. "A little," I responded.

"Ok, you need to take him to the emergency, and you need to do it by ambulance, not car. Hang up and call 911."

So Sean came home to a hastily scrawled post-it on the door. "Boodge is not breathing well, we are at Children's Hosp. Call my cell." Had he arrived 15 minutes earlier, he would have entered our lobby lit by ambulance lights and seen his little baby with a breathing mask over his face and a small crowd of two ambulance attendants, me, and our property manager and his wife. Instead he met us at the hospital, where Boo was given steroids and quickly recovered, though we had to stay there till 4am just to be sure. It was a busy night; the halls were filled with the sound of barking babies.

Then there was last October. It was the middle of swine flu hysteria, and Sean was in Lexington, MA. Ardan came down with something that matched swine flu symptoms exactly, except for the vomiting. I called the nurseline, held for an hour, and they confirmed that it was probably the dreaded pig virus that he had. For 4 days he had 24-hour high fever and I could see him wincing when he swallowed. He nursed constantly, and I was so grateful to still be nursing (as I always am when he's sick) because he ate almost nothing else. I think this video says it all:


Through these solo sick experiences, I've learned some things about myself. I've learned that I can handle it. In fact, I'm pretty darn good. In both cases, I stayed really calm and kept the faith that everything was going to be fine. It would have been easy to panic watching my baby struggle to breathe, or watching the nightly news stories of someone's child dying from swine flu. But I gathered information, called for help, and otherwise breathed deeply and trusted that I could care for my child. I was proud of myself.

The not so good thing I've learned is that when I'm not alone, I lose that self-reliance. Actually, I get downright whiny and complainy about how hard it is, and how much I could use some help. I noticed that I do this even when Boo is not sick. One particularly sleep deprived solo-stint, I was cheerful about it with everyone I spoke to, "Oh, it's OK, I can nap in the day, I can handle it." But when Sean was home, I was crying in his office about how I couldn't take it any more.

It's normal and fair to want to share the load when things are hard, but the tone I can take is more accusatory--"Look how hard it is for me and not for you!" When I noticed what I was doing, I felt a bit ashamed. I am very good at taking care of things on my own, and it's hard for me to ask for help when I need it or want it. So I guess I default to trying to make the person whose help I want feel guilty and inadequate. Not very evolved of me. I'd like to say I've stopped doing this since I realized it, but it's never that easy, is it? I'm working on it though, and I think I'm improving.

Maya Angelou said something to the effect of "If you only have one smile to give, give it to the people who love and take care of you every day." It's so easy to put on a brave face and a smile for everyone else, but with the people we feel safest with we tend to let down our guard, and sometimes this means letting our worst selves out. It's the same thing kids are doing when parent's say "Gee, you're so good for the babysitter/grandmother/pre-school but at home, you're out of control."

I've been trying to remember lately to give that smile and can-do attitude to my family. After all, Sean is working pretty freaking hard too, and I know some things are hard for him in ways I don't even understand. When he saw that above video of Boo, he was so upset to be away, I felt terrible for sending it to him. I'd rather be in my shoes, playing with Boo, than in his working-stress shoes--most days.

We all respond so much better when we feel appreciated and loved, instead of feeling like we can never give enough to satisfy the other. Generosity flows from fullness, so the more we can fill each other up, the more we have to give. So true, and so hard to practice.

With Peanut on the way, I'm bracing myself for the upside-down and ugly that a new baby can bring. We'll be busier than ever, sleep-deprived, and we'll have Boo's tender little hurricane of emotions to address. I know there will be tears, accusations, and very bad days. But I'm going to try to make that quote above my mantra. And I'm going to let myself take it slack on everything else--tidying up, cooking, and general effort, in favour of having that one smile to give my family. Feel free to remind me if you see me slipping. I'm sure I'll need it.

Enter the Peanut

I just got back from my 2nd appointment with my midwife. As seems usual with midwifery appointments, it was a warm and welcoming experience with a lovely, friendly, intelligent woman. I love the midwifery model of care, and couldn't imagine going any other way for the monumental occasion of bringing a new life into our family and the world. It's important to me that when I see my care provider, they offer me lots of time, invite me to talk about my pregnancy and birth on an emotional, spiritual, and physical level, and present me with options but don't tell me what to do. And what's better, I checked out totally healthy so far, and got to hear the wonderful whoosh whoosh whoosh of Peanut's heart beating away. I look forward to that sound every time, just to know s/he's in there, alive and well.

It was also nice to be able to talk about some of the choices I am struggling with around whether to wean the Boodge or tandem nurse my babies, and to have her share with me how beautiful her experience was tandem nursing her daughters. It's so hard to find people who even nurse to two years, let alone even consider nursing 2 babies, that it's an immense relief to be with someone who actually validates the idea rather than look at me like I'm a total kook. Honestly, I didn't think that I would consider tandem nursing myself, but now that I'm here with a babe who loves to nurse and another on the way, it seems to make sense.

This pregnancy is so different from the last. The physical differences are minor. I'm still a lucky one--no morning sickness (don't hate me) and generally great health and energy (after the first trimester). But mentally, there's no comparison. With Boodge, the pregnancy was always there like a little gem in the back of my mind, one I rolled around and watched sparkle in different lights. Also, there was lots of fear of things like miscarriage or whether the baby would be born healthy and alive. I spent hours reading about pregnancy and birth, I talked to him and sang to him in utero, I rubbed oils and creams on my belly and took pictures of it as it grew.

This time, sorry little Peanut, I think more about Boodge than I do about the baby inside me. The reality of my day is that Boodge is there in front of me, grabbing the eggs out of the fridge or running for the potty or pushing his chair over to the hot stove to climb up. I have to think about him in the moment, and I can only think about Peanut in stolen moments--just before sleep, or at stoplights. But I also think about him in relation to the arrival of Peanut. How will he adjust? How can I make it easiest for him. What will help him welcome and not resent the new baby? Will he be OK during our time away birthing the baby? What will I do about nursing?

We're already making some changes to Boodge's life in anticipation of Peanut. The night weaning was the first one. This week, he will give up his last "boo" in the bed, the nursing he does in order to fall asleep. Sean is taking over bedtime. This was partly precipitated by my meltdown a couple of weeks ago, but it's also been part of the preparation plan for Peanut's arrival. I can't be sure that I can lie down with Boodge for half an hour every night and nap and nurse him to sleep, especially if I'm listening to Peanut scream that infant scream in another room. And I don't want to discover I can't do it after Peanut is born, and have to make that dramatic change to Boodge's life when so much other change is also happening. Plus, we want to encourage bonding with his Dad now, since his Dad will have to take over certain tasks, like waking up with Boodge in the night.

It feels right, but also sad. I guess it's a precursor to how it will feel to have 2 children--torn trying to meet the needs of both. I am looking forward to Peanut, but I'm sad about how it may affect my bond with the Boodge. I love that little guy like crazy. I love being able to sit and nurse him in a leisurely way, take him outside to play for hours, accept his rations of hugs and cuddles whenever he's willing to offer them. I am sad to know our bond will change. But I'm happy to know that he will bond more deeply with his dad, and eventually, with Peanut too. I'm trying to focus on the ways that the love in his life, and our family's life, will expand, even if it is changing.

I'll take the new free time at bedtime to go for an evening walk with Peanut. S/he deserves a little Mama time too, as well as a Mama who gets some exercise and will actually have the stamina to birth him or her. And I'll give Boodge extra loving through this tricky transition, and listen to what he is telling me about how it's going for him. I'm learning to be a Mama of two. We're learning to be a family of four. Peanut, little as you are, you are squeaking in there and making your mark. And we welcome you.