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. 

Hidden Tigers

When we were expecting the Boodge, we took a fantastic "Birthing From Within" prenatal class through Dancing Star Birth in Vancouver. The class was based on the book Birthing from Within by Pam England and Rob Horowitz, which I highly recommend to anyone expecting a baby. It's a holistic guide to childbirth, taking into account that it is not just a physical journey but also a psychological and spiritual one. It offers women and their helpers many tools to confront the fears and misconceptions that may hinder birthing, and achieve a birth where they feel in control of an important rite of passage in their lives.

In one class, our facilitator, Sarah, pulled out a little statue of a cave-woman and another one of a tiger. "This woman is labouring in the woods, and she smells and hears this tiger coming. What do you think will happen to her labour?" Sarah explained that fear would stop the woman's labour, giving her time to get to a place of safety. As Birthing From Within explains:

Fear activates the nervous system to produce adrenalin, which fuels the 'fight or flight' response. This increases heart and respiratory rates and shunts bloods away from the internal organs (including the uterus) to the large muscles. Increased levels of adrenalin also neutralize the effect of oxytocin (the hormone responsible for stimulating uterine contractions).

This didn't come as a surprise to me. As a student of psychology, I generally believe that the body is affected strongly by the mind. But as Birthing From Within also explains, the nervous system does not know the difference between real or imagined "tigers". "That is why it's important to bring your images, beliefs, and fears to conscious awareness, where you can tame, eliminate, or even harness them."

My belief in the power of the mind, and my view of birthing as a rite of passage, was also why I chose midwifery care rather than the medical model. I couldn't imagine treating my pregnancy like I would treat a medical condition, with regular 15 minute check-ups that addressed only the physical. My midwife gave me an hour of her time each time I went, answering any questions I had, checking in about my emotions, my support system, my relationship with my husband, my stress level at work. She asked questions about the messages I had received about birthing so that she could understand any misconceptions I may have. She also went over all the physical aspects of birthing and the possible medical interventions in a way that educated me and offered me the ability to choose what I wanted.

But much as I prepared myself psychologically through our class, with my midwife, and on my own, I didn't anticipate what my "tigers" would be during labour. In hindsight, if seems obvious. I've always had the problem of being a "pleaser", trying to accommodate other people in spite of what I may prefer. This came into play even prior to the birth, as the women in my life expressed their desire to witness the event.

My mother, a trained Doula, wanted to be my support person. She was understanding when I told her that I may not feel comfortable having someone so close to me, who would likely be bothered by my pain and anxious in any complications, be the person I leaned on. Instead, I suggested she witness the birth. My mother-in-law and cousin wanted to be present at the birth too. Though I was comfortable with my cousin being there, I was less at ease with my mother-in-law watching, so in the end I turned them both down so that my mother-in-law wouldn't feel singled out. But, wanting to please, I told them that they, too, could be at my apartment during the labour so that they could come in as soon as the baby was born.

I was beginning to feel like my labour was going to be a spectator sport, and joking that I should sell tickets. But I ignored my uneasiness, as well as the warnings I had read in Birthing from Within that birthing was as private as making love or going to the bathroom. I thought I could overcome my discomfort. So there I was during labour in a small 2 bedroom apartment with my husband, my doula, my mother, mother-in-law, and cousin.

Before everyone came around noon, I was making great progress just relaxing in the tub and the bed. My midwife checked me and I was 4 cm, and she was very pleased. But as the afternoon wore on, my tigers began creeping up on me. My doula urged me to walk the stairs of our building and the sidewalk outside to get things moving. We had just moved, and I was afraid of running into our stodgy building manager or meeting a new neighbour while in labour--but I agreed, not wanting to offend. My mother was in the kitchen cooking up a nervous storm, and with my heightened senses I cringed every time I heard the knife crunching through the celery. When a contraction came and I started moaning, I would notice her come out of the kitchen and stand in the doorway watching me until it passed.

Meanwhile, the other "ladies in waiting" were in the adjoining office, trying to be unobtrusive. But I noticed that they had nowhere comfortable to sit, and they were whispering. About what? How long was this going to take, I wondered, and should I move to the bedroom so they could use the living room? Overall, I felt annoyed, conspicuous and on display. And then somewhere in all this, my Dad called.

I hadn't told my Dad I considering a home birth, because I knew that like most doctors, he would be against the idea. I didn't want that fear put into me, so difficult as it was not to share with him, I decided to just tell him about my birth once it was over. But he called during the labour, and Sean told him I was in labour, so felt like I needed to call him back. When I did, he figured out I was having a home birth and expressed his disapproval right then and there.

My contractions had started around 2:30am, and it was now 6pm. My doula had called the midwife over to check me, as things had been moving along well. But I had only dilated 2 more centimeters, and by the time she finished setting up for the birth, my intense contractions had stopped and I was alert and talking just like in early labour. I had stalled. She and the doula conferred and sent my waiting ladies out to get dinner. While they were gone, my midwife asked me if I really wanted all these people in my apartment. "Oh, it's OK." I replied.

"Is it really OK? Or are you just letting them be here to be nice?" I admitted that I felt pressure to get on with the show, not to keep them waiting any longer. She suggested that I send them home and call them when I started pushing. After she and the doula communicated this to them, she went home herself and instructed me to just do whatever felt right. So I lay down in bed with Sean and just relaxed. I didn't try to do anything to get labour moving. And within an hour, it picked up again and I was on my way. At 12:30 am that night, I finally delivered my baby.

Now, preparing for my second birth, I'm trying to anticipate my tigers. I know the one about feeling watched, and having too many people around. And I anticipate that if I feel like the Boodge isn't OK, I may not be able to relax. For this reason I feel like I won't go into labour until my mom arrives on the 13th of October, because she is the person (aside from my husband) that I trust most fully with Boodge. I've also told my doula that much as I want to labour at home for as long as possible, if I find myself too distracted by how my son is doing, I may have to go to the hospital earlier than anticipated.

The hospital, because there is a tiger in having a home birth again. I loved my home birth, and I would defend any woman's right to have one. Research indicates that they are just as safe as hospital births in normal, healthy pregnancies and labours assisted by a regulated midwife. But as I've mentioned before, Boodge was born with "wet lung" and we had to go to the hospital right away, where he spent his first 30 hours in an incubator. Though he was getting enough air and it was not a dire emergency, it was scary. Since the hospital is 1/2 an hour away this time, I don't want to take any risks. Labour and pushing was fine for me, and I feel confident that I can handle the pain (assuming that it will be somewhat similar to last time). But I don't want to be worrying about what will happen when the baby comes out, and I think that will be easier in the hospital.

On the other hand, I have reservations about the hospital. There will be people involved in my care that I've never met before, and I've heard that the wrong nurse can really have an impact on labour. Also, though we'll have access to emergency care if necessary, I don't want to feel pressured into getting any care that isn't necessary. If Boodge had been born in a hospital, I might have been told I was "failing to progress" when I stalled, instead of someone understanding that psychological factors were involved. Also, he likely would have been taken from me immediately after birth. As it was, I at least got about 45 minutes at home to hold him, sing to him, and try to nurse him. Those 45 minutes meant the world to me and consoled me when I felt, for myself and him, the horrible emptiness of being suddenly separated from the one who had been in my womb for so long. For this birth, I long to have that experience so many women talk about, where your baby is just put in your arms, perfectly healthy, and you nurse and cuddle and feel the bliss of new love.

We have been to the hospital though, and the birthing unit seems excellent and geared towards empowering women to make their own choices, and staying out of the way of her caregivers. Having a midwife as my caregiver also helps me feel comfortable that at least my preferences have been asked about and will be honored if at all possible. So I'm going to just try to be assertive if I need to be, and focus on my job of birthing my baby rather than the millions of possibilities of what can go wrong when it comes out.

Overall, I feel pretty confident in my ability to birth this baby and deal with whatever comes up in the process. But labour is such a wild card, and the stakes are so high. I wonder if there are any hidden tigers this time, and if I'll be better at sniffing them out than I was in my first labour. I'm interested in hearing about the tigers that affected you out there, reading this. How did fear, or discomfort, affect your labour? And how did you sniff it out and get to a place of safety?

Insomnia

It's 3:48 in the morning. I'm not awake by choice. That would be insane, considering I'll have to be up for the day in a few hours and then my day will require me to have patience and kindness towards my son. He's only two, after all, and it's not his fault that his mother is full of raging hormones. Hormones that keep me up and set my mind racing in directions I don't want it to go.

Today was one of those days where I felt like I was on the emotional edge all day, ready to spill over into anger and tears if the littlest thing happened. And it did, of course. Three phone calls too close together, screwing up what I was trying to get done and starting Boodge whining for attention. The store we finally got out the door to go to unexpectedly closed for renovations. And even worse, the news that my husband has to go away for work all next week, leaving me on my own with a 34-week belly and a 2-year-old. I'm getting to pregnant for this.

I just read on some forum, "Pregnancy is the loneliest feeling in the world." It resonated with me, though I was surprised to feel that way. In my fantasies pregnancy is a blissful, miraculous time where my family joyfully anticipates the blessing that is growing in my body. And it is that, to be sure. But also, it's a time when the only person who really understands what I'm going through is me. Me, and maybe any women who has been pregnant in the past.

But we all experience this change uniquely. Nobody else can share the feeling of sheltering this new life in this particular body under these particular circumstances. Nobody else has to anticipate the awesome responsibility of birthing a vulnerable new being. All life and death type encounters, I suppose, remind us of our own isolation as much as they remind us that we are all connected in some essential ways.

How do I explain it to someone, in the hope of reaching out for support? How the hormones can shift and suddenly I am not in control of how I'm feeling and reacting. How I go about my daily tasks of taking care of my home and my child, playing endless rounds of ball, making meals, paying bills, cleaning up, shopping, pushing the swing, comforting the bumps, cheering for the new tricks, waiting out potty trips, and all the time a part of my mind is somewhere only I can go. When did the baby last move? What will the birth be like? Will the baby be OK? Will I be OK? When will it happen? How will I handle the sleeplessness with a toddler? What if Sean has to travel? How will a second baby affect our marriage? How can I get a break from all this questioning? All the unknowns fill my mind, and I try to answer them, but there are no answers.

My life, and my family's is about to change profoundly. It is by choice, yes, and it's an incredible blessing. I am lucky in so many ways, stable, supported, loved. I am grateful. But that doesn't take away the fear of the unknown that comes with such a change, and the frantic and fruitless human urge to predict and control the possibilities. In carrying a baby, I carry all of that unknown too, and it's scary. So I lie awake, because in the daytime I have to try to be strong, patient, kind, and loving. I have to do my part to steer my family through this transition smoothly. So at night, when I get to be alone, my mind sets to worrying.

Things always look better in the morning. It's now after 5am and things are looking better already. So I'm off to bed. I think I can sleep now, and I hope I can get a couple more hours. I want this blog to be a positive space, but sometimes, things feel heavy, and releasing that heaviness is positive. Honestly sharing anxieties that I know other women, and even expecting fathers, experience too, is positive. This ones for all those pregnant, anxious Mama's who may be reading this in their own insomnia. You're not alone, although it may sometimes feel that way.

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!