Ode to Peanut

She's been here three and a half months now and I haven't had much of a chance to introduce her to you, so I thought I'd devote a little time to talking about our sweet Peanut, or, as she's more commonly known these days, Bubbles.  The name seems right for her because she is so bubbly and happy and peaceful, just floating along on the winds of our family life.  Everyone tells you that you will be surprised by the difference in personality between your children, right from the start.  Nonetheless, I am surprised!  I'm marvelling! Peanut is an amazing little sweetie, and I'm so grateful for who she is.

Of course, we all think our babies are the cutest, so I won't go on and on about that.  Just look at her. 

She's cute, alright.  But she's also very easy to talk to.  I mentioned before how I feel like she's just bursting to say something to me, and I just keep feeling that way.  Now that she's cooing and squeaking more, it's even more apparent that she has something on her mind.  When she's alert, we can sit and talk back and forth to each other for as long as I can hold a conversation.  I speak, she coos back, I speak, she coos back.  And always with that big smile on her face.  The first thing she does when she sees me after being asleep is smile as wide as she can.  She's such a rewarding baby. I feel like she's absolutely overjoyed to be part of our family, and we're so happy to have her too.

Right from her birth, she's made her integration into our family so easy.  With her dad, she hasn't been as easy to settle, but with me, I can think of only a handful of times when it's taken more than ten to fifteen minutes to calm her down if she's upset.  And generally, in the day (as opposed to tired evening), she just doesn't get too upset about anything.  I can take her to a crowded, noisy playgroup and she sits on my lap, watching the action.  Sometimes, she's gotten very worked up when I'm busy with Boodge and her dad is with her, but as soon as I take her into my arms she sputters to a stop and before long, she is usually asleep.  It makes me feel like a superstar.

And lately, she's found her hands, and made the incredible discovery of her thumb.  It may seem like a small thing.  In fact, it is a small thing, literally, but it's made a huge difference.  She is not, like her brother, a baby who nurses to sleep or for comfort.  I think she's just too pukey to find nursing comfortable.  Instead, she likes to go to sleep sucking our finger, and for the first three months it was a bit trying to be holding her with one hand and having the other in her mouth.  Now, she just slips her little pink friend into her mouth whenever she wants and nods off, pretty much wherever she is, when she's ready.  And she doesn't make a big deal about it.  One minute, we can be having some tummy to tummy time, and the next, she puts her head on my shoulder and sucks her thumb and is falling asleep. 


I don't know if I can possibly explain how much her "can-do" attitude towards self-soothing delights me. Boodge was NEVER so easy to get to sleep.  Probably, as first time parents, we fussed over him too much, but I also think he was just different.  We had to bounce him on the exercise ball, or I had to nurse him forever and then sneak away, often to have him wake up crying and needing to start all over again.  And he always cried when he woke up--in fact he still does most times. Transitions are just hard for him, I guess. Not so for Peanut.  Lately, I can take her to her room, nurse her, get her thumb going, and pretty much just leave her there.  When she wakes up in mid-nap, if she's not hungry or wet, she'll just get herself back to sleep, thank you very much. And when her nap is over, she lays there taking in her surroundings, and I'm only alerted when she makes a little happy coo into the monitor.

I remember around the three month point with Boodge feeling like I was finally starting to make sense out of life again.  With the help of Peanut's thumb, I feel like I'm getting to that place again.  I can predict her naps, and I can count on being able to put her down for them.  (Universe, don't play with me. I know it can all change with the next tooth.)  I'm starting to be able to make micro-plans, visualizing how my day may unfold.  It is so liberating to have some structure again. 

So this is my first ode to little Bubbles, the peaceful floating little baby.  She's made things so easy, we could almost forget how good we've got it.  I hope she stays this way, though I'm not naive enough to think that she will.  Of course, she has a right to get worked up and make demands on us, and she does when she needs to.  But she really does seem to feel like things are pretty darn good, and there's no need to fuss.  That is the gift that she has brought us.

The New Bloghead is Imperfect

Ok, I didn't plan it that way. In fact, I wanted it to be perfect.  I started working on this bloghead in November, following a great tutorial at a blog called Clover Lane.  And now here it is, mid-January, and I thought it was finished.  Last night, I got the Boodge, who was hysterically crying with tiredness since he opted not to nap (and I opted to agree, since I'm taking any opportunity not to nurse him), into bed.  He was so whacked out he was screaming "Mommy, you messed up my hockey game! I want to watch Handy Mandy! I want to watch Micky Mouse Clubhouse! Don't mess up my hockey game!!" Whaaaaa...? Then he was asleep.  Then Peanut started crying, and much more gracefully took the "boo", pulled off, sucked her thumb and went to sleep.  And I was so excited to be free of children, and came right to my blog to finish the 2 hours of work on my bloghead that has taken 2 months to complete. 

But just as I was wrapping up, I heard Peanut cry in the monitor.  I went to resettle her, but she was awake.  So I decided to take her with me to see the unveiling of my new bloghead.  But when I hit "view blog", there it was, all blurry.  I enlisted the help of my geek husband.  He was already grumpy because he was still working at 8pm, having run into a technical glitch with their software.  He quickly did something and said I should be fine. I wasn't. And Peanut was not really happy to be working on the computer either.  So, I decided, what the hell, I'm resolving to be imperfect anyway, so now I have an imperfect blog head.  I'll work on it, but...it is what it is for now.  Hopefully, better than it was before, anyway.

And while we're on the topic of imperfect, I wanted to point to this great post at Mama Renew, "Mother Superstar".  A cool bit of poetry that sums up some of the feelings I'm grappling with these days.  And another quote from a poem by Mary Oliver, one of my favorites, that a Facebook friend reminded me of today: 
You do not have to be good. 
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. 
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.

And I do love my kids and my family, so much.  For the whole poem, look here. 

Everybody have a wonderful, imperfect day.

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. 


   

This Year, I Resolve To Be Imperfect.

Happy New Year everyone!  It's been so long since I published anything, I hope some of you are still out there.  Somewhere before Christmas we lost all ability to have a minute of free time.  And I'm not sure it's come back, but I have one blessed moment right now where both kids are napping simultaneously and nobody wants to be in my arms. I know, this too shall pass, but it is here and...wow. It's hard to come to terms with the feeling that there are always five to ten other things I could or should be doing at any given moment, from the minute I open my eyes to the minute I close them every day.

Around Christmas, with all the stress that was going on, I hit the wall and really struggled to stay positive.  I wondered if I was having a bit of post-partum depression.  But I'm hesitant to use the label, depression, for something I think is actually a normal part of life as a human.  We had a lot of changes happen at once.  It's hard, and for me, it requires an emotional process.  Change involves letting go, and though the changes may be for the best, or beyond our control, there is still grief that has to come with letting go.  Sometimes we have to just give ourselves time to feel the negative things, and then they can pass through and we can integrate the new.  I have to, anyway. 

But I was also in rut of anxious, pessimistic thoughts and fear of the unforeseeable future, which I know is not productive. So come New Year's I resolved, privately, to do what I had to to stay positive.  I know that I need to put self-care as a highest priority.  And yet, my life right now is such that even to take a poo, I have to negotiate the moment with at least one, if not three, other people.  I am needed that much.  My time is my children's right now, and any time for "myself" has to be bought, borrowed, or stolen. Last week I got two hours away to get a tooth pulled (yippee!), and came home to two hours of meltdown from a toddler who had missed me.  The dentist and I discussed which pain-killer would be least of an issue with breastfeeding.  I made some crack about how if I was really an uber-mom, I would just endure the pain without any meds, make the sacrifice.  He didn't quite get it. "Some mothers sacrifice a lot." he said, almost a reprimand.

Yes, we do.  And to add to that, it is largely unseen and unappreciated, but comes with enormous pressure because if you screw it up (and there are SO many ways to do that) you can do damage to that which is most precious to you.  As part of my self-care, I'm practicing self-forgiveness and going easy on myself.  Reminding myself that I am doing a good enough job, even a great job, and it's a hard job, too.  I am trying to give myself permission to loosen my ideals.  Let Boodge watch some more TV.  Let the baby cry for a couple of minutes while I get myself some food.  Let us eat fast food! It's hard for me--I'm an idealist, I have high expectations for myself, and nothing has ever mattered more to me than my kids.  And I'm noticing, as I practice this, little examples everywhere like my exchange with my dentist, where pressure is subtly put on mothers to do more, work harder, dig deeper, and get it all right. 

If you want some examples, check out this blog called "I Blame the Mother" where the writers rip apart in a scathing and hilarious fashion, studies and articles that suggest a myriad of ways we are to blame for things.  And that doesn't even take into account the billions of well-meaning articles and TV shows dedicated to advising mothers on how to do a better job at everything.  Cook wholesome meals!  Manage your (and your child's) anger!  Work out with your baby!  Make bedtime a breeze!  Stop over scheduling your kids!  Do acupressure on your children!  Know what toxic chemicals are poisoning your kid in their bathtub! And then there's the "Mommy Wars", in which we mothers, usually nervous ourselves that we may be doing something wrong by our kids, chastise each other for everything we do--working, not working, using disposable diapers, feeding formula, nursing too long, not nursing long enough, being too strict, too permissive, too messy, too clean.   

It's hard to block out all that noise.  It's akin, to me, to all those images we see on TV of perfectly thin, beautiful women, and the insecurity they can cause normal, perfectly beautiful, real women to feel.  Just like there is always something else I could be doing physically (like, right now, I'm holding and nursing a sleepy baby while typing, and trying to ignore the fact that she just peed on me), there is always something I could be doing better as a Mom. And we all want to do better....I know we do, because we all love our kids so darn much.

But right now, I need to forget all that.  I need to just tell myself, "I am doing the best I can.  My kids are just fine.  In fact, they are wonderful. And all of this mess, all of this to-do list, all of the mistakes I made in parenting today, all the things I don't know.  That's OK.  It's all gonna be OK."  And I invite all of you to say the same thing to yourself. 

May you all have a wonderful 2011.  Blessings to everyone, and thanks for coming back to my blog!

A Crazy Life

Our house has been filling up lately.  When we moved in, it was just our little triad, and I felt like we were getting way too much house.  "You'll grow into it," some people, including my husband who had fallen in love with the view and yard, assured me.  And they were so right.  We've been in a one crazy growth spurt the last couple of months.

First there was Peanut. You all know about that one.  She sent the world spinning just as expected, and we are just starting to slow down, though not yet stopped by a long shot. (it does stop, right, more-experienced-mothers?)

In the midst of the spin, another big change.  My mother-in-law reaches her own realization--it's time to retire and move into the suite in our house.  This is something we had all talked about doing off an on over the years, but here it was, happening now.  It's a big shift for all of us, but one we're hoping will be good for all concerned.  One of those times when life rolls in a certain direction and you have to just roll with it, though I confess I am not always as good at that as I'd like to be.

Then, one day, we found yet another occupant in our house, a squatter.  The first evidence was the little mouse poops on the carpet for two days in a row.  Then Sean saw him, scampering around outside his office late one night.  The next day, I reached into the oven drawer for a cookie sheet and was surprised by our friend. I leapt back, tried to play it cool for Boodge and then, abandoning my feminist spirit completely, I called Sean to come get my pan.  My prince swaggered in, "I'm sure it's long gone by now, you would have scared it off."  He reaches in and the mouse jumps over his hand, scampers to the corner and disappears into a hole by the dishwasher.  Sean and I both leap back, I scream.  Boodge looks at us like, "What is the big deal??"

Sean, who loves animals, has been pushing for a cat for a while now.  I've been hesitant, reluctant to have yet another being to take care of.  My mom even jokingly suggested to Sean that he planted the mouse.  'Cause guess what!  A few days later, "Boodge, we're getting a kitty!  Just like Caillou has!  And the kitty will play with you, Boodge!"  (We sold his sister to him the same way--I'm sure he's skeptical.)  So off we go to the local humane society. We need a cat with a combination of killer instinct and mellow, good with the chaos of kids temperament.  Also, Sean kind of wanted a male cat, and I kind of wanted a female.

We met a young mama cat named Maya.  The volunteer cat-lady took out her lazer pointer and shook it, and Maya leapt at the spot. She let us pet her, and she didn't freak out with Ardan in her cage.  Then the cat-lady pointed out her son, Hercules, in the cage next door. Hurk jumped for that lazer with the light speed of a hungry adolescent.  Hurk, or Maya.  I didn't like the thought of taking a mommy away from her son, or vice versa.  Sean got a little giddy at the thought of two cats.  We called his mom to see if she may be willing to take one on from time to time, and catsit when we're away.  And before you know it....Sean is carrying in a cat cage with Maya and Hercules. 

Boodge was so excited, he rode his fire truck around and around the cage in circles for probably, 20 minutes. The cats were terrified.  I probably should have stopped him, but I figured that the cats should know what they're dealing with before they leave their safe haven.  And besides, Boodge cannot truly be stopped....they would have found out sooner or later.  They continue to find his energy very--jarring. So, though we have cats, they hide all day and only emerge when Boodge is asleep.  Except....

Last Thursday, we all traipse in from the library and get ready for night night time.  I turn out the light and Boodge crawls onto his bed.  "Aaaaah!" he exclaimes, just as I say, "What's that smell, wait a minute...." and turn the light back on.  He holds his hand up, horrifyingly covered with a thick layer of putrid smelling cat-shit.  AAGH!  I try to play it cool again, but I'm almost puking in my mouth as I clean it off of him, strip his clothes and the bed, and replace the sheets.  It takes me an hour or two to recover from the smell.

It was totally intentional. You know how pissy cats can get when they want things their way. So Sean and I decided to keep his bedroom door closed from then on, and hope they get used to him. But the next day, the day, by the way, that my mother-in-law is moving in, we traipse in from a crowded breakfast with Santa at our local drop-in.  Boodge is in full meltdown from overstimulation, hunger, and tiredness. Peanut is right there with him, and they are both screaming to outdo each other.  I coax Boodge down the hallway...("I want night night NOW!"  "Well, come on to your bedroom. COME ON. Get up and lets go!") and he crawls into bed right over ANOTHER TURD!  Fireworks explode in my brain.  Both kids screaming, I change the foul sheets, cursing the cats and not under my breath, either.  They are both asleep 15 minutes later and I am in the comfy chair, recovering my frazzled nerves.  Suddenly a little mouse poop on the carpet seems like no biggie at all. Why couldn't we just welcome the mice as pets?

I feel like quoting Jon and Kate Plus 8 now..."It may be a crazy life, but it's our life."  It is ours, and crazy as it is, I know every day that I'm lucky to have this life and this home to grow into. But the last couple of months we have felt like a snowball careening downhill, picking up speed an size as it goes.  I can only hope that the end of the hill is coming soon and we can coast to a stop.  Well, I can also hope that the cats stop shitting on my son's bed.  And I do hope that, I really, really do.  

Here in my living room....

I'm in the unfortunate position of having lots I'd like to write about, and very little time when  my hands and butt are both free at the same time.  So here I am with who knows how many minutes on my "beat the baby" clock, and I thought I'd try to get a thought out. Oh....she's crying...hang on. My little girl is on day 4 with no poo and that makes her a bit ornery, and wakes her frequently.  So now I have one hand and bum free.

And so it goes.  I just watched a great talk on taboos of parenting, shared by my prenatal class instructor, who also facilitates parenting support groups and runs Mama Renew.  Taboo number two, "You can't talk about how lonely it can be," really resonated with me.  Being at home in the winter with a newborn and a little whirling dervish can certainly feel isolating.  I've been making a conscious effort to get out of the house, so that each day Boodge and I get to see the outside world, but it is not easy or always worth the effort.  I'm lucky my husband works at home, so I can chat with an adult once or twice during the day, and I am starting to make some friends and connect with other moms in my new community. And blogging, when I get to do so, gives me a place to work out some of my thoughts as I ride through these changes (perpetually) and connect with family, friends, and like-minded parents. 

So though I'm feeling isolated, I'm not hurting, and even sometimes appreciating an excuse to just chill out at home reading (children's books), watching (children's) videos, nursing (while doing those things) and cooking.  And building towers, painting masterpieces, playing cars, dancing down the hallways singing gibberish songs, and dancing around the kitchen singing "shhhhh, shhhhh" to a little baby with a 4 day buildup.  It's a time I will miss one day, I know. 

I hear coughing, and I am pretty sure the Boodge will emerge at any moment, in questionable humour.  So I should end it now, and not wait for the clever ending.  I wanted to connect, that's all, and say I'm here, in my house, alone most of all day with a baby and a toddler. And it's lovely and amazing. And I miss all you out there in blogland, and the rest of the world.  Look forward to seeing you more often, stop by anytime and say hi.

Some Gems Found Around Our House

There have been so many moments lately where I've thought, "I want to remember that," or, "I want to share that." But when you are moving at rocket speed, sometimes you don't.  So here's a moment to do it.

Me, at the dinner table:  "Boodge, can you turn around and sit down. I don't want to talk to your bumhole."
Boodge turns around, dinner resumes. Then he interrupts the conversation. "Mummy?"
"Yeah?"
"Can you talk to my bumhole?"

Boodge, after finishing a short and sweet nursing session.  "Mmmm, mmmm.  That's yummy milk-boo!"
Me:  "It's yummy?"
Boodge:  "Mmmm hmmmm. It's yummy.  Thank you Mummy for that boo milk.  Thank you Mummy."
Me, beaming. "You're welcome my little love."
Boodge, haltingly searching for the words, "Thank you for saving me some of that boo milk and not giving it all to Peanut!" 
I can't tell you how nice it was to be appreciated and validated for a long, often challenging commitment to nursing.  I'm sure other nursing mama's can understand.  This is a benefit of nursing them till they can "walk and talk". They can thank you!

At the dinner table, Ardan asks for juice and Sean gets it for him.
Ardan, takes a long swig: "Mmmmm, that juice tastes like sugar."
Me, distracted. "Oh yeah?"
Another swig.  "That juice tastes just like sugar!"
Me: "Really? Let me try it. Hm...what is that? It tastes familiar.  What did you give him Sean?"
Sean: "I don't know, whatever was in the fridge."
I think about it. I finished the box of juice that afternoon, there is no juice in the fridge. Ahhhh....
"It's Chai tea mix!"
I don't usually buy it, so Sean wouldn't expect it to be in the fridge.  It could have been way worse.  Ardan did manage to get to sleep by 10 that night.

Me, rocking in the chair with Peanut (who is a very gassy, constipated, and pukey baby):  "She hasn't puked in a while."
Sean: "Famous last words."
Peanut, a heartbeat later: "Blarf, blarf, barf, puke."  The girl has excellent comic timing. If only we'd had the camera on it, we would win America's Funniest Home Videos.

Peanut doesn't say much yet, but she already has a certain way of looking at me and smiling that makes me feel we're sharing a joke, or an understanding of some kind.   In fact, she looks at me sometimes like she knows a secret I don't that she's just waiting, gleefully, to tell me.  She'll open her mouth with a big smile and say, "uhhh, ahhh, uhhh", just straining to get it out. I can't wait to hear what it is. I feel like I've known her forever.

Of course, my children are the most precious gems of all.