Growing Pains

In the last week or so there have been many moments I've wanted to sit down and blog but then I thought, "Why don't I just spare everyone the screeching sound of my whine." I just haven't been in a very good space lately. It feels like everything is happening at once and for a week and a half there I was exhausted, short-tempered, and all "woe is me, I can't handle this", which is not my usual self.

Night weaning has been more challenging than I thought. All the research I did seemed to indicate that in a week or two, shabam, the baby would be sleeping through the night. But we have one of those awesome, dynamic, complex, fun, energetic type babies who defies categorization. For him so far, night weaning has meant sleeping much less at night.

The main thing is that it seems to have thrown off his whole digestive cycle, so that while previously he was pretty, er, regular....suddenly he was having 4 poos a day. Unfortunately, the last poo would come in the late evening. It became a very frustrating routine--try to get him to sleep for almost an hour, give up and bring him into the living room, and watch him immediately grunt one out. Eureka! Then he would fall asleep immediately.

After last Saturday night's fiasco, I re-evaluated and realized that if he goes to bed at 8:00 then 7 hours without nursing (our planned goal) comes at 3 am. And by poo indications, his body was used to the cycle of nursing he had gotten into, so maybe he truly was hungry by the time I refused to nurse him at the 4am wake up and that was keeping him up. He's not a good eater by day, and still gets a lot of nutrition from my milk. So I decided to ease it up a bit, and let him nurse at that 4am wake up, and drop it after he seemed used to the 7-8 hour stretch.

Sadly, though, that nursing seems to kick his system into gear and he's been waking up at 5:30, on average, ready to get down and grunt one out again. So...for about a week and a half he's been late to bed, early to rise, and we've all been at the mercy of his bowels.

This would be manageable stuff if it wasn't for the two complicating factors: first, we're moving, and second, he's almost 2 now. So take one exhausted, busy to distraction mother and one exhausted, confused by all the boxes baby who has recently learned what a temper tantrum is and--you probably can imagine the rest. He's been regularly treating us to fantastic displays of his emerging will, in the form of crying and repeating his demands: "Move chair, move chair"; "No pants, no pants," over and over, accompanied by sobbing and screaming.

If I'm centered, I can usually find a way to approach him gently, hold him tight, remove him to a calm space, and sing him into peace again. If I'm not centered, which is often lately, I find myself responding more like "Boodge, I said NO MOVE CHAIR! I'm not moving the chair! You've got to CALM DOWN! Fine, just cry, I'm going to read this magazine. Whatever!" It's not a response I feel proud of, and it doesn't help the situation one iota.

They say you can ignore these tantrums and just let them pass over, and that's what I thought I would do. Not exactly ignore...but lovingly witness. I don't mind sitting with him while he releases all the pent up frustration and confusion he's feeling over the changes in his life and his own powerlessness in the world. But it goes on for so long, and I can't help feeling like if I don't step in and actively help him regain control of his body and spirit, it will never end. My loving, passive presence just doesn't seem to be enough.

So that's why I've been sparing you regular blogging rants about how miserable I am. But things do seem to be stabilizing. He actually slept until 6:30 today, and getting up at 6:30 has never felt so good. And he seems to be grunting out that last poo earlier, or not at all the last few nights. So we're all starting to get a little more sleep again, and sleep is a magic elixir.

Also, my mother-in-law has swooped in the last two days and worked maniacally, cleaning out the fridge, oven, closets, drawers and washing the walls. This has gotten me off my sorry ass too, and between us we've pretty much got this move licked. This side of it, anyway, and my Mama is coming to help on the other end. All that working has resulted in a few more meltdowns on the Boodge's part, but I'm getting better at handling them with compassion and calm. And he's getting into the action too:


That there is the cleanest spot of wall you've ever seen in your life.

So I think we're gonna make it after all. We're stretching and growing over here, feeling the pains of it, but reaching deeper and finding again that we can survive. I will try to remain grateful for the blessings that change brings, and welcome the new growth in my child and myself. After all, as Sean's Irish uncle Tom said to me, "These are all wonderful problems to have."

A Hard Day's Night

So, here at Casa Boodge we've taken on the task of night weaning. The idea has been germinating for a long time, since Boodge still wakes up at least 2 (usually more) times a night and wants to nurse. We are still co-sleeping and from day one, we just got into the habit of nursing to sleep and then nursing back to sleep every time he woke up. Usually, I can practically nurse him in my sleep, and often don't even remember night wakings. But after almost 2 years of this, I started to crave uninterrupted sleep. Plus, knowing that we are working on having a new baby, I thought it would be nice to have some sleep improvements underway so that I could rest up during the exhausted first trimester. Also, we will need to transfer him to his own bed and room before number 2 comes, and I want that process to be very gradual and gentle. So this is just step one.

I had a lot of ambivalence about night weaning. It's sweet to tuck the Boodge under shoulder at night and kiss his little downy head and drift away. I know that in 5 or 10 or even 2 years, that will be a bodily memory that I cherish. But I also feel that he needs to learn how to go to sleep without a boob, so that other people can put him to bed and soothe him in the night. So I did some research and decided to follow Dr. Jay Gordon's plan.

So far, it's gone really smoothly, and I've been so pleased. The Boodge has been a trooper, not crying for more than a couple of minutes, laying down and drifting off to the sound of me singing "You are my sunshine" over and over and over. It takes him a long time to get back to sleep sometimes, but that is part of his learning a new way. The first night that we did 7 hours of no "Boo", when we woke up I said "You did it!" and he lifted his hands in a victory salute and said "Yay, Boodgie!" (OK, he said his real name...but you get the picture). I am so proud of him, and feel like we've done this at a time when he is ready to take it on.

But then last night, after 3 nights of no boo he just couldn't seem to get back to sleep after waking up at 1. He wasn't crying or fussing, but he was restless, shifting all over the bed, trying to engage us in different ways, here and there making a plea for some boo. At 4, he started asking for cereal, so Sean took him out and gave him some, and then danced him back to relaxation. He fell asleep at 4:30, woke up at 5 and then at 6 and then at 8 he was up for the day. Sean took him again and I tried to go back to sleep, but no luck. So we all started the day like zombies.

Now, if I had gotten up with a baby who was asking for cereal at 4am, I would have fed him pretty quickly, but by the time I gave up on sleeping in, he still hadn't eaten. Sean started cooking us a Valentines day breakfast which took another hour to complete. By then, we had crossed over into a dark land of super hungry and tired toddler. When we tried to get Boodge to come sit in his high chair and eat with us, he fixated on wanting to watch the Wiggles on youtube.

And we were off. He began a full scale, out of control melt-down that lasted about 45 minutes, and had his shirt soaked with a combination of tears, snot, and drool. Sean and I were helpless to do anything...he was not in his right mind. Finally I managed to get him to calm down, and with heroic effort I got him to eat half a banana and a handful of cashews.

Then it was time to get him to sleep. Unfortunately, just before nap-time, he discovered his old baby swing that plays "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star", which is out due to the packing frenzy, and he wanted it on. After a little listen, I told him it was bedtime and picked him up for bed.

Thus began meltdown number two. For half an hour, I lay on the bed while he stood at the door soaking his shirt again, repeating "Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle tinkle, tinkle!" in desperate tones. Sean came in to try to help but every effort to help just seems to make things worse. It was just lucky that he finally succumbed to me holding him very tight and talking to him in soothing tones, and he lay down to nurse to sleep, breathing jagged breaths and sweating.

Now he's asleep, and so is Sean, (I'm expecting my cousin any minute, so can't take the pleasure myself) and I am trying to recover from Hurricane Boodge sweeping through my heart and mind twice in one exhausting morning. Seeing him like that fills me with so much intense emotion. I want to yell at him to stop, I want to soothe his pain, I want to ignore him, I want to cry with him. His howling becomes the backdrop to my self-doubt: Should we be doing this just before we move, when all the boxes must be unsettling enough? Why didn't I just let him listen to twinkle a little longer? Why didn't I feed him when I got out of bed, instead of waiting till breakfast was ready? How will I handle this when we have a second child to take care of too? Will the entire transition from night weaning to, eventually, his own room and bed, be this painful?

But it's over, for now. I'm too tired to think of a neat ending to this post. My home is in chaos, toys and food crumbs and boxes and debris scattered everywhere. The baby monitor is crackling irritating static and amplifying Sean's snoring, which better not wake up the Boodge! I can feel the edges of my patience jabbing into my stomach. I am riding that hairy edge of sanity that parenting sometimes places us on, just hoping to stay on the safe side, just hoping that Boodge wakes up with a sweet smile and a new attitude, and goes to bed early so I can too. Pray for me.

You Know You're a Mother When....

Lately I've been noticing all the little things that have changed about me now that I'm a Mom. Like the other day, I grabbed the handle of a frying pan that had been in the oven, and burnt my hand. Before I was a Mom I would have run it under cold water instantly, applied various balms, and complained about it all day. This time, I made it a teaching moment. "OUCH! See Boodge, that pan was HOT! Mama burned her hand! OUCH! OUCH! HOT pan! Don't touch, BURNS you!" Then, applied cold water for 30 seconds until I was called to do something else.

Another little thing? My hair. It used to be my favorite thing on my body. My one indulgence in cosmetics is that I buy really quality, expensive shampoo. Now, I don't spend much time looking at my hair anymore at all, but when I do I always think it looks ech. Today I got a chance to take a good look and was hit with the truth--my hair has changed. It's coarser and has little frizzy strands everywhere, not to mention a nice sprinkling of gray.

I noticed it again when my cousin made some yummy guacamole the other day, but we could only have a bit because she was saving it for dinner later. The Boodge showed an interest in it and so....I gave him my share. Of guacamole! It's one of my top ten favorite foods, but he's been eating next to nothing lately so I'm happy to see every calorie that goes in his mouth. I also regularly save the delicious organic dried mango that used to be my indulgence for him, because it's expensive and he'll eat it even if he's on a 5-day hunger strike from everything else.

Today I'm off to a gathering of women to bless up a beautiful friend who's about to become a Mom. It's my favorite rite of passage to celebrate. Moms-to-be stand on a threshold so momentous, and they can only get a glimpse of what's beyond, the ways in which it will transform them at every level, the kaleidoscope of beautiful and intense feelings. I think all of us who are on the other side wish we could tell them, somehow, what to expect. But to do so would be futile, and also negate the fact that their experience will be completely unique and personal.

Motherhood has changed my body, my instincts, my relationship to the world--my very core. I'm curious to know how you out there are reminded that you're a mother in your daily life, in every stage of child-rearing. Or does it fade away when your kid is in their 30's? Feel free to share your experiences in the comments below.

Goin' Up The Country

Last Saturday Sean and I left the house together, without the Boodge. I think this has happened a grand total of 2 or 3 other times since he has been born. The occasion? We went to the credit union to sign and initial here and there and everywhere to get our new mortgage, line of credit, back account, insurance, tax bill. And that's only the beginning of the paperwork--we still have to meet with the lawyer. What began with house hunting in Ontario has ended with the purchase of a house with a shop and 15,000 square feet of land in Mission, BC.





What do we know about Mission? Not much. There's a Mission there, atop a mountain of beautiful, old growth forest. There's a raceway, too (Me: Ugh. Sean: YAY!). The town's 35,000 people have a median age of 36. According to one website, it was built to resemble a small Ontario town, and the main drag there does remind me, vaguely, of the ones I've seen in Renfrew and Belleville. There's one yoga studio that I can find on the web, and one natural foods store. Some of our friends told us "It's redneck out there, you'll see." Others say it's the Bible belt. We figure there have to be lots of good, everyday people out there that we can connect with.

At first we were alternately scared and excited. We have been swimming in a world of mortgage brokers (when he pulled out his own shoe horn at the end of the visit and slickly slipped into his shoe, I knew we couldn't work with him), bankers, lawyers, inspectors, and figures. Now we are moving through rooms of boxes and half packed cabinets. Home improvement shows are suddenly interesting. We are about to take on a responsibiity that we anticipate will be like having a child, in that it will be a ton more work, but will also gift us with amazing growth and pleasure.

I'm going to plant a garden. Ardan is going to run in the yard and dig in the dirt and make friends with bugs and worms and raccoons and flowers he can pick because they're in his own yard, not the park. We're going to learn about plumbing and flooring. We may even be landlords, because the house has a one bedroom suite that can pay almost half our mortgage payments. That is, once we change the carpet, re-floor the kitchen, and paint the whole thing. Painting with a toddler could be fun, right? Right???

One of the best things is that there is space for visitors to stay a while and be comfortable. I am dreaming of having family and friends visit and stay for a while, enjoying good meals, playing games, and having peaceful space for themselves. I dream of creating a warm, happy haven for ourselves and others. So make my dream come true everyone, and come experience Mission with us. Our spare bed will be opening in March. Oh, and don't forget to bring your painting clothes.

Waking Words

Well, we hauled ass out of bed at 6am today--me reluctantly, the Boodge with his usual great enthusiasm, undampened by the cold he acquired overnight. I'm taking the opportunity to spend some time with "Mama Buttons" (my computer, as named by the Boodge). It's a gamble--so far he has come over already a couple of times to ask for "Five Monkeys!", but I've been able to divert him back to his "Baby Signing Time" video which is on TV.

If any of you out there have a babe in your life around 1 year old, I can't recommend these "Baby Signing Time" videos enough. They teach babies to sign useful words using songs, images of other babies signing, and cute cartoon animation. The Boodge is great with language, and I credit Baby Signing Time with turning on the light that showed him the possibilities of communication. He LOVES his babies, and "Rachoo!" (Rachel, the developer and star of the series). Often, he has surprised me by pulling out a word like "cereal!" or "moon!" (yes, he says everything with an exclamation point) that I know he could only have learned from Rachoo. And the fact that he signs the word too helps me understand the difference between "Na na" (banana) "Ni Ni" (night night) and "Noo Noo" (noodles). Anyone looking for a gift for a one year old, look no more, this is the ticket.

Um, that's not to give the impression that I let him watch YouTube and DVD's all day...we limit him to one Baby Signing Time a day, except on special needs days. You'd be amazed what I can do in that half hour. But I do join him for the final song, which is always a sweet parent-child love song that can bring me to tears even after 38 listens.

And it seems my time is up. Urgent requests for "Mango!!" are coming my way. Rachoo is done singing and signing. So we're off to start another day. Hope you all have a good one.

Oh, to blog again....

It's not that I don't want to blog. I think about posts all the time, I write them in the shower, I write them while nursing the little dude, I write them while running errands with the stroller. But I don't write them when I have time to sit down and write them because there always seems to be something more pressing to do. That, and the computer itself is a bottomless pit of distraction, what with all those other bloggers to read, and the endless news, recipes, advice, curiosities, just a few clicks away. It seems since I became a mom, I've been practicing divided attention so much that my neural pathways are laying down all splintered. Didn't I used to be able to sit down for hours and hours working on something, becoming totally engrossed? Now, even when I have a couple of clear hours, I find my mind and body still moving in all directions.

But what matters is that I come back. So here I am again. I'm working on 2 things to get better at blogging. First, not wasting time on TV and the Internet. Sure, there's lots of interesting stuff out there...but does any of it really matter? Does it excite me and inspire me and clear me out like writing? Nope. Second, I'm going to stop trying to make every post "something"--some nicely wrapped up piece, some in depth exploration of what I'm going through. I'm just going to post. It's not like anyone who reads this isn't directly related to me through blood, friendship, or facebook.

The truth is, my attention is divided, and my time is scarce. We're moving in a month, so there's all the packing and phone calling that goes with that. At nap time, I can blog or do yoga for my pleasure, or do chores for the good of everyone--so blogging has some fierce competition. Not to mention I joined a writing group to develop my thesis ("Counsellors' Experience of the Ethical Dimensions Involved in Social Justice Advocacy"--catch title, no?) into an article for publication, and that is a nice big SHOULD over my head all the time. But I'm going to try to come here more often because it makes me feel good to write, and I really do want to document the changes in myself and my family.

And that is all for today, folks, in the interests of learning how to not make it "something". Happy New Year everyone.

All this to say.....

In August I was on an all-time blogging high, getting to a record 5! posts. Then...what happened? September and almost October have gone by in a flash, with the winds of change blowing all around me, twisting me this way and that. My dearest sister-momma and her family moved out of town in search of a new lifestyle, and I spent lots of time soaking her in and helping her move before she left. Our own family has begun house-hunting too, which consumes hours on the internet, in the car, and trekking over strangers' carpets and into their bathrooms while their cats shriek in little cages in the closet, or their children play video games on the floor.

The summer washed away and is, as we speak, falling from the trees. I've been planning trips, too, and I took one with the Boodge. Back to my homeland (where the heart is) in Ontario and Montreal. I saw my brother and his sweet family, my mom, my dad. Came home to a new appreciation of my own family, fonder from absence. And in a few short days we begin churning again with more planes, boats, and automobiles to come.

Yesterday the news reported that the polar ice cap is melting alarmingly fast--faster than expected. My gut clenched. It's too late, I thought, but then argued with myself, because no, it's not too late, and there is much that can be done, and much unknown. But still, the reality of life on this planet may be very different in the future, and we have to brace for the change. To calm myself, I remind myself of our resilience and adaptablity, and I hold my family close in my mind's eye and am grateful for them.

Often I wonder about what it will be like for the Boodge, and ask that question people ask sometimes, "Was it fair to make a baby in a world that is so uncertain? Would it be fair to make another?" I know people who believe, fervently, no. Still, I can't help but feel fervently, yes! For so many reasons--because I'm not giving up on the future, and every new life is a hope. Because I believe that living can be beautiful in some ways no matter what the struggle, and that struggle is part of a full life. Because the scary is helped by the love and closeness and wisdom of others, and I want to Boodge to have an Other--some family that will, hopefully, still be there when is dad and I are gone. My end of the bargain, and Sean's, is to try to create that safe haven of family for the little lives we're summoning forth, and to give them the tools to survive mentally, physically, and spiritually, and to leave a positive mark on the earth. Easy, right?

And what, may you ask, moved me to sit down and finally write this post, to get back on the blog? A little hope has sprung up in me today, a little stream that invites a miracle to come. See....in my family, we have this doll. It's a little African fertility idol that came on a necklace I got when I was 16 years old, wandering around in awe in the parking lot of a Grateful Dead show decked out in my tie die skirt and ankle jingler. It sat in my jewellry box and then my bead box until I gave it to my above mentioned dear sister-mama 5 years ago when she was trying to conceive her second child.

It worked. Fortunately, she kept it in the house and, um, it worked again, quickly creating her third little "weezard" old-soul baby. After that they wanted to pass it on rather (ehem) quickly, so they did so to my brother and his wife. It worked beautifully again, bringing them my sensitive, joyous nephew. The idol then came to live in my house, where, when we were ready, I placed it on a shelf surrounded by incense and beachstones throughout the weeks leading up to our wedding. It's energy was strong enough to come with us to Costa Rica on our honeymoon(or maybe it happened at home--who knows), because the Boodge was born 9 months later. So, we passed it on, this time to some friends of friends that had been trying to conceive for over a year. She wore it around her neck for months, in fact, it ended up being all the months of her subsequent pregnancy, cause...it worked.

It got to the point where some people didn't want the doll in their house, or were afraid to touch it. But I think the will has to be there--the idol doesn't just work randomly on people who don't want children, or aren't ready. Clearly it doesn't, because it's been back in our place now for several months, and I have been sitting around wondering when I'm going to menstruate again. Searching forums to find out how long it takes other women, thinking about night weaning the Boodge. He's a bit of a boobaholic, let's face it. But still, I've felt relaxed about it. As some friends suggested, when the Boodge is ready, my body will get ready. Or, when I'm ready to tell the Boodge my body wants to be ready. Or, when we move and he gets his own room. But it hasn't felt right to want to hurry it, yet.

So the idol lay around in various catch-all baskets in the bathroom, living room, in my purse sometimes, until just before I left for Ontario, I thought I should really give it a proper place. So I put it on the little birth-alter I had for the Boodge's birth, next to the soapstone carving of an Inuit woman nursing her babe my mother gave me. I lit some incense and told her I'd like to start ovulating again, soon.

And today...it worked. Just the ovulating, people, don't get too excited. Today, if you don't mind my saying, I will have to go out and find myself a post pregnancy sized "diva cup". Funny how it all reminded me of that waiting in adolescense to say excitedly, or miserably, depending on your savvy: "I got it!". But it feels better this time--more connected to what it means to create another human being and shelter them on this planet. The idol worked, and I hope it keeps working. Because the possibility of another vibrant, amazing life is, for me, an antidote to all the fear out there.

So all that to say, "I'm back!" and "I got it." And keep on creating and trusting and believing in magic, no matter how scary the future may look.