Breakdown in the House of Danger

This house is a minefield. It is NOT, I repeat, NOT baby-friendly. If we were looking again for a rental. I would not choose this house. I would use my big-girl brain and say, "Tile, marble, lots of steps, fireplaces? Naw....sounds like a lot of sharp corners and hard surfaces. Not a place for a baby. Let's move on babe," I would say to my lover. He would laugh and smile at me knowingly, and we would drive as fast as we could away into the San Diego sunset without another thought.

Instead, our pre-baby selves couldn't see these things, and only saw 'nice big tub, large windows, lots of light.' We put our deposit down based on "good vibes." Granted, I love this house, its windows, its vibes, being surrounded by hills and pretty landscape. I've painted it and moved furniture around to make it mine ours. But lately, I want to move into a two-bedroom apartment made out of foam. I want it to be furnished with inflatable coffee tables. I want the drawers and the cupboards to be fashioned out of bubble wrap.

Dax is insane. My precious little sweetie pie is officially the most active little 11-month-old on the entire planet. He has no sense of caution. He goes for things with all his might, as fast as he can, determined, without care for the fact that he has not the balance nor the strength yet to support his will. This causes lots of little scrapes, and owies, and oh my god, that cry! In playgroups, well-meaning mamas have observed that Dax is:
     "very physical."
     "really adventurous."
     "All-Boy."
     "Quite a handful."

Dax runcrawling in play area

Not only does he love to runcrawl all over the hard kitchen tile, it leaves his little baby knees red and tender. Yet he refuses to be deterred. Try to stop him, and he'll SCREAM bloody murder and kick his legs as if to say, "Mooommmmmm, I want to GOOOOOOO there PLZZZZ don't get in my wayyyyy!!!! So I let him back down again and figure if his knees really hurt, he wouldn't runcrawl  on the tile right?!

And he WANTS. Like really really really WANTS things. For example, I am getting ready and have to do something simple like brush my hair, and Dax sees this from afar and sprintcrawls to me with a crazed look of determination indicating that he would like to see that brush RIGHT NOW!!! And then he starts to claw at my knee, and pull himself up, whine, and pound incessantly on my thigh.

As he starts to cry, I'm wishing my hair wasn't so darn long and I'm thinking "I can't just give this kid everything he whines about." So I hide the comb, and when I do, he sees where I put it and precedes to full on break down into a mental case on the floor. And my hair still isn't brushed. And it's not even noon yet.

This continues all day long for absolutely everything I touch. Of course, sometimes I just give him the things he's aching for because it's easier, and they're safe so whatever. And sometimes I don't. And I never really know if what I'm doing is the right thing or the wrong thing and I think about that all day.

Dax with brush

What a willful child. Not sure where he got that from.

The other day, the worst thing happened and it scared me so bad that yesterday I was having little mini-panic attacks. Dax was playing in a drawer--the designated "safe drawer"--that I've left open so that he can explore, but removed all dangerous things. So there he was standing next to the drawer and then he took a step towards me, but lost his balance (because he forgot that he does not yet know how to walk at all). And he fell. Face forward. Onto the corner of the drawer. The right side of his face.  The tender bone by his eye. Hit the corner of that drawer so hard. On impact, it made my entire body ZAP with pain.

After his face hit, he fell to the floor and screamed. Louder than I've ever heard him scream. He hit that drawer right on the corner with his face. Harder than I've ever seen him hit anything. And oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my f**king gosh. Scoop up the boy and try to calm down that SCREAM. He hurt so bad he was kicking me because he didn't know what else to do. It took atleast 10 minutes before it passed.

I called everybody and sent pictures and shook with tears & guilt, while everyone assured me these things will happen. He got a nice big shiner on his eye and I'm pretty sure passerbyers are calling CPS on me.

Now the whole house looks like DANGER to me. Everything, even the walls, that are just sitting there. My little baby boy loves to climb things and throw himself into things and fall down on sharp things and it's freaking me out.

Dax's first shiner

I'm not quite sure how my mom did it. I broke everything as a kid--my leg, my collar bone (both of them on separate occasions), and my teeth (more than a few times I broke my face on steel handlebars and hills of frozen ice). My bro and sis? Sustained almost no injuries, and definitely no broken bones. Did my son inherit my risky, broken-bone prone playstyle? So far, it sure seems so...sigh...it's gunna be a long road to college.

The Last of the Toothless Grins

As my son is teething lately (ps yes sleep sucks), I got a little nostalgic today looking at his adorable little toothless smile.

His top two teeth are just seconds away from peeking through those gums, so I just had to snap this shot to remember THIS SMILE!

I would bet this is one of the last shots of this! Sigh, my little boy is growing up! NOOOO!!!!!

Babyproofing can be pretty

Dax in the big boy tub!

And Then I Lost It

My little baby angel is a very privileged young chap, who, upon the occasion of his baby shower got copious amounts of gifts before anyone had even met him and discerned him to be a likable fellow. 

On this joyous occasion, the darling guy received no fewer than a dozen blankets from relatives far and wide--many of them gorgeous and handmade with love. Some of these, due to their particular breathability and size, ended up as sheets for his car seat, where he slept for longer than recommended. Some of them serve as a colorful rectangles on the floor underneath him as he plays. Even the scratchy ones are used as decor, folded and slung over the crib as accent pieces when visitors stop by.

Yet, as with most babies, one particular blanket has emerged as his go-to blanket. The one that is just the right size. The one that is just the right weight. The one that is just the right fabric. The one that, when placed on the little guy when he's tired and nursing, he will slowly knead the fabric with his fingers, and shortly thereafter, his eyes gently roll back into an easy slumber. 

The Chosen One is a well-known brand, tiddliwinks, sold at most local Targets. While it was not quilted or crocheted by my favorite people, the purchaser was my husband's oldest bestie and delivered to us just days after the birth of our son by the oldest bestie himself. And therefore, Very Special Indeed.

four-day-old Dax with Dave's BFF DaRell (& giftor of The Chosen Blanket)

Perhaps it is fitting that this blanket is The One, because this blanket was the only blanket purchased for us by A Man, and therefore the deep navy blue color and stitched sports balls and inlaid "Champ" insignia did, in fact, stand out considerably from the lighter, more precious blankets gifted to us by the entire female side of our relational brood. Dax must have known: This is a boy blanket. 

And so it was, from his baby newborn days and through his entire eight months of existence, wherever Dax went, this blanket followed close behind. Made of a soft, buttery micro fleece, this medium-sized blanket has a nice weight and warmth to it that Dax loves. When he's anxious and active, this blanket will almost always calm him, as witnessed by an audible sigh and a ceasing of the ceaseless kicking of limbs. 

Dax and his blanket at eight days old

So it was without fanfare that when my husband and I trekked to the open air baseball stadium in  Downtown San Diego last Saturday night to watch our Padres play the Seattle Mariners, we packed Dax's favorite blanket, to ward off the light coastal wind wafting in from the nearby harbor. 

Dax thoroughly enjoyed his first baseball game. He was passed from lap to lap, reveling in the company of a handful of our relatives who kept him giggling and cuddled. During the duration of the game, the soft blanket covered my knees. 

Saturday night at the Padres game

As we left the stands, a few hours later, I strung the blanket over my purse and held the handles. We headed to the car. It was warm enough that my son's favorite blanket went unneeded almost the entire evening.

And that was The Last Time I Saw It. 

As we approached the parking garage, I realized the blanket no longer occupied the space near my elbow. Frantic, we retraced our steps back to the stadium. No dark mass of navy blue blanket lay crumpled on the sidewalk in that entire 1/4 mile.

I called up to my family, still in the stands. Was it there? No.

I begged the ticket person to let me re-enter the gates so I could skip up the stairs and the elevator where we walked.

Nothing. 

I went to Lost & Found, where I filled out a report that read something like this..."my son's favorite blanket. navy blue. micro fleece. sporty "champ" embroidered. the only thing he's every loved, please help me..."

As I treaded back down the steps to the exit gates, I felt like a complete failure. Shoulders slumped, I met the eyes of my husband holding our son, now favorite blanketless, and shook my head No. Dave said maybe they'll find it and call us later and then we headed back in the direction of the car. With each step I could feel the hot tears well up in my throat. 

And Then I Lost It. 

In a pitch so high it was barely audible, with chunky tears dropping from my cheeks, the words started streaming out, "I'm the worst mother ever I can't believe I lost his FAVORITE blanket it's like the only material thing that he's attached to so far and he uses it every time he naps he NEEDS it and I LOST it I can't believe I would do such a thing why didn't I tie it to the purse omg he's had that blanket since he was an itty bitty newborn and it has all his beautiful baby energy on it and I was gunna save it forever and he was going to have it forever and it would be his favorite thing and now it's GONE..."

Poor Dave. Instantly realizing the severity of my mommy meltdown, he sprung into action, "Baby, baby, hey hey it's ok, it's ok, don't worry, no worries, baby hey..." I paused to breathe. And then more tears and then he said, "First off, you are the best mother ever." And then, altruistically, he mentioned that maybe some downtown San Diego homeless guy had it (tons of homeless rove the area), and maybe he needed it more than us.

But that made things way worse because then I imagined the preciousness of my son's beautiful blanket that contained all his beautiful baby energy on it; I imagined it in the smelly toothless face of some greasy bum who had just snorted lines of crystal meth and smeared his dirty crystal meth dust on my son's most favorite thing. 

I wailed louder, now eyeing every thieving bum in my vision. 

Luckily, Dave kept after it, assuring me that we could get him a new one right away. And then he said some things that for some reason kind of made me feel better: He assured me that we would lose plenty of his favorite things over the duration of his existence and that that was just par for the parental course.  This was our first time and it was hard, but don't be so hard on yourself because it's not the end of the world and we have a long string of lovely lost things in our future.

And so eventually I calmed. In the car, it was quiet and Dave told me that even though he hated so see me sad, he found it charming that I was so upset. I smiled a little and loved him for that.

When I woke in the morning, Dave told me that he found the exact same blanket online and purchased it and that it would be here in a few days. I thanked him. The stadium called me the next day and told me they didn't find it; No good Samaritan carried it to their counter. 

A few days later, the navy blue "Champ" blanket, an exact replica of My Son's Favorite Thing arrived, wrapped in a silky ribbon. And as I slipped it around his little body before his nap, he sighed gratefully and visibly calmed.

I felt a little deviant. I got a glimpse of us, as parents, in the future when Dax's favorite little hypothetical turtle dies, that us, unable to tell him about the loss, would purchase a replacement turtle--slipping it into the tank after midnight without a word.

I feel so sad I lost that blanket, like kicked in the stomach sad. But I am grateful, we got a new one that does the exact same trick. This mama road is going to be rife with all sorts of fun...

Sigh...

Teething Hurts

Toy LOVE

On Valentine's Day, Dax would like to dedicate a little pictorial ditty to his favorite (chew) toys...

Tasty the Turtle

Baby Einstein, the bendy ball

And of course, his Infantino Vintage Playmat (the secret to my being able to shower)

Through Mommy Eyes

I see things through "mommy eyes" now. When Dax was first born, I was flooded with this new kind of love. They say 'it's indescribable,' and that seems like a cop out. But it's not. There are no words, only words that reflect that words are out of reach.

But that love gives me tremors sometimes. Babies are so tiny and helpless and perfect. In the beginning, I would get flashes of images of babies that were neglected, abandoned, shoved into trash cans. It would shock me, tears choked in my throat.

Obviously, I always felt anger and disgust towards any kind of willful neglect or tragedy directed towards children. But when mommyhood bloomed in me, that feeling ballooned into utter disbelief, rage, and extreme sadness. How could anyone hurt a baby--their own or others? Don't they feel what I feel? This all-encompassing adoration, this innate impulse to protect, to nurture and love them? A feeling so large it seeps into your being. Makes your heart bigger than the universe. Unable to stand even a whimper from your little one's mouth.

Who are these cruel, heartless abusers? I am racked with incomprehension. To think of it makes me want to tear my mind out of my head. I don't, on principle, believe in capital punishment, but I guarantee you no tears are shed when a child abuser/murderer gets tied to a chair and poisoned on the state's dime. Dear God, protect us... 

I also now see any murder as a mother losing somebody. If I turn on the news or read the news or see the news (none of which I try to do because it freaks me out), and the top story is death before their time, I can't help but think of that person's mother. What she must have felt. What exceptional sadness. What extraordinary grief. I can't take it.  A lump develops. Please, shut if off. I am feeling too much. 

Even parents estranged from their children, I think 'what's wrong with you? How could you?' You mustn't feel what I feel. If Dax forsook me as a part of his life, I would fight until my fingers bled to climb back into his world.

Mommy eyes are bloodshot with empathy. Love so intense it feels like pain. The higher your joy, the deeper your sadness: Nothing has highlighted this dichotomy to me like motherhood. I pray that the peaks and the valleys always

 Keep us safe. 

And well. 

And loved.  

The Baby Linebacker

Dax is a big boy. Like 16 pounds at three months. When the pediatrician saw him, he smirked, "Well he obviously isn't having any problems gaining weight." And I laughed. He's well over the 90th percentile. 

Part of me kind of thinks these growth charts are a little bogus though. Perhaps they might need to be updated or something. I mean if 20 percent of the kids these days are over the 90th percentile, doesn't that mean the chart is off? Only 10 percent of kids should be over the 90th percentile. That's how percentiles work. It sure seems to me like lots of kids are in that high range now. When was the last time they updated that thing?  Isn't it possible that through growth and evolution and all that that we as a species ARE getting a little bigger?   

I obviously love my little guy, big or small, BUT I can't help but wonder if I'm doing something wrong. Dax eats every 2-4 hours when he's hungry. He is exclusively breastfed. He sleeps in five to eight hour stretches at night. Everything I've read says you can't overfeed a breastfed baby. But then again, what does anybody really know? Isn't it all just speculation? 

My mom instincts say that he is perfect and fine and that I'm doing everything right by him. His hefty weight makes me feel like he's a survivor storing up fats and food. If he were a cave baby he'd be mighty hearty stock. He'd definitely make it through the winter. 

But still, one can't help but wonder. Especially with all the rounding out of kids these days. Is my adorable chunky baby going to be a rotund kid or adult? Everyone says, "He's going to be a linebacker." And I laugh. But inside I'm kinda like, "Really?" 

Did any of your babies or anyone you know have babies in high percentiles? How'd they turn out? I've heard long and lean before. Fact? Fiction? 

On Being a Parent

Time Has Sped Up.

Time Is Slipping Away.

I want to run through the meadow of my memories and capture all the pictures...

those Flitting Fireflies of Thought and Color.

I want to bottle them up and put them on my counter so I can Look at Them.

I want to remember The Past, because He Is In It.

Every day he gets bigger and becomes Something Else Altogether,

and it Explodes My Heart.

Each day his laugh gets HEART-i-er.

Each day his eyes get CLEAR-er.

Each day his kicks get STRONG-er.

He's so young, but already I feel like his newness;

his itty-bittiness

are behind us.

I am going to be a Sad Mom.

because already,

I miss Every Dax That Ever Was.

I need videos and photos and letters so i can sit,

old and tired,

on the floor and Look At Him

againandagainandagainandagain.

I know you're right there, Right Now,

but STILL

(sit still please be still please always be still)

How am I going to do this?

How am I going to let go you go every day?

I look forward to all the Future Yous

but Dear God Please

Leave me my memories.

Let them lay vivid and perfect and

priceless in my mind.

It's going so fast. It goes SO Fast.

I want to

Hold On....

I love you i love you i love you i love you

Bipolar Post about Nursing Shirts and Malls Too

I went to the mall yesterday, which I should stop doing. It always makes me feel bad. Perhaps because it ignites that fire in me...that want want want. I rarely feel 'In Lack' except when I walk her halls. I need to find resale stores. Or boutiques perhaps? I need to find some place where I don't feel like consumerism is shoveling its big wide mouth into my big wide mouth into our big wide mouth. It's an Escher painting. I'm lost there. Mind bending, circling back.

I got this Christmas money to go shopping because I am all sorts of messed up postpartum. Nothing fits just so yet. But I have NEEDS. And my biggest are for nursing attire. This NEED throws any WANTS out the window. When I was pregnant I did not think I needed any of this 'nursing' clothing. I figured, 'I'll just unhook my bra, lift my shirt up, what's the big deal?' I thought nursing clothes were a gimmick. I was wrong.

Dax hasn't been served a lick of liquid that wasn't from my body since birth. That adds up to a huge commitment on my part. Which I love because I'm his mom and by golly, that's what I do to sustain him. BUT it leaves me looking a little schleppy. Like I don't have bras that work right, so I just kind of hike them up and scrunch my tank top to my neck. So there I am about 10 times a day looking like a complete mess because everything is up and awkward and bleh.

Have you seen this nursing attire? They have like shirts with secret openings and you can look normal and maybe even semi-cute. You can nurse and not hike anything up to your neck! I am in dire need of all this because lately I'm feeling like a Mom with a capital M as in Messy. So I decide to go to a high-end maternity store, because I figure if you're going to get weird clothing with secret escape hatches, then you might as well get the best.

However, things have changed since last time I was here. Last time, I was pregnant and the store was my oyster, with wall to wall designer maternity digs of cuteness. This time, I ask, 'where's the nursing clothing?' And I'm shown to this little square space in the back, where I see only nude-colored bras and ill-formed pajamas. A couple of mismatched shirts hang lopsided on the racks. 'That's it?' I ask, hoping this was the clearance section. She answers annoyingly bubbly, "That's it." I size her up. She definitely doesn't have children. Ugh. I drag my feet past her to the back.

And right there, my fears are confirmed. Standing in front of the over-sized basic tee selection, I realize it's true: No one leaves their house after babies. No one. Malls are for the young and childless. Maternity stores are for the romance of pregnancy; the sweet anticipation of future dreams. But for us--the mothers--the makers of the universe--we come here to spend our Christmas money on flannel pjs because we need them. Because when we rise to meet our babies' cries in the middle of the night, we want to be comfortable. The obvious truth is--there simply isn't a market for hot nursing moms. Double ugh.

I buy what I need--a couple of convertible hook-down bras and one basic black nursing shirt--and I leave. I then aimlessly walk the aisles of Macy's imagining myself in this cocktail dress or the other, these stitched jeans might fit, and this sweater would be adorbs. I just walk, and my head starts to hurt because none of this matters, and I don't have the money anyway cause I just spent it, and where would I wear any of it anyway? Let's face facts: I'm not leaving the house anytime soon for elaborate parties.

I'm a new person, I think as I meander back to my car. I see a woman with a young infant, soothing her and I kind of half-smile knowingly at her. Then I realize I'm part of that new secret club: the 'we got kids' club. And I got a gorgeous son at home that I can't wait to get back to, and I'm the luckiest girl in the world. Although i did wince a bit at the next passerby with her weather-perfect boots over skinny jeans and her perfectly coifed hair.

Anyway, my new self needs to grow a wee bit into this new life I admit.  The new mission includes using this new nursing shirt (paid for with Christmas $$ did I mention that?)  and finally heading out into the world with my babe. I need to challenge myself to overcome some of my breastfeeding in public paranoia and hang-ups. He's three months old and goshdarnit I want to live (by live I mean leave the house)! I'll let you know how that all turns out...

Happy Conception Day (Belated)

I know this is a little weird, but I don't really care, because there's a part of me that thinks it's pretty cool. Two days ago, January 7th, exactly one year was that happy merry conception day of our little guy. I pretty much think that's important, which is obvious to you, because I'm speaking of it here. In a public forum.

I know it was the Day of Conception because it took us awhile to get pregnant, so I got a little crazy (by crazy, I mean efficient) with all the pre-pregnancy ttc (trying to conceive) stuff. I got some sticks of ovulation predictors to track my cycle and checked gross things like cervical mucus and in the end, I even started charting my basal body temperature. If you weren't sure what that was, which I hope you never do, but your BBT is the temperature your body clocks in at right when you wake up, before even venturing to the kitchen for coffee.

I know this all sounds pretty crazy, but I don't like to mess around and just go with the flow when I want something, especially if the 30th birthday has passed and it's taking awhile for the petri dish of your ovaries to figure out you need to see some results. And SO, I got a little scientific and we had sex on demand. Which people say is SOOOO not sexy, and I have to admit, it does knock out the spontaneity of it all, but sex is sex and sex is sexy and if you have a husband who loves you and doesn't whine and complain about the details of how he comes to bed you, then you can rest assured I thought each time was beautiful because you're thinking about making A BABY. And that's hot.

Irregardless of all this, it didn't matter anyway because on this particular month I had it ALL WRONG.

It came to be that on January 7th, which is in fact my father's birthday, which could be a little weird for him to know that, so I haven't told him and I'm pretty sure he doesn't read this, so it's safe to say here. On my Dad's birthday, January 7th 2010, Dave and I had a rare date. I say rare because he works late mostly and we don't typically cut out time for elaborate dinners at nice restaurants with our hair brushed and lip gloss glossed.

But on this particular date, it happened to be that it was ALSO our friend's birthday, January 7th, and we were going to take him out proper-like. So there we were all ready and primmed and then our friend called and canceled.

So there we were. We looked at each other. And proceeded to the restaurant together, just the two of us, as planned. And the whole night, I didn't think at all about babies or making them because I didn't think I was anywhere near the dates or times necessary to conceive one.

SO, we went to one of our favorite restaurants where there's this lovely garden you walk through, over these cool mini wooden bridges over these trickling little koi ponds. We were seated in a booth, which is my favorite, and I thought the light was yellow and perfect and dim and nothing about the atmosphere offended me. We ate our favorite things like Black Garlic Fondue and their special Gourmet Mac-n-Cheese and we ordered a few of their specialty brews. They make them right there and they are some of the best beers in town and we love to find our favorites.

The night was long and leisurely and we talked about the coolest things like our dreams for life and for each other and why we were so happy and why we loved the other. We giggled and my cheeks got a little hot from the beer and when we left we held hands through the garden.

And then we went home, and not thinking about babies, we made love. And I won't go into it too much because let's face it, I've already crossed the line of TMI, and my mother-in-law maybe reads this and I don't want to freak her out. But it was one of those real pretty times, and then we fell asleep, warm and languid-like, forgetting to set our alarms.

And in the morning I took my temperature, because I was doing that every morning, and I got quite the surprise. My temperature had dropped significantly from the day before, which basically indicates that ovulation has happened, just the day before. And I didn't expect that at all because I thought I had several days more to go before I ovulated, so much so that I hadn't even started using my O-predictor sticks. But there it was anyway, the reading, and it said our trying time this month was over. And then I thought to our night before and we hadn't done it for a week before that, and

Then I Knew.

Conception day is special in my heart because it's the day that a miracle happened. The day where all the little Zoeys, Adeles, Hanks, and Owens flew out of the starting gate and ran. It's the day where Dax elbowed past them and went faster than everybody and didn't care that the rest were going to die because He Wanted to Live. And then he made it. Cucooned and tired, he slept and grew and slept and grew until He Came to Be.

I love that day. It ranks up there with weddings and birthdays and first kisses.

But the cool thing is...theoretically, he's been living for a year and I think that deserves a Happy Conception Day (Belated)!

The Real Parent's Guide to Half-Ass Attachment Parenting

I am so amazed at this whole parenting thing. I had no idea there was this underground debate going on with parents--there's this whole attachment parenting thing and these people are like WILD about their way. Which is really cool, because there are so many of these principles that I agree with, but what I don't understand is why it kinda feels like some advocates are yelling at everybody else.

And I totally get it, if they are yelling at the over-controlled crazies who want to schedule schedule baby from Day One, who want to let their poor babies cry into the wee hours of the night panicked in their cribs (makes my heart cry), don't want to cuddle their babies for fear of early spoilage, or in all other ways treat their new human family members like a nut to be cracked and/or a basic inconvenience to their orderly existence. I get that. Those people suck. Or on the most basic level, are uneducated.

 But what I don't get is why some of these attachment parenting advocates seem to be somewhat wagging their fingers at others. Like their lifestyle choice defines them completely and kinda makes them feel better than others. The problem is that the AP lifestyle is somewhat subjective. It differs depending on the family. It's best described as a spectrum. You have your breastfeeding-till-age-fivers/co-sleeping/baby-wearing/cloth diapering mums on one side of the extreme and then you have the rest of us.

Perhaps I'm struggling to define myself. If someone asks me if I "attachment parent." I'd say yes and no. Do I co-sleep? No, but I'm not against it. I was 100% open to it. And then I realized after over a month that I got exactly two hours of sleep per night because I was a) so worried about hurting my baby and b) my baby wanted to comfort nurse ALL NIGHT LONG. Over and over again, I would be awake the next day and so exhausted that I would frequently start crying at the drop of a hat and my patience during the day was almost zero. We moved him into the bassinet in our room.  Am I a bad parent whose putting my needs in front of Dax's? Absolutely not.

Do I breastfeed? Yes. He's been exclusively breastfed on demand since birth and I love it. But I'm not sure how I feel about letting my boy decide when to quit. I just don't see myself as one of those moms with a full-grown kid on her boob. Perhaps that's my selfishness, I don't know...I want my boobs back eventually. I want to give them back to my husband too. And it seems the longer you breastfeed in this society, the more ridicule you receive. and the more defensive you must become to maintain it, and thus the more judgement you must project unto others to protect it. That sounds exhausting to me.

Do I baby-wear? I like totally would if I had the right damn sling! He loves being held and I think it's awesome to tote him around that way, but we haven't found a cozy and safe one yet. We got the Ergo, which isn't really great for newborns, so then we just got this mei tei, which is basically like an Ergo but much easier to put on, but it's still a little big for Dax. I think both these will be great in a few months when he can put his legs through. We are also waiting on this sling type thing in the mail. There's so much info on these things and everyone has a different opinion and they all cost a fortune so you gotta do your research.

Do I cloth diaper? Um, I feel guilty about this one, because no, but I totally should. And I totally will, but it's taking longer than expected. I got this newborn diaper rental and I didn't like them, because they were way too bulky, but we already spent the money so I had to wait for Dax to grow up a bit. And now he's ready for them in size that he'll be in for awhile and I just need to order them. They are expensive so I'll be building up my stash slowly, but I'll get there.

What about the rest? I hold my boy often. I comfort him every time he cries. I nurse him when he wants to. He naps when he's tired. And I wash his hair in organic lavender shampoo :-).

I believe attachment parenting is kind of like a spectrum. Kind of like the sexuality spectrum. There's RuPaul on one side waving his gay flag, wearing pantyhose, and spouting blow job jokes. And then there's Anderson Cooper on the other side...he's gay, but your mom probably doesn't know it. I would say that in terms of attachment parenting I am the Anderson Cooper equivalent. I am. But I don't wear any slogan T-shirts. I shy away from defining it.

It is. And I am. Defining myself as a parent every day. What works for us as a family I will constantly re-assess daily. That to me IS attachment parenting.

Sicky Baby and Other Vaccine News

Dax is so sick today. His little eyes are red-rimmed and watery. His sneeze is explosive. His cough is mucus-nasty. He slept so poorly last night, whining and wheezing. I kept him in bed with me most of the night to soothe him, but he woke up this morning in full cry! I called the pediatrician immediately, and was on the road in hours.

Luckily he's fine, but I had no idea how fruitless the trip would be. I should of stayed home (although truly I wouldn't have been able too and am glad to hear all is good). But they're like, "He's sick. Yup. Keep the snot out of his nose." I'm like: "Really, that's it? Wow..." I don't know...did I think I would get some super-special infant prescription that would magically save him this dis-ease? Yes. I guess I did. 

They did, however, remind me that I have not yet scheduled my two-month well baby appointment. And Dax is now three months old, so I'm late! I nodded and said yes yes i meant to, but truly, I've been procrastinating. I wanted to research all those vaccines that they give these little guys. I'm absolutely not anti-vaccine, but I also don't like to blindly follow advice when they are telling me they are going to inject my newborn with six different vaccines made from live viruses, drops of aluminum, and in the case of the polio vaccine,  animal blood tissue.

This last weekend I actually did all my homework and read read read finally as I knew I had to make that appointment. And I made all of my decisions for the next 8 months on the series. I know this subject is so highly controversial and I'm not going to get into all the details of decisions now, but basically my belief is that I do believe MOST vaccines are good & necessary, but I don't think they all need to be injected at once. I also think it doesn't hurt for some babies to get older for some vaccines so that their immune system is more mature.

So anyway, I basically skipped my two-month appointment and decided to start any vaccines at four-months so he's a little older. I would have waited till he was six months old, but we are cruising the Caribbean in June, so I want to make sure he has the preliminary vaccines before that time is up. We will be vaccinating for HIB, Pc, and doing the DTAP vaccine. I'm too late for the Rotavirus vaccine.

And I will wait on the Polio vaccine till he's older. There's not been one single case of polio in the US for quite some time, so he's at no risk to not take the vaccine. He will get it later just so we can keep our US immunity, but I just don't think he needs another vaccine, when he's getting all those others.

I'm 50/50 on the Hep B vaccine right now. The only reason I'm thinking of getting it is because he got a shot a birth (a mistake I feel on my part) and I feel we might as well keep the schedule of the AAP on that one then. But in hindsight, that one could have been delayed for much much longer.

Did anyone else delay or slightly tweak the AAP schedule? Did your pediatrician throw a fit? I'm slightly worried I'm gunna get chided...

The Honeymoon's Over

The families have departed. They have come. I have gone. To them too. And now. I'm left with long days that stretch out before me. We don't live near relatives. No grandmothers take our babies on the weekends. No cousin's birthdays to attend. Not yet. And so. We are alone.

Together? Sure. Happy? Absolutely. Lonely? Sometimes...

In Minnesota, I watched my niece Nova shove her fingers in my baby's mouth. Kiss his cheek. Pat his belly. Little Dax and his little cousin--they saw each other. Faces like brand new presents. Curious. Acknowledgement. You'll be in my life forever...

I ache for what they'll miss. The everyday. The seamless weekends. Where mom and mom and nana and uncle and us we get together for goshknowswhat. Those babies will run at our feet. No big thing. This dream may never be... 

And now I have behind me. All the excitement of pregnancy & birth & new baby & who sees who when & Christmas & presents & planes. It is done. The thank you cards are stamped. Sealed. Sent.

Before me I have my itty bitty family and our endless numbered days. It is real. And it is right. But a realization none the less.

I try to live in The Now.

But I drift. I dream about the growing baby in my arms. The growing family in our future. The growing need to believe our extended family will follow us here like ducks. South for the winter. But then they stay. Stay.

Cousins: Nova & Dax

Dax & Nana Kay 

This One Might Be Broken

So our travels to the cold country went without a hitch. We decided not to traverse by car to North Dakota to save ourselves the infant car ride. I am glad we did not, although I am itching to see my grandmother.

However, I came to an icky conclusion while there. Which is only amplified by today--my first day back on the job as a stay-at-home mom. Help me! Here's the sitch...

So Dave, my husband, was of course there. And have I mentioned what an awesome Dad he is? I mean, I knew he would be, but he's better than I even thought before. He's so attentive and caring and cute with him. He walks him and rocks him and hums to him. He brings him to bed for me to nurse him in the wee hours of the night without me asking. He says to me, "Can I get you anything?" Words that make me wanna wrap my legs around his torso and hug him with my whole body.

But Dave works a lot. Like a ton. I once wrote a post about it here. Which translates into some very long days for me. However, over the holidays, we got like five whole days together. And I came to this very ugh-worthy conclusion: Dax goes to sleep much easier for Dave. Like it takes five minutes of walking and he's out like a light.

I am so annoyed by this conclusion. Firstlies, I don't have the magic hubby touch all day. It takes me walking, strolling, bouncing, nursing, swaddling, white noise--you name it--just to get Dax to sleep. And if I'm not holding him, he sleeps like 45 minutes. If I'm holding him, we can get a good 3 hours in the day. But you can imagine what that does to your to-do list.

I guess I didn't mind doing all that, but now that I saw Dave just turn Dax off like a switch, I'm left feeling like this could all be easier. Has anyone else had this problem? I'm thinking Dax can smell my milk or something and it sends him into a frenzy. I promise you, I've done exactly what my hubby does and I get results no where near that.

Secondly, at night, my guy is regularly hitting three hour stretches, but no more than that. I just read on babycenter.com on this quiz that like 60 thousand people took, that 91 percent of those parent's babies were sleeping five hour stretches regularly by three months. WTF? Dax is nowhere near this...is this survey really true???

I'm tired. Like sometimes exhausted. What were your experiences with your babies at this age of three months? Did they sleep through the night? Is mine broken? Did your hubby's have better luck than you breast-feeding mommies???

On the Road with the Wee One

Tomorrow we hop on a plane to go visit my family in the snowy Midwest. I'm a little scared, just because I haven't traveled with Dax before. He's only 11 weeks old, so I have no idea what to expect. It's weird thinking of an infant now, it definitely affects my ability to freewheel. For example, we have planned on driving to Fargo (where I grew up) on Christmas Eve for one night to see my extended family. I would love for them to meet the wee one, plus it's been years since we've been to that party.

But the last couple of nights I've been doubting my decision. First off, it's been snowing like mad up there. Normally, this would not deter me. If it were a blizzard, sure, but a little snow isn't the end of the world. But now I have a little guy to worry about. I don't want to do anything foolhardy, or needlessly dangerous. I am his protector; I take that role seriously.

Secondly, I have not yet vaccinated my guy. I'm already terrified that I'm bringing him on an airplane with god know's what germs lurk, but then to trek him across the tundra to a party with lots of people? I don't know...I meant to get to the pediatrician's office sooner than this trip, but I had not yet done the research that I wanted to on the 2 month vaccinations, so to be honest, I kind of procrastinated. He'll go for a check-up after he gets back, but until then, I don't want to needlessly expose him to whooping cough!

I don't want to be a big wuss, but my mom-stincts are telling me I perhaps should plan a separate trip to the cold plains in a few months. What do you think?

I know it will probably all be fine. I have to pump a few bottles today so I can take them on the plane. I have not yet mastered the art of not being embarrassed by breast-feeding in public. Anyway, blah blah. I am just doing a little mom worry before the trip. Any tips for success? I will be there a week.

Outside, A California Winter in Technicolor

In California, even though we are knee-deep in December, the world looks like Fall. It still feels like winter though.  The air is snippy, brisk.

Me & Dax & the cats go outside into the yard to see the golden cover of leaves...

In every frame there's an abstract picture,

or a colorful poem...

Diego, our little kitten-cat-panther-lion, follows me everywhere...

 (kitten)

 (cat)

 (panther)

 (lion)

It's so quiet outside. The absence of sound reminds me of loneliness...

Although I'm not alone...

We notice all the pretty things together...

and head back inside.

I stare at you again.  

And again...

You're so darn cute...

How'd  you get to be mine?

In this house together now. It's a brand new winter. Sparkling yellow and gold. 

We play on the floor of the nursery. We are looking from the inside-out.

(love taking photos?...click below...)

Right as Rain

It's raining outside. The palm tree juts out in jagged lines. A spiky black silhouette against the grey sky. The white curtains glow with light in front of the window in the nursery as we rock gently. His navy blue eyes watch the shiver of the trees outside. His eyes, still and open. As we rock. Back and forth.

'I love you,' I think. His little body like a magnet to mine. My breath sets the pace for his breath. I must calm down to get him down. I'm learning patience. I listen to the cars in the street turn the corner in front of our house, their splash coats the curb. Like a short breath. And. Breathe.

I have nothing to do but love you. Every day. Just that thought alone makes my throat well up. My eyes choke back tears. Thank you God. Oh My God, Thank You.

I see my world, my house, my thoughts...through your eyes now. Everything is new. Everything is in place. Everything is safe and planned. And lovely.

I feel at home. For the first time in years, everything makes perfect sense.

This Is Home.

My Announcement, love it...

Hello Green Birth Announcement

Find hundreds of elegant baby birth announcements at Shutterfly.com.

View the entire collection of cards.

Isn't It New

What does one say about the birth of their child? What pictures can I paint that will truly fill you in...let you in on this life change? I exhale. I believe. There's not much now to do but start...

Dear Dax,
I love you. I love you more than you can possibly know. I've seen others have children and babies and my removal from all this made me think that maybe you would be all about diapers and late nights and sacrifices. I wasn't ready for THE JOY. I wasn't ready for that switch to be flipped...the one that would do ANYTHING for you. Jump in front of trains to protect you.

This is how I feel. How quickly you've weaved yourself into the fabric of my life, how effortlessly your cry fills the space and you are as normal as living now. You have turned my life upside down. You have changed everything, and yet sometimes, I'm surprised by how life continues the same too. You are the light in my eyes. You are the realized dream of Dave and I's future. How can I try to explain this more? I can't.

You were born on October 4th in the early early morning. You were 7 and 1/2 pounds. Labor surprised me. I suffered. I strained. I gave birth to you. I knew that was the end of pregnancy, but the empty space in my belly is weird now. Seeing you here. Now. Is a dream. A miracle. I have a lump in my throat.

Parenthood is elusive. I thought I would feel older. Like marriage made me feel. I don't though. I feel younger maybe. Slightly inadequate. But more confident than I ever thought I'd feel. I am confident that I know what you need. Confident as your mother that I'll be what you need me to be. That confidence has been a surprise. I am not scared. I feel chosen by you.

And Dave. The love we felt those first few days. An intensity that made me cry when we kissed. Seeing him rock our son to sleep has been my soul's great joy.

Thank you world. For blessing me. So profoundly. I drop to my knees in reverence of these gifts I've been given. As my family surrounds me now--the uncles and aunts and grandparents rally around our home to love you. What love. What love I feel now. Thank you world. Thank you.

Forever and ever and ever,
yours.