The Postpartum ABC's

Twenty-six features of postpartum-hood. (Those who haven't been through it might want to glance at "T" first)

A is for Adorable - N. is. He and his sister together make it exponential.

B is for Boobies - they run my life. I woke in the middle of the night last night with my T-shirt soaked through. I thought I was having sudden hot-flash sweats. It took me till morning to deduce it was just milk.

C is for Cookies - Walnut chocolate chip specifically, homemade by our good friends. My assault on the baby weight will have to wait till that tupperware is empty.

D is for Diapers - which are failing me completely. He's pooped on me 6 times today. SIX.

E is for Engorgement. For those who have not experienced this unique affliction, take two large honeydew melons, fill with a high concentration of your most sensitive nerve endings, then pummel repeatedly with phone books, while inserting hot needles.

F is for Feeding -which is constant. See entries "B" "N" and "P."

G is for Grandparents - What a great invention! They come when needed, offer love, food, hands, gifts, and mountains of support. Their grandchildren adore them as much as they adore them. And for those few days we're in their presence, we have the option of being adults or momentarily, children (to them) again ourselves.

H is for Help. Not only does it take the proverbial village to raise a child, ideally it takes one to birth and recover too. N needed every person around him during his birth - Grandpa P to look after little T, Grandma L and Daddy to support mama, mama to birth him, and midwives Marla and Sandi to make sure it all went smoothly. Since then I've been a lump on the bed needing to be waited on hand and foot - something my folks and then B have obliged to do. T helps with cuddles, kisses, and running mama and N little house errands. B now has the veritable workload of cooking, cleaning, taking care of T full time, AND running around attending to my needs (water, food, more water, cookies...). I don't know what N and I would do without them.

I is for Ironic - Alanis could have made a whole sequel on the spit-up that comes right after you get that awkward long sleeve onesie on, the poop explosion that waits until just after the fresh diaper has been tucked into clean pants, or the phone that rings once sleepy eyes finally close.

J is for Jen - the person I was, the person I will be once again! After most of A-Z subside...

K - there's got to be one letter I can't answer ;-)

L is for Leaking - gives Wet T-shirt Contest a new and entirely unattractive connotation.

M is for Mama - which I love being enough to not mind A-Z.

N is for Nipples - sore, cracked, bleeding, leaking...

O is for Other Sensitive Areas - same.

P is for Poop. It rules my life. Yellow, sticky, prolific, but sweet-smelling (thank goodness!). That's his. Mine, let's not go there.

Q is for Quiet Time - which I have surprisingly a lot of. When B is with T at music group, preschool, playdates or the playground it's just N & I for hours, hanging out in the poop, pee & milk soaked paraphernalia of our bedroom (items I do try to get from the bed into the dirty clothes bin I should mention). Then there's the baby crying, T climbing over me to comfort him, general mayhem times. It seems to only ever be one or the other.

R is for Rest - Specifically bedrest for 15 days on midwife's orders. In turns it has been both welcome and ridiculously boring. But my midwife has assured me that like a 2 yr old that's just devoured your chocolate chip cookies, if I stray the evidence will out me!

S is for Stitches. Which is what happens when a 14" head is the second largest diameter you birth.

T is for TMI - because nearly everything about labor, birth and postpartum is TMI.

U is for Undergarments - suddenly my intimate attire has taken on the attributes of those of an incontinent geriatric. B has promised Santa will take this into consideration (hopefully he frequents Victoria's Secret & Patagonia? :)

V is for Vital Records - the place we need to get N's birth certificate before we can get his passport to fly to Canada next week. I'd been obsessing about this hurdle for weeks, so as soon as we woke up on Friday morning, I called. I don't think they were used to hearing "Hi, I just gave birth a few hours ago..." and while the offer of brownies was made (to which I got a polite "I'm sorry, we're not allowed to accept bribes ma'am"), the supervisor was sufficiently sympathetic enough to get us in at the first cancellation.

W is for Waking Baby - the ultimate no-no. Only exceptions: 1) to extract him from the middle of a poop explosion. 2) the house is burning down.

X is for X's - on his little puckered baby lips. Sweeter than any first crush kiss.

Y is for You did it. After T's birth I went from wanting to try a natural birth and a homebirth and even a hypnobabies birth with N, all without really knowing what we were getting ourselves into. It's nice to look down at him, recall my labor and his arrival without the disappointment and uncertainty we had through much of T's and allow myself a little "you did it!"

Z is for Zzzz's - namely, what I should be doing now instead of writing blog posts!

Noah's Arrival

He's (finally) here!!!

The short version:

After the aforementioned waiting game, I finally

went into labor around/after dinner on Thursday night, labored at home with B, my mom and two midwives for support and gave birth to Noah at 3:57 a.m. in an almost water birth ;-) He clocked in at 8 lbs. 4 oz and was a whopping 21" long.

The full version:

Happily, all it seemed to take to get him to come was a good dose of maternal despair :)

Aprox. 24 hrs after writing my last post I was in my other (hospital) midwife's office hearing that I was now 3 cm dilated, 80% effaced and could go anytime! Woo hoo! Sure enough, a 1.5 hr walk with B, and some Olive Garden for dinner had me wondering if the odd mixture of intermittent tightening/gas pains/menstrual-like cramps I was feeling was finally N conceding to come (I'd

never been to Olive Garden, maybe this was a typical reaction!).

Not wanting to get anyone's hopes up I didn't say much about it. T went for a sleepover at the grandparents' hotel as planned and B and I headed home to watch some T.V. before an "early" night. Half way through our second program I realized that I was needing B to rub my lower back in order to concentrate - not exactly gas pains anymore! I began timing the pressure waves (aka contractions) on a handy phone app, while B started rushing around preparing the tub, supplies and calling our home birth midwives. I started listening to my Hypnobabies tracks but had to keep stopping to time my surges which were about a 1-1.5 min long and coming 3-5 min apart.

Mom came over after a call at midnight and the midwives arrived around 1 a.m. The one thing I dreaded after T - back labor - had returned with N, but while it prevented me from having a completely comfortable birth, the hypnobabies training meant that instead of being a screaming banshee like I was with T, I was able to make it through active labor with only "Shhh"-ing sounds during pressure waves, and B or mom rubbing my back. For transition (considered the hardest part of labor) I changed to low moans and "Ahhh"-ing and was able to cope in the tub pretty well. Hooray for hypnobabies! :)

Pushing, however, was a different matter! I'll spare you the details, except to say he was born half on the caul (very rare and supposedly good luck), but with shoulder dystocia. So while things got a bit hairy for a couple minutes as/after he was born, I actually didn't know how hairy until debriefing with the midwife today. Save to say, we had an incredibly experienced midwife team, Noah is a little fighter and things worked out fine.

Now that he's here I can say he's beautiful (in one mama's humble, unbiased opinion), a great nurser (maybe a little too great at times...), and has spent his first 36 hrs of life dedicatedly nursing, sleeping, pooping and when he's not snoozing, gazing around and being cuddled by his big sister.

She's taken to him with unbridled enthusiasm, though it's been a challenge to explain all the new limitations of having a little, live baby to receive her love, who's decidedly less robust than her resilient (plastic) baby doll.

It's been great reading the well-wishes and love pouring in over e-mail, text, phone and facebook. I've been urged to stay home for a few days (not how I normally roll as many readers know) but we're looking forward to a few visitors over the coming days/week and hopefully, a short-notice apt. at the office of vital records so N, T, B & I can make our flights to Canada next week! We look forward to as many of you as possible meeting him then, if not sooner.

The FSFM post

Otherwise known as the Feeling Sorry For Myself post.

If shows of emotion are a good sign while waiting for a baby (heightened hormones? Stress release?), then I'm doing wonderfully! Since Monday when my in-laws had to leave SD after a week waiting to meet their new grandson, the waterworks have sprung frequently and liberally. I'm not proud of this. Trumping disappointment, guilt, anxiety and more disappointment, is an overall feeling of being upset with myself. I know better than this. I have people close to me who are unable to conceive or conceiving and then suffering the loss of miscarriage. What an idiot I am to be wallowing in self pity for having carried a healthy pregnancy to term but having to wait a few extra DAYS (maybe weeks at most) to bring him into this world?! Really, is that my biggest problem? I guess it is, and therefore I should be counting my lucky stars, not blubbering like a teenager who just got dumped.

So what's all the fuss about anyway? Sometimes I don't really know. But the emotions start to well when I have my midwife team tell me (like they just did this morning) with their best smiles, that while I'm "softening" and my cervix is moving forward, like it should, neither my dilation or effacement have progressed since our apt. last week. After weeks of trying every natural induction technique possible, I'm stuck at 70% effaced and only 1 cm dilated.

I know I should be happy there's been any progress, rather than disappointed that we're not looking at an arrival today or tomorrow or maybe another week or even more. Moreover, there is a side of me, as I've mentioned before, that -if we lived down the road from our families all in one country and this was some boring month with nothing going on - I would be fine to kick back and watch the world go by for another week or two, trusting the wisdom of my body and Noah to simply come when he's ready. Unfortunately, the world we live in has dates such as Christmas Eve - 3 weeks from this Saturday (the amount of time it will take Noah to get his birth certificate so we can leave the country); and Monday - the date my parents are both scheduled to fly home (though they've said one will delay their flight if baby's not here yet); and logistics such as the house my parents are trying to finish building before we (and other guests from as far as the UK) arrive for the holidays; bureaucracy such as birth certificate and passport wait times; and flight rules, fees and availability for Brent, me, Thea, Noah and my folks to try and make it to Canada for Christmas once he does come.

So yes, it upsets me to think we might not make it home by Christmas. It worries me the stress my folks will be under to get their house built if they stay to support us. These seem like real concerns that loom larger with each day I don't go into labor. But worse than this, in many ways, is how this is affecting my feelings about a birth we've painstakingly planned to be as positive as possible, and a son who I love and have yet to meet.

I know it's not Noah's fault. It's my body that's taking its time to get ready and if my disappointment should be directed anywhere, it should be at myself (which it is). But what can I do about it? I've read every list available on what to do to bring on labor:

Walking. Acupuncture. Evening Primrose Oil. Raspberry Leaf Tea (to help uterine tone). Wearing a compression band to keep Noah's head pressing on my cervix. Visualization. Relaxation. Spicy food. Hell, I even drank a hot water "tea" of 1/4 cup of melted chocolate chips and 1/8 tsp. of cumin based on word of mouth that it induced labor (yuck!). You name it, I've been doing it!! The only exceptions have been castor oil (I even asked, my midwife said don't bother yet because my body was still so unready) and membrane sweeping (midwives couldn't reach it with my dilation being so small), but heck, I'll even try them as soon as they'll let me!

In the meantime, writing this all down has helped diffuse the emotion (I do have pregnancy hormones as an excuse!) for the time being at least. Mom and Dad are talking about delaying Christmas, and filling our remaining waiting days with fun activities rather than obsessing with stressful thumb twiddling (and doing all of the above list over and over again). I see my only job now to be letting go and trying to recapture the positive anticipation of this birth and meeting our little Noah (I hope he's still little by the time we get to meet him! ;-).

Some final pregnancy musings

Well it's not a birth announcement (yet). In fact, my midwife's latest prediction is another week. *Sigh* Theoretically I understand that 1) a week is not a long time; 2) neither is 2 weeks if it came to that; and 3) I should be enjoying luxuries such as a full night's sleep, long showers, one-on-one time with my hubby or T, or the ability to have a degree of personal autonomy (I do have a 2 yr old remember) without my life being ruled in 2 hr increments. But as with any big event looming, sometimes it's woefully hard not to obsess about when the big moment is going to come.

So whether N's going to make his entrance soon or not, I thought it might be an idea to get those last pregnancy musings out now (at least one of each, cuz it's late and I remember I should be sleeping!). After all, this may be my last shot at this with-child thing.

One thing I'll miss

Feeling him move. Sure, he feels like a pterodactyl stretching in there right now, and my ribs weren't happy to be his heel rests from week 30 - 36, but I remember the longing I felt when T's nudges silenced after she was on the outside. Of course I then had the magic of being able to inhale her sweet scent, see into her eyes, hold her hands or count her toes. But I remember walking down the hall at work one day missing her terribly and realizing that when she was on the inside I got to take her with me to work - everywhere - 24-7 she was with me. But once a baby is on the outside, they have to fit into societal norms of where they are and aren't welcome. They're also a lot more work. But I missed having her so close. And I know I will miss him just as much.

One thing I'm scared of

Not loving him as much as T. This is a hard one to admit publicly, and I only really do so because nearly every parent we know with more than one child assures me that this is a common fear that will be quickly and fully rebuked the first time I lay eyes on him. Furthermore, I know I already love him, tons, and just can't wait to meet him. So what's this nervousness? Maybe it's a little of my "oh my gosh, it's a boy" insecurities returning, or just some anxiety surrounding the memories of how completely we fell in love with T the moment we saw her and the disbelief that that kind of love can happen to a human being again.

One thing I can't wait for

To meet him. Everything from the first time we set eyes on him (what's he going to look like?) to the first kiss, the first smell, the first snuggle... But most of all, the slow revealing of his personality over each day, week, month, year to come.

So there you go. He's coming. No idea when or where (though I hope we have a good guess on the latter), but odds are he will be on the outside soon enough.

Looking forward to meeting you little one.

The Waiting Game... with deadlines.

For all of modern medicine's advances, it still can't seem to accurately predict either a baby's size or his/her date of arrival (unless you're forcing the baby out)... which really isn't helping me much these days.

I've been full term for nearly 2 weeks, and tomorrow we'll be down to the final week before my estimated due date. At the moment my head is spinning with little tidbits from friends, birth boards or my midwives, like, "second babies often come early!" "Wow, this little guy has dropped 6-7 cm since last visit! He's either coming early or very quickly when he comes!" "With all the stress you've been under at work I wouldn't be surprised if he came any moment." "Oh, you seem so relaxed now, I think he'll hang in there a while longer." "You're a natural planner, I think baby will feel that and come right after your parents get here."

Usually B & I are advocates of just letting baby be, trusting that babies and pregnant bodies know best when baby is ready for the outside world. Unfortunately, we're fairly sure Canadian Immigration is not going to accept this as a suitable excuse for why our baby wasn't able to get a passport in time to fly to Canada four weeks today.

The problem isn't actually his passport, which we've worked out can be gotten in a day if need be. The problem is the birth certificate necessary to get the passport; which we don't seem to be able to request early and we were told in no uncertain terms takes 3-4 weeks (and that's WITH string pulling!)!

"Well, why not simply delay your flight?" the wise ones ask... Unfortunately, after $225-$300 in change fees alone, we still have to factor in the increased cost of 3 full fares that are going up daily as the holiday approaches, all from a bank account that could only afford flights on points in the first place. (If you're a wise one with money to give us, please call!)

So tomorrow I'm heading back to my midwife's office for her assessment and recommendations on how to get this N-arrival process going! I'd love to wait until our families are here next week (for many reasons, not least of which is the desire to not need to call any of our friends to request a middle of the night playdate for T!), but with our "latest possible" date looking to be this coming Wednesday, it doesn't leave N much wiggle room...(sorry for the pun, it's late).

Here's hoping my next post is a birth announcement!

"Pain-free" Natural Childbirth...

Say what?!

I think that was my reaction the first time I heard about hypnotizing yourself for a comfortable, natural childbirth. It was when I was pregnant with T and a friend passed along her Home Study Course. She had tried it for her labor but lost concentration during a long and difficult ride to the Birth Center (they lived 45 min away). She admitted she had only done parts of the course and wasn't really expecting it to work.

Hmm, one point against.

Nevertheless, curiosity got the better of us and we made our own half-hearted attempt for a couple of weeks. But a combination of the cheesy scripts, the overzealous bolding and underlining every other sentence throughout the manual, and most of all, the doubt that came from not knowing if I could be hypnotized, or what this whole labor/birth thing would feel like, led me to conclude it was not the birth prep that I wanted to go into this scary thing called Labor with.

Fast forward to this pregnancy. The birth prep course we took for T's birth was helpful, but I wanted more tools to help me have a natural birth this time. We looked into Bradley, Lamaze, and finally returned to Hypnobirthing and its more robust cousin, Hypnobabies. Again, I was skeptical. Then I stumbled upon this Hypnosis for Birth board (and specifically birth stories likethese ones) on BabyCenter.com. Stories of regular women from all over writing in telling about their incredible, unusually fast, easy and most remarkably, comfortable births! I also started googling Hypnobabies on You Tube, and watching a bunch of women, silent or gently "ahhh"-ing through parts of labor that I was decidedly UN-silent through!

It turned out our homebirth midwife had delivered hypno babies too, and had her own stories of the remarkable relaxation the women were able to achieve through self-hypnosis. One lady she attended last year was lying quietly in her birth pool when Marla arrived. She raised her head after a little while to announce calmly, eyes still closed, "baby is crowning." A moment later, "Head is out" Marla came over to shine a light to check the baby's color underwater, which was perfectly pink. The baby was then born... completely healthy and fast asleep!!!

I'm not expecting one of these sleeping labors, or a 22 min dad-delivered-at-home birth because the family never realized they were in labor until the baby's head emerged. But it does give me hope that my labor could be much more relaxing and pleasant than it was last time.

Not that getting a fairy tale natural birth is simply a matter of watching a pocket-watch swing before me as B croons, "you are getting verry sleeepy..." It's actually a lot of work, listening to 1-2 x 40 min scripts daily, doing self practice 2-5x daily, practicing with your birth partner every other day, as well as a lot of reading. With my current work schedule and a 2 yr old that is a pro at distractions, I'm lucky if I do one daily script (usually as I fall asleep at night), and practice with B once a fortnight! So just like college, I'm 5 weeks away from D-day and nervous that I'm going to fail the exam due to insufficient studying.

Nevertheless, I'm hoping my subconscious is paying attention when my conscious mind is busy negotiating with a sleepy preschooler and freaking out about the piles of e-mails I still have to get to... And that somehow, when Noah's Birth Day is finally upon us, that this hypno-anesthesia hocus pocus kicks in!

Just for the record, I've already had one point in Hypnobabies' favor... I got a flu shot a few weeks ago and as the needle was poised above my arm I realized this would be a good mini test! I quickly got into the "awake" hypnosis mode, directing my anesthesia to my arm where the tip was about to enter. I don't mind needles but there's usually a pinch and ache involved. Amazed, I felt nothing more than light pressure at the sight of the injection. The nurse asked me if I was OK as I did my weird relaxation (I think she was worried I was going to pass out). I just wanted her to leave so I could jump up and down yelling to B that it worked!

What's in a name?

I don't know if other families out there find it easy to name their babies, but for B and I this process has involved two rounds of months-long testing, trying, researching, shortlisting, trying again, and finally, throwing caution to the wind and choosing!

We wanted to name this baby as soon as possible, so T could learn the name and begin to associate the bump of mommy's tummy with the real, live, baby that will be hanging out in her house (a lot), come November. It still took us eight of this little guy's 9-10 months' inside to decide! And now that she knows, trying to keep it a secret until the birth has become futile.

The process to choose a name was made a little more complicated by the first and middle name we chose for T, honoring her two maternal grandmothers. We found ourselves in a complicated bargaining process - how to choose a name from each family, reversing the order of lineage that we used for T to be fair, keeping the second middle and last names to be the same for our nuclear family, and maybe, just maybe, fitting in a name that we really liked just in and of itself. All without burdening this little guy with a string of monikers so long he would have to risk committing fraud every time he filled out an official document.

So what is it already?!

;-)

Early on I fell in love with the name Noah. I don't know any Noah's personally but those I know of and hear of are sweet and caring, living up to their name's meaning: restful, comfort.

Which just left the middle name. After wrestling for ages with other family names that we also liked, I woke up one morning, turned to B and asked, what do you think about your name? Neither of us had ever suggested this, and B immediately choked up. That solidified it, leading us to start/continue a family tradition to give the first boy's father's name as a middle name (as B has).

It's now wonderful to be calling him by his name. T loves saying it, and telling anyone and everyone who will listen about her "baby brudder, Noah!" She especially likes talking to him when he's kicking (aka trying to stretch out my poor stomach for more space in these last few, increasingly cramped weeks!).

We can't wait to meet you, Noah.

Life these days

Is kind of crazy.

I think every friend, relative and FB acquaintance is tired of hearing my repetitive response to "How are you/things/life?"

"Crazy." "Crazy busy." "Kind of nuts."

I'm 3 weeks into the 10 week mayhem that is my fall. The four Women PeaceMakers and the four Peace Writers they are paired with have arrived in San Diego, and while we all survived the 2 week intensive orientation training, I have returned to a mountain of unanswered e-mail and a 2.5 ft x 3.5 ft. white board To Do list, filled in emergency red. I feel like every day I wake up in the night or early morning, head filled with undone tasks, and then get to work only to find an avalanche of new requests coming in. I feel like I'm being buried in a sand pit; all attempts at climbing out are futile.

At home (or rushing around at work, feeling contractions a little too often), I remember I'm also 7.5 months pregnant. And mom to a toddler. And wife to a fantastic, but lately neglected husband. While trying to plan a homebirth at the 11th hour, and do a homework-intensive self-study birth preparation course.

So, while I love my job (and this time of year is what it's all about), adore my family, am excited and thrilled and anxious about the birth of our son (including these rushed preparations)... it is making for a crazy life at the moment.

So if that's my answer to your question, I'm sorry. I expect you'll get tired of asking and I don't blame you. It will likely be the same answer for the next two months, after which our lives will be a whole new kind of crazy...

And I'm very much looking forward to that.

My first heartbreak

They warned me there'd be a day where those dreaded words would come...

"I hate you Mama!"

I'm prepared for that. I imagine they'll be said in (hopefully) a fit of rage, after she hasn't gotten her own way... I hope she won't mean it; that what she hates is a decision, an action, not me.

What I wasn't prepared for was 8:30 p.m. on a Friday night, no rage in sight. A smiling, happy little two year old, brushing her teeth with me at the mirror, warm in her PJ's, about to choose a bedtime story...

"I want to sleep with Dada."

At first it didn't really sink in. There might have even been a moment of relief - boy, that makes things easier! Last week we bought (and I assembled) a huge, full-size twin "kids" bed from IKEA, complete with star canopy (it flips into a bunk bed when needed). The plan was to have B and I take turns sleeping in there with her, until she was back to sleeping through the night and he could put her down and go to her if she woke; freeing me to nurse and care for the newborn we'll have in 10 short weeks.

Tonight was supposed to be my night with her. Last night was B's, but she asked for me, so I joined them for the first few hours before slipping out to our more comfortable and spacious bed for a much-needed pass-out after a very long week.

I realized was a bit taken back by the certainty of this new request.

"You don't want to sleep with Mama?"

"No. T sleep in T's big girl bed with Dada."

Oh. She means it. She doesn't want me tonight. She'd prefer Dada.

I managed to hold it together till I'd conveyed the message and B had gone to put on his pajamas. Hiding in the kitchen in tears, I tried to reason with my emotions. Listening to them chatter as they got ready for bed, T telling him again about their day together, even including me and her "little brother" in an imaginary car ride, I knew I should feel happiness; pride that my daughter and her father had grown so close. That she felt so comfortable with him now. Even practically, that this was a necessary development that we'd been stressing and strategizing about in preparation for the baby coming. I should be thrilled.

Instead I felt like my first crush had just asked another girl to the dance. At the root of my heartbreak was the realization that her words had spoken to my biggest fear, that my desire to work would render me an absentee parent who's main function was to bring home a paycheck. That "Dada" would be the one to run to for comfort or to share celebration. The one she'd prefer read her a bedtime story or snuggled with as she went to sleep. The one she could trust to be there for her.

I understand this may seem trivial to many. I am having a hard time wrapping my head around why such a simple request hit such a nerve. Maybe I can blame hormones for my heightened sensitivity.

All I know is that about 30 minutes after I started this post, I heard a familiar voice call "I want Mama..." I don't think I even brushed my teeth before jumping into bed beside a squished B and a familiarly splayed-out 2 year old. I buried my nose in her hair and she threw her arm around my neck plonking her cheek on my forehead. I think it's the best sleep I've had in months.

Why homebirth?

A little over a week ago we announced to surprised friends and family that 6.5 months into this pregnancy we're considering having a homebirth.

Many have been supportive. I think the ones who are shocked or just think we're crazy are biting their tongues a little longer.

To be honest, the decision has shocked few people more than B & I. For T's birth I thought our decision to birth at a Birth Center within a hospital had gotten us the best of both worlds: natural, home-like setting with emergency care a floor away. Truthfully, despite how badly I wanted a natural birth, the thought of going to a private Birth Center or having a homebirth with no option of medical pain relief worried me. I'd never experienced labor, I had no idea what it would be like.

After what then happened with T's birth, some people would think it all the more reason to go the hospital route again. So what made us head all the way across the spectrum to opt for a homebirth?

The answer came inadvertently from the doulas we were interviewing. All very kind, caring women who we'd be privileged to have at our birth, they each subtly (or not so subtly) asked us if we'd considered homebirth. I could see their bias, as one friend (who's a doula) put it, hospital births had burnt her out. She was tired of the fight, of the negotiation necessary to balance a mother's needs and desires with that of the litigation-fearing, rule-heavy, risk-management-focused hospital policies. Especially if you're hoping for an intervention-free, natural labor and childbirth, hospitals are a negotiation-heavy place to birth your baby. None of the doulas we interviewed admitted any of this in their interviews; all knew we were birthing at a hospital and were offering to support us night or day for the 6 - 18 - 24+ hours I was in labor.

But a couple admitted hearing something that we had not yet listened to from ourselves. Our feelings about T's birth, what went wrong (and what went right), and what we feared as a result: not knowing where we would birth or who would deliver our baby; losing privileges (like walking around, being allowed to eat, access to a birth ball, a shower or bath, having family or professional labor support present) that I was counting on to help me labor; being at the mercy of machines and invasive monitoring (not only if necessary but as routine procedures); and lowest-common-denominator rules that, if broken, would set off a chain reaction that would override our needs and wishes swiftly and possibly, completely.

To be clear, I will be thrilled to have pitocin, an epidural, forceps, a vacuum extractor, an episiotomy or a C-section if they are necessary to save my life or my baby's. For all the babies and families whose births have not ended in tragedy that otherwise would have, I thank God for creating NICUs and the doctors and nurses who provide that lifesaving care.

This decision was never about hating hospitals. I've quite liked the care I've received from the midwives at Kaiser. The decision is more about recognizing the politics and bartering that come with birth in the U.S., and in light of that, prioritizing what we wanted for this birth: relaxation, comfort, self-determination and trust to allow my body to do what it knows so well how to do. Of course I want a safe birth as well, but with the medical equipment and experience of the midwives we choose, and having two hospitals within 1.2 miles of our home should we need one, I'm confident I'll have that too.

This morning we're off to interview our second midwife and her team. So far I'm loving the luxury of hour-long appointments, a holistic perspective on the health of my pregnancy, including not only my obstetric care but my diet and emotional well-being; the ability to have a long-desired (and not available in any SD hospitals) waterbirth; the idea that 2-3 women midwives and attendants will be present to support me throughout labor and birth; and that as soon as we're settled and stable after the birth, they will leave us to sleep, rest and be together as a family (unlike the hospital which had nurses waking both baby and I to do routine checks every 2 hours day and night, even when we'd JUST gotten T to sleep). In addition to massage, aromatherapy and cranio-sacral therapies, some also offer mother and baby postnatal care for a full nine months after the birth!

I don't know that homebirth would have been right for us for T's birth. Maybe, maybe not. But despite sometimes considering what else 3.5-4.5K could buy us (a family holiday back to Belize?! A down payment towards the more mundane, but needed, deck repair or house residing we're VERY slowly saving up for?) this decision has felt very right for us.

A gift for him

I realized after posting the last post that it was missing something. I hadn't really described my underlying sense of what was different with this pregnancy.

Becoming pregnant with T knocked my world's axis onto a new tilt. From the decision that we (eventually) wanted to get pregnant, my priorities began to shift. From the moment we read "pregnant" on the pee stick, the celebration (with its fleeting grips of hesitation and uncertainty) began. By the time I first felt her move I was head-over-heels obsessed with her.

For the last 6.5 months I've known guiltily that I wasn't giving this pregnancy (and therefore this baby) the same care, focus and attention I had given to T's. As you've gathered from my other posts, my attention has had the significant distractions of full time work, full time marriage and full time motherhood (as well as any other extracurricular pursuits) this time around. But regardless of the reasons, I did want, and do love this child, so it's not fair that this little guy has gotten the short end of the celebration stick.

I'll try to explain it more in the next post, but our decision to change our birth plan from a hospital birth to a homebirth has not been an easy or straightforward one (and until we sign with a homebirth midwife, is still ongoing). But to balance the cons (the significant out-of-pocket cost, some logistical considerations and the commitment to not have drugs nearby should I decide natural childbirth is for the dogs) were a number of pros... and one large (unsaid) hope:

Of wanting to give this baby this gift. A special birth, in a special place, surrounded by the love and presence of his family. Maybe in that small way, we can make up for the intensity of emotion that was poured into T for nine plus months of "first pregnancy/baby" anticipation. By investing in having the birth experience that we believe will bring the most joy and be most treasured by us, I hope he will see how special he is to us too.

The second time around

I have a lot of friends who are pregnant or new parents, which -besides allowing me to welcome some adorable new babies to the world- has allowed me to reflect in their joy and anticipation at the incredible process of bringing a child into the world and adapting from our society's hyper-individualistic single/couple lives to parenthood.

It's also made me that much more aware of how different it is the second time around.

To set the foundation: this pregnancy was planned, and we're thrilled about it. That is, when I can remember I'm pregnant. It's a lot easier now that my belly protrudes like an engorged watermelon knocking into everything less than a foot infront of me, and little Mister is practicing his tap dance routine on my spleen at bi-hourly intervals. His birth is only 3-3.5 months away, so logistically, the preparations for that are on our minds as well.

But besides the joy and appreciation that there's a healthy little boy growing away, waiting to join our family, I sometimes have tinges of disappointment that I haven't been able to enjoy this pregnancy to the same level I was able to enjoy T's. The reasons for the difference are all completely understandable, and center primarily on the fact that there's not the novelty of a first time pregnancy, birth and transition to parenthood to celebrate. It's less novel for us, and it's less novel for those around us. I just wish that didn't translate to less excitement. Speaking as much from my opinion as a friend/relative of parents having their second (third or fourth) child, as that of a mother, I think the assumption is that second-time parents don't need as much support. They've been there, done that, know what to expect and already have all the baby clothes/toys/books/furniture/apparatuses.

In reality I'm only now appreciating the loneliness that assumption of aptitude can bring. Families stay for less time, friends offer less help (speaking as a guilty party!), and generally there's less of a circus made about the new arrival, though you're now balancing all the sleep deprivation and adjustments of a newborn with taking care of a (likely jealous) constantly-on-the-go 2 yr old as well! I do remember when T was a week or so old, B & I collapsing desperately into bed as Mom & Dad took her for a walk and thinking, "What on earth would we do if we 1) didn't have parents here, and 2) had a noisy toddler that was running around wanting to eat or play?"

We're now trying to get our heads around the fact that that will be our reality in just a few months. Our families will be coming (thank goodness!!), but due to unavoidable commitments in their lives, will not be able to stay for longer than 1-2 weeks at most. Luckily, we also have many wonderful people around us who I don't doubt will provide an excellent welcoming party and support network for us yet again.

And if there's one thing the last 2 years has taught me, it's that whatever comes, you adjust. Billions of families all over the world have chosen to have more than one child and lived to tell the tale; we certainly will too. We've got lots of examples around us, and my admiration and awe of those that have balanced caring for a toddler (or others) and a newborn continues to reach new heights. We'll just have to ask them for lots of advice.

Pet Peeves

Finally, a post that has nothing to do with kids!

Well, almost nothing to do with them... I think the hormones of pregnancy do
contribute to my occasional oversensitivity, or as a former classmate puts it,
"Grumpy Pregnant Lady" syndrome.

So, to get the creative juices flowing, or just me back writing (we all fall off the bandwagon from time to time), I have chosen to share a few of my latest (and ongoing) pet peeves!

1) Toilet Paper Tantrums

In this case, I'd understand if it was a toddler thing. A fairly common hazard of potty training (or just having someone in the house who's newly tall and mobile enough to reach both the TP and the toilet bowl) is an overenthusiastic TP user who unravels half the roll into the water thinking, "What fun!" But to the best of my knowledge, my place of work does not have a hidden contingent of child labor. Nor does the pub we patronized in Portland. Nor do many other establishments where I have entered a perfectly good bathroom stall to find the bowl choked with white, soggy, 2-ply mush! There may or may not be a floater under there, but can't you FLUSH?! If this was consistently a plugged toilet reaction, "Ack! I just laid a huge dump and the toilet won't flush! Quick, cover the evidence in copious amounts of TP and no one will know!" it may be forgiven. But after I recover from the (now familiar) revulsion of having to stare at your soggy left-overs, a quick foot to the flush demonstrates that 9.8 times out of 10, these TP Overusers are just lazy, inconsiderate (to our future generations who will have to visit trees in museums because of your toilet habits) and rude! People.

2) (Excessive) Idling

OK, stoplights are permitted. Stop signs. At the airport where the pacing TSA /police zealots get their daily giggles for yelling at you to move. But hanging out in an underground parking lot with your exhaust spewing out around the pregnant lady huffing past to the stairs to escape? Not cool. Idling for 10 min while your hubby runs in to get milk so that your sleeping baby doesn't overhead in his carseat in 90+ degree temps? Granted. Unleashing half an hour of SUV exhaust so your middle-aged wife and you can listen to the radio or bask in A/C while you gaze at the ocean that is overheating due to your excessive carbon emissions? Nope. People!

3) Inability to use a Turning Indicator

Are you invincible? Cuz I'm not. And neither is this baby I'm carrying, or the rest of my irreplaceable family. So Mr. I'm too lazy/distracted/unskilled to move my hand 6" to flick a handle, signal before you change lanes/turn a corner/cut me off so I at least know you're about to do it! People.

4) Parking Hogs

If you want to waste the equivalent of a downpayment on a house on a bucket of bolts, fine. But unless you want to leave a $20 bill on the extra parking space you chose to occupy with the rear half of your diagonally-parked car to compensate me for the time and effort it's going to take for me to go find another space 5 blocks away, you may have to invest a lot more in re-painting the side I'm considering keying.*

5) Not being able to think of a 5th Pet Peeve

Just when you get a good list going, your brain craps out with writers block. I'm talking about pet peeves people! The things that really irk me that I should be itching to rant about. Not serious stuff like political or social beliefs, or the nit-picky little things like college-educated professionals who seem to have skipped every grammar class in their 16+ year education and still passed... but where's my long list? Four? Seriously? I mean, there are a few others: litterers; leaf blowers; people who drive through crosswalks while I'm crossing; text-and-drivers; talk-and-drivers; Harley owners (and others who don't seem to believe in mufflers) driving through residential neighborhoods with sleeping infants, especially when it’s mine; passive aggressiveness (because in addition to my conviction that it's an underhanded way to try to make your point, it's also contagious and what I dislike most is when I return the favor); good plots that are ruined by bad acting; other people's hair in my shower; always ending up in the slowest checkout line; blog sites that completely ignore all your attempts at formatting, to name a few. But how does a post dedicated to ranting look when I can't even manage a measly half dozen?

If there are some particular ways that you feel people step on humanity's (or just your) toes that I seem to have overlooked, feel free to add your own.

*In truth, I'd never really key a car, but sometimes I do enjoy contemplating it :)

On gratitude

To quote the great Albus Dumbledore, "Help will always come to those who ask."

OK, it's not a literal translation, which has something about wizarding school Hogwarts, but for me, for now, it carries the message. One of the strongest realizations in my life, and certainly in my life as a parent, is that you get by with a lot of help from your friends. And family. And the other special people the universe brings to your doorstep just when it seems you really need them.

It feels like the more upheaval our lives go through, the more we feel the safety net that holds us. Lately, this has come in the form of kindness and generosity from just about everyone we know.

Our parents and siblings have provided unconditional love and shocking generosity (both financial and in-kind) over the last two years in ways that continually amaze me. Old friends have kept close, despite the stubborn miles we have put between us for the last many years; many choosing to take the time and expense to come visit since we moved here (it is a lot closer than East Africa or Central Asia). And with our move to a new, unfamiliar city, new jobs and new roles as parents, new friends have come into our lives just when we needed them, providing a social family to help us raise T and make this home.

Indeed, thinking back I really don't know how we would have made it through without these people bringing just what we needed (often more) right when we needed it most.

A little closer to home, every post in this blog speaks silently or overtly of my closest rope- B. With each passing year our lines have become more intertwined, finding ways to offer support and safety as we each navigate our lives as individuals, husband and wife, professionals and parents. When I feel myself falling he's the first (closest and strongest) rope I reach for; but more importantly perhaps, he's often the one I'm holding onto when my balance is already off. He steadies me like no other. I realize over and over that he's the perfect fit for me, a loving, caring, beautiful person, who has been as true a partner in parenting as he has been for our other adventures over the last seven years.

And then there's little T. Many of these posts focus on the challenges of parenthood. They definitely exist, but I hope the joys are at least equally as evident. In reality, they blind the challenges with a light that would outshine the sun. Even in moments of mothering frustration, looking at her, really looking at her, I feel that same painful tear in my heart that opened when I first laid eyes on her. The feeling of my heart expanding to encompass a person instantly, unconditionally, eternally. She makes me happier than I have ever known.

It all makes J.K. Rowling's fantastical plot seem down right ordinary. Title character's story arises from his mother's willingness to die for him. Check. Title character survives with help from his friends. Check. Aforementioned headmaster's magical proclamation that help will come to those who ask. It seems our universe is on the same page.

To the universe and all of you, thank you.

There were three in the bed and the little one said roll over!

...I think I'm the one who fell out.

One of our more recent parenting/growing up transitions has been getting T from our bed into her own bed. In one of those strange twists of deeply ironic parenting fate, she went willingly! In fact, she flat out loved it. Guess who got her back in our bed, where she is currently snoozing happily, diagonally between B and the millimeter I had left on the mattress? We did! How did we get into this predicament? I'll tell you. How do we get out of it? Any experts out there, feel free to tell us!

First of all, I never planned to co-sleep.

Learning about it before T's birth I could see the pros and cons, but for me, the fear of being too deep a sleeper and rolling over and squishing my tiny, helpless infant was too great. Instead, I did a lot of research into the best bassinet I could find - which for us was a baby hammock. Ergonomically correct (i.e. good for baby's spine), a great way to reduce colic and reflux, mimicking the snug, constant, multi-directional motion of the womb, babies love it the reviews raved.

Evidently, T didn't read the reviews. Our first night home from the hospital we tried her in it. She stayed asleep for 5-15 min, but invariably, then woke. This went on for hours. Do you know how frustrating it is to get a baby to sleep over and over and over again only to have them wake up minutes later? Giving up on the hammock, we tried other locations and surfaces around the house. Nope. If she was touching one of us, she slept. If she wasn't, she didn't. The decision to co-sleep was made out of sheer exhaustion. Luckily, for us, it was a good one.

Even luckier was that my fears about not waking or being aware enough of her presence in the bed were unfounded. Along with all the other gifts new mama hormones seem to bestow, I was now constantly aware of her - whether she was hungry, whether she stirred (it didn't seem to go for when she had soiled herself, but oh well) - our bodies became in tune with one another. And while I wasn't sleeping as deeply, I was sleeping a lot more. After that first fateful night I could no longer imagine the effort and time it must take to wake up, go to my baby's crib, take her out to feed her (with little mouths that could easily take an hour), then get her back to sleep, and try to lay her back in her crib without waking her, before being able to return to bed. How exhausting! Over the first few weeks it got to the point where I would begin to wake as she was stirring, she'd latch and then I usually fell back to sleep before she was even done.

Our 3 neighbors in our small 4-unit apartment complex (without air con so there were a lot of open windows during the hot San Diego summer) marveled that they never heard our newborn cry at night. It's because she didn't. She got what she needed and we got what we needed. As far as newborn sleeping went it was as close to perfect as we were going to get.

However, like any season of parenting or other sleep arrangements, co-sleeping had its ups and downs. Teething, rolling, crawling and more teething, brought restless nights and the need to transform half our bedroom into a layer of wall-t0-wall mattresses on the floor. But as long as we adjusted, were patient, and realized that these stages too would pass, it continued to work for us far better than the alternatives. Thea got lots of sleep (if in 2-3 hr spurts), I never had problems with my milk supply (they say supply is largely determined/regenerated based on your stores between 2 am and 6 am), I was able to find the sleep-disruption manageable, and I cherished our night-long and early morning snuggles.

While we were happy, around us swirled controversy. Despite years of research that shows co-sleeping (when practiced without the risk factors of a very soft mattress, drug or alcohol use, and very deep-sleeping or obese parents) reduces SIDS, and its widespread practice over nearly every other continent than ours, mainstream opinion is currently against co-sleeping. The American Academy of Pediatrics advises against it due to its lack of safety for those with the aforementioned risk factors. Naturally, they can only recommend the safest sleep arrangement for the lowest common denominator to avoid getting sued. But among some parents a different prejudice lies: "you'll never get her out of your bed!" "What about your poor husband?" (assuming that this decision may be good for mom and baby, but what about the lonely dad squished to the margin and deprived of his marital perks)? "That must be so inconvenient! How do you get any sleep?"

We persisted, though the worries that this arrangement may be hard to break once we were ready (which I imagined would occur sometime in the next half decade), did begin to nag at us. We'd already debunked the "if you keep nursing her to sleep and don't let her Cry-It-Out she'll never learn to self-soothe!" proclamations... As she approached her second birthday T was sleeping 6-7 hr stretches, often waking and self-settling with the help of her pacifier or just rolling over. But she was bigger, kickier, and taking up more than her share of our queen size bed (N.B. co-sleeping advocates insist a Cal King is necessary for co-sleeping. We've only slept on one during hotel stays and I certainly agree with the recommendation! Unfortunately, as our Tempurpedic Queen cost a quarter of what our car cost, getting a King, a new bed frame, and a new house as our bedroom would also need resized, just wasn't in the cards) and the desire to have her in her own space near us was growing.

Cue Working Mother's Guilt. Approaching rapidly was a much-lamented 2 week work trip to the Philippines. To make a long story short, we decided to hold off on night weaning (the prerequisite to getting our bed back) until that forced hiatus. And while I wouldn't recommend that any mother abandon their toddler or infant for 2 weeks to achieve this objective, it did work.

The good news was that the transition wasn't quite as bad as we'd feared. T was used to going to sleep with B and they cuddled happily in bed, sans "nummies." When I returned, meeting them at my parent's home in Canada, she was weaned and content to just "cuddle nummies" to sleep, after which we could lie her in a little nest of blankets on the floor and she'd sleep happily there the whole night long. When we returned home to San Diego, we moved a crib mattress to the floor of her room and offered a transition to her "big girl bed."

A little hesitant that we were rushing things, we began the first night by asking her, "T, where would you like to sleep tonight? Mommy and Daddy's bed or T's bed in your room?"

The enthusiastic response shocked us: "T's bed!"

From then on, every night and nap time, that's where she wanted to be. We should have been thrilled, right? Yes...and for a while we were. But getting up and down from a short, crunchy mattress shoved in a corner on the floor was awkward and increasingly difficult with my ever-growing belly. B could walk her to sleep, but when he did she rarely stayed asleep as he tried to bend down onto the ground to lay her in bed. Both of us started preferencing taking her back into our bed if she stirred or woke, even though she never asked to go there.

About a month later when my very experienced mother of 7 learned of our weakness on the phone she made pleading "suggestions" for us to keep T in her bed. We didn't heed them soon enough. Sure enough, T's answer began to change. "T, time to go walking with Daddy to sleep!"

"No, T go sleep in Mommy-Daddy's bed!"

Hmm... now what do we do?

It's less work to get her to sleep by just laying with her in our bed; it's much more comfortable for this midsection-heavy mama; and we sleep fairly well with her there where she wakes up 0-1 times, rather than 1-2 times in her bed. But with only 16 weeks until this little, needy guy will be joining us in that still-too-small bed, we know taking the easy path now is setting ourselves (especially for T) up for hard times to come.

Anyone have a Tempurpedic, electronic (silent) raising-and-lowering full size single mattress they're selling?

Hooray for Boobies!

Well they're lovely, aren't they?

T sure thinks so!

It's national Breastfeeding Week and I'd be seriously neglectful not to include a post about the art, science and follies of dispensing nature's perfect food. (For the squeamish: be warned, this post talks about B-R-E-A-S-T-S and nipples, though I'm sure you have them too in some form or other).

"Nummies" as they've been christened in our house have been loved from the start. Not that it was initially mutual...

New to the world, T latched on well... but as B & I settled down for a much-needed first night's rest, we learned (the hard way) that if T was sucking on something she would sleep. If she wasn't, she wouldn't. And neither would we. Still in the hospital, exhausted from an 18.5 hr labor, all principles about not giving a pacifier until 6+ weeks (if ever) went out the window. My nipples felt like pain incarnate (I later learned her mouth/palate was still too small and needed a few more weeks for her to get a deep enough latch). Still propped up in a chair beside the bed I so longed to be in at 3 a.m. B was ordered to get me three things: a pacifier, a nipple shield and X-strength Tylenol. I didn't care if his quest took him to the nurses' station, or the CVS 5 blocks away. I needed them STAT.

From that moment on our nursing relationship improved dramatically, and while it's had its ups and downs, T & I have been a dedicated team against the forces against us: the pain of letdown (which a new mom friend and I agreed felt like hot needles being inserted through your veins); the humiliation of the Milking Machine (I hate breastpumps. Necessary, yes. But the epitome of feeling like one has grown udders); the inconvenience of trying to pump at work; the daily torture of BFing while teething; the drama and controversy (and occasional inconvenience) of nursing in public; the acrobatics of newly mobile nursing toddlers; the prolonged sleeplessness of extended night nursing; to name a few!

But for those challenges what do we have? Nothing less than the most convenient, magical, nutritious way to feed and nurture our children imaginable.

There's lots more to say on the topic (including support to those mamas for whom formula is absolutely necessary to feed their little ones; and ranting for a bit on the whole nursing-in-public debate :) but my hour is long gone and I'm going to try to actually get some sleep tonight. What a novel concept.

The guilt of a working mother

Oh boy, 6 am is early.

Especially after heading to bed at 11 p.m. and two wake-ups in the middle of the night when T stirred. Now that she's in her own bed, in her own room, all it takes is to go in and hand her back her pacifier (I'll address the pacifier at 2 dilemma in another post!) which has rolled off the mattress or sometimes, lie beside her until she falls back to sleep. It's the latter that is no longer as easy said as done.

Getting on and off a crunchy (waterproof) 4-foot long crib mattress on the floor when one is 5 1/2 months pregnant, slowly and silently so as to not wake a lightly sleeping 2 yr. old, is about as simple as a circus trapeze act. Last week a 60 sec. freeze when I was trying to escape caused my neck to seize up for 2 days.

So why doesn't B just lie with her, unencumbered as he is by a watermelon-sized midsection? Because lately she's been asking for me. And while there have been lots of parenting roles and periods where we've made that transition and accepted the short-term tears it brings, I, like many women who spend the vast majority of their days, most of each week, 47 weeks of the year, physically and/or emotionally unavailable to their children, have Working Mother's Guilt.

Before Thea was born I joined a local walking group to meet pregnant and new moms. It was fabulous. In addition to the wisdom (or just experience) of being 5 months ahead of me in their pregnancies, then births and the roller coaster of new parenthood, it gave me a wide variety of perspectives on different babies, marriages, family dynamics, and work arrangements (basically just different lives). Those wonderful women taught me a lot, including the challenges and dilemmas that all women (and men) wrestle with during this massive shift of axis to parenthood. One of those dilemmas was with regard to work - who was going to stay at home, who was going back part-time, who was returning to full-time (and when), and who was looking for an alternate career to better balance work and family. What I learned was that every single one of these choices involved sacrifice and compromise, either with their partners, financially and/or emotionally. This post can only speak to my perspective - that of a FT working mother. But I know precious few women whose choice -to work or stay at home or somewhere in between - hasn't involved some measure (hopefully fleeting) of doubt or regret.

For me, the decision to work comes from recognizing an aspect of my personality that I sometimes wish I could shut off, but can't - a career drive that has luckily found a job I love. While I love T exponentially more, I also know I would not be as happy a person, and thus as good of a mother to her if I didn't have the personal fulfillment my work brings. This isn't just theoretical knowledge either. My only bouts with depression have occurred during two prolonged stretches of unemployment. I didn't like who I became and hope I don't have to show that side of myself to my daughter.

The result is that I live with guilt. Guilt for not being there. While I recognize that stay at home parents don't (can't) spend quality time with their children constantly, the fact is that B (as a SAHD) is there for her; she has learned to count on him, and to expect my daily departure. Luckily, it is no longer accompanied by the tears it was when she was little, but sometimes her resignation to my daily leaving pains me (if not her) just as strongly.

You'd think I'd be used to it now. As I was not eligible for maternity leave after her birth, I returned to work PT when she was 5 weeks old. I was back FT within a couple months. And naturally I have adjusted from those first weeks, but there are always ebbs and flows; when it flows, it flows hard: long hours and weekends during the fall, a big event and a week at the U.N. in the spring, with new commitments popping up all the time. By far my hardest transition of all was my first work trip away from her this past May: a trip to the Philippines that separated us for 13 excruciating days, forcing T to wean. How do you explain to a 24 month old why Mommy disappeared? How do you convey the concept of days passing (and getting closer to a goal) to a toddler's under-developed sense of time? How do you let her know that she was not abandoned? That Mommy does love you and is coming back.

In addition to the physical hours I spend away from her, the fact that I have a 40-50 hr work week affects the rest of my life as well. I wake at 6 a.m. to write because time spent on the computer when she's awake sacrifices those few precious hours I do get to spend with her. Our time together in the morning consists of only 30 - 90 minutes, during which I have to shower, dress, eat, probably check work e-mail and get off to work. After work, it's at best, from 5:30 - 8:30. Recently I've also tried to attend prenatal yoga 1-2 evenings a week (sometimes the only 75 min in my day that I really remember I'm pregnant and focus on connecting with this baby). Despite how deeply I value that practice, there isn't a day I head out (usually within 30 minutes of arriving home from work) without the guilt of saying bye to T for yet another hour and a half.

However, there are benefits. Not just for our livelihood which currently depends entirely on my income. But ironically, in some ways, for my relationship with T. Working Mother's Guilt is like a dull ache that is always present. It influences the way I value my time and activities 24-7 so that I can capitalize on my preciously-short time with T. I make adjustments to my schedule, like only going to the gym over my lunch hour or if I can get off work early (or squeeze in a quick session before I'd be home anyway). I try to find activities that I want to do on which she can join me (like running with her in the stroller). And lots of times I just say no. No to a social outing; no to a work engagement; no to a workout I really should do because I left especially early that morning, or we haven't seen each other much that week and I'm noticing the effect on both of us.

I always rush home from work because when I walk in the door, she runs to my arms. That hug and kiss of welcome is the highlight of my day. We cuddle on the couch and I ask her about her day. We read some books or play outside. I consciously try to include her in our conversations and routine daily activities. She plays independently a lot, which luckily gives B and I some productive adult time together as well. But I think Working Mother's Guilt has made me consciously aware that while I can't have the quantity of time I want with her, I can make every effort to make it quality time.

Or course I'm not perfect. It's after work, B's at yoga and she's watching "Elmo's Potty Time" as I type. But I'm snug beside her on the couch rather than at my desk, and I try to stop every couple minutes to discuss Elmo's latest bowel movements. She chatters to me excitedly about the gorilla who is eating the restaurant and drinking out of the fire hydrant, and if I hug her close she will likely smile and say what she knows I love to hear, "I love you too, Mommy."

How to survive a beach outing

Day 3.

Unfortunately, it really is Monday this time. Also, I have a sneaking suspicion my hour is going to become two, 0.5 hours. Or more likely, 10 min and the rest whenever I can find it... a toddler stirs.

Yesterday we did make it to the beach as planned, the parking gods even smiled upon us.

When I was pregnant we came to the beach nearly every weekend. "Glowing" (sweaty), giddy parents-to-be, B and I would gaze at budding architects constructing lopsided sand castles and little ones squealing in the crashing waves, marveling that soon, we would get to create blissful beach memories with our children.

Fortunately, like her self-professed water-baby parents, T loooooooooves the beach. With my island heritage, the grandparents' proximity of two blocks to a (much colder) ocean and our current home, which boasts beach-worthy (mostly swim worthy) days 365 days a year, our offspring will undoubtably have childhoods spent in the sun, sand and surf.

I think I just forgot what came along with the squealing wave jumping and quiet sandcastle construction...

Our days go something like this: after carting all our "necessary" beach belongings across Coronado's wide swath of white sand at T's starfish-like pace we finally pitch ourselves in front of the small morning waves betting on an ebbing tide.

1. Parents pitch umbrella and spread out blanket carefully so as to not invite sand. Place shoes to keep blanket from blowing up.
2. 2 yr. old runs onto blanket, prancing feet catch the edges and scrunch a rectangle into an ameoba-like blob. Small shoe-shaped cakes of sand trail across the remaining spread.
3. Mom and Dad shake out blanket. Repeat #1.
4. 2 yr. old returns. Repeat #2. Parents accept sandy, scrunched blanket.
5. 2 yr. old's clothes are removed for sunscreen application and bathing suit change.
6. 2 yr. old feels first smears of sunscreen applied to shoulders and streaks naked towards the ocean.
7. Mother chases 2 yr old. Sunscreen application is resumed, amidst protest.
8. 2 yr old, dutifully covered in sunscreen, places hands in sand. Realizes hands are now sandy. Asks parents to wash them with water. Parents oblige.
9. Repeat #8 for the rest of the morning (intersperse with "patient" explanations by parents of laws of sand + water physics to 2 yr old.)
10. Spend lovely hour collecting stranded sand dollars with 2 yr old and tossing them back in the sea.
11. Try not to act dismayed when 2 yr old accidentally crushes live sand dollars in her excitement.
12. Wind picks up. Blanket becomes covered, food becomes gritty and sunscreen-covered 2 yr. old becomes coated in the consistency of gooey sandpaper.
13. 2 yr old tries to rub sand out of eyes. Sand becomes embedded in eyes, caked in eyebrows, streaked across hair, cheeks and forehead, clings to lips and corners of mouth. All efforts to remove sand are futile.
14. Parents take now naked 2 yr old into surf to wash off. Giggles of glee ensue, as long as face-washing is avoided (that is wisely left to the freshwater shower by the bathrooms).
15. Stuff is packed, 2 yr old is carried for expediency and family moves for after-beach ice coffees and chocolate milk at nearby outdoor cafe.

Ah, yet another successful beach outing.

A shift of axis

It's day two and thanks in large part to waking up at 7 a.m., dragging myself into the shower and mentally planning my workday before realizing it was Sunday, I've managed to begin my second day of writing (before 8 am) - hooray!

As some friends might have noticed, yesterday I modified a lot of this blog's right hand side "gadgets," keeping only a couple photos and adding more parenting websites. You'll also notice that the topics for my writing sessions might feature fetuses, infants, toddlers, and the person they make me (and B) fairly frequently. It's not because becoming a parent has become my sole identity. But having a child does shift your world onto a different axis, and at the moment I happen to know a lot of people who are going through that same primordial, irreversible, life-altering shift. As it's the process that perpetuates our species (and created each of us), there's a lot of things to think about. And with thoughts come opinions. And with opinions come differences in them.

One of the most irksome challenges of this transition to someone expecting and then caring for a child, has been the inevitable lectures that have come from others, advising and then evaluating everything from my birth choices to how I put my baby to sleep. Frankly, it is exhausting and discouraging to have to defend every choice you make as a parent (because no matter what you choose, someone will disagree with it). In the meantime, you're doing whatever you can to cling on to your own exponential learning curve, while the miniature being around whom your life suddenly revolves does everything he or she can do to communicate her own set of needs, dislikes and desires.

In addition to those "usual" challenges of parenthood, there is the complex cocktail of emotional decision-making that comes with our personal choices for me to be a working mother, to enlist a nanny, and now for B to be a Stay At Home Dad (SAHD).

And perhaps worse of all, I've realized through this process that I'm only human. No matter how much I cringe as others try to share with me the highlights and benefits of their chosen birth/sleep/feeding/working choices (or simply decry the alternatives), I realize the process of making our own choices for our family has influenced me to support them as well. Perhaps its the sheer strength of our love, devotion, exasperation or commitment to our children that makes choices on how we relate to them such hot-button issues? Does this much love naturally beget a similar level of passionate dedication to what we think is best for them (or us)?

B is currently most passionate about getting our family to the beach this morning before San Diego's most precious resource - parking - is nearly exhausted. And as my hour is almost complete I will leave discussions of certain choices to other posts. Let this serve as my prologue, a caveat that recognizes that some people will be offended by my choices (and reasons for them) because they do not mesh with their own. I empathize with you. I'll do my best to not vilify others who have not made the same choices we have.

Most of all, this entire blog is really just about me... a writing exercise that happens to be in a public space. But not a public space that I actually expect many people to read. I don't know how people become super-bloggers, but I have no illusions that my ramblings will go viral on Facebook. Hopefully those who are reading this are only a few friends, family, and the odd person who stumbled here accidentally, and the vast majority of you will forgive me for any bruised toes. After all, the only perfect parents out there are those without children, myself included!

Now, off to the beach!

A new page

A writer friend of mine is in the process of sloughing off a few years of other pursuits to return to writing full-time. To help her do so, she's practicing a daily ritual of writing for one hour every day, even if that means an hour of writing "I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write."

It seemed like a brilliant idea, and what better time than when I'm 5 1/2 months pregnant, working full time and chasing a preschooler around? So at 2 p.m. on July 30, I begin what will likely be at least four months (now that I know how hard balancing a computer on your lap with a nursing infant can be) of daily drivel, sent out into the universe via the internet.

One reason why I chose this weekend to start is because I'm feeling a bit (pleasantly) lonely, as many of our close friends and family, here and abroad, are otherwise occupied with major life transitions. A birthday, a reunion, building a house and two new babies, to name a few. It's given us some needed time for reflection on the gifts of our life and the realization that in four short months we'll be receiving another small, loud, squirming, beautiful, sweet-smelling (most of the time) one of our own.

How is it nearly August anyway? With my work getting increasingly busy towards the chock-a-block mayhem of fall, B & I are feeling pressure to prepare for the baby yesterday. I've spent the past week contacting doulas and researching hypnobirthing classes, and trying to find the babysitter necessary for us to attend them! And while all three will punch a large hole in our very small bank account, the more I learn about the deep relaxation of hypnobirthing and read the responses we've gotten from San Diego doulas, the more excited I'm getting about this birth.

I mused the other day, listening to snippets about my friends' recent births, and thinking back to T's, about the learning curve of birth. That perhaps I needed T's wild, unpredictable, not-as-I'd-planned labor, to fully appreciate what I did need for that experience so that this time I can make sure I get it. For me, that means a dedicated labor support professional (i.e. doula), in addition to B's irreplaceable presence, love and assistance as my partner; a more mature, calm and flexible attitude towards birth; and perhaps the sanctity of planning on remaining in our home, or staying with our hospital-planned birth to allow for the kind of unpredictable variables (like that stubborn meconium) that popped up with T.

Regardless of whether our plan for a doula and study of hypnobirthing leads to a birth experience closer to the one I hope for, there's likely some truth in another story I heard recently. A mother of four asserted that while each of her births went differently, each contained a lesson she needed to learn for parenting that child. For those of us who believe birth is a natural, sacred process, it seems like sage advice.

That's my hour today. Hope to see you again tomorrow.