The Other Shoe

My little O has an issue with shoes. He doesn’t like to keep them on. At the moment, he only has one pair. Imagine my quandary when one goes missing while we are out and about. Give me strength.

Today’s case was perhaps the most dramatic and maybe the most ironic. We were at the mall where I JUST purchased for my shoeless Joe, a pair of snow boots and an upsize pair of sneakers that light up. (So fun!). I figured I should buy a pair of sneakers that he will be in after the winter…as he still fits into his only pair and it was a buy one get one half off sale. I digress, as usual. We made our purchase, went to the disappointing play area, we made a diaper change which included an elevator trip, and browsed in a couple stores for Mommy. It was nearing lunch time, so I figured it was time to get out of Dodge. We got out to the car and I got him out of the stroller, into his car seat and saw he only had one shoe on. !!!!! What the?! I looked around, it was nowhere. I put him back in the stroller, threw my diaper bag in the car, cause who needs to lug THAT around longer than necessary, and headed back into Macy’s. I retraced my steps. That included going back in the elevator. Going through the stores which are all the way on the other side of the mall. 3/4 way through retracing my steps I decided, “screw it!” I may have actually said that out loud. Yes, in fact, I did say it out loud. To no one in particular, just the shoe Gods in general, apparently. I was sweating by this point. And due to the fact that I switched from my antiperspirant/deodorant to JUST deodorant due to the request from my husband and his concern for my getting early onset Alzheimer’s…I absolutely stunk. I was not a happy camper.

We headed back to the parking lot where the mystery began. I figured, “oh well, I’ll double up his socks in his new sneakers and hope he can walk correctly in them.” We get to the car, and I see something tan resembling his little boat shoe way under the car….hidden by the wheel, in fact. I’m happy to see the shoe. But I’m also pissed at the shoe, because I can’t get pissed at an 18 month old. Completely irrational, I know.

Mind you, this was all after an early morning Doctor appointment for me, at which O decided to react as if it HIS appointment. Crying inconsolably and hanging on me pretty much the entire time. I was the one getting the flu shot kid! It was not my best day. I say this because I have been accused of pooping rainbows. Let me tell you, some days are rough. Sometimes I want to put him down for a nap and drown my sorrows in a bowl of chips and double Downton Abbey episodes. (God, that sounds good!). The point is, I have bad days. I have really sucky days. And I have days that are awesome. It’s all part of the territory, I suppose. Sort of like poop on your hands. Some days your just gonna get poop on your hands and that’s all there is to it. You just wash up real good and take a deep cleansing breath….pun totally intended.

So what have I learned from this? I’m not really sure to tell you the truth. Maybe I should have more than one pair of shoes for O? Maybe I should watch more closely to see if we leave a trail when out and about? Maybe it’s just that some days are better than others. The only thing I am sure of is that no matter what, I’m still the luckiest chick I know.

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight and remember behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. Xo

Project Sibling

The Universe has conspired to make me sit down and write. It is O’s nap time. The hinges I bought off of Amazon for the bathroom cabinets don’t fit properly….so there will be no replacing them instead of writing. I was going to start to paint the walls of the master bath, but I now have to clean and paint the baseboard heating covers and don’t have the right high heat paint to tackle the task. I can’t just leave my sleeping angel in the house while I run to Lowes….so I’ll have to go later. Perfect window of time to write. The fact is that I am faced with a blog that is due tomorrow, but I’d rather eat potato chips. Or bacon cheese flavored popcorn. Any yummy tasty savory item from the Trader Joes snack aisle will do. I want to mindlessly crunch away like a teenager. I find it a satisfying way to avoid the task at hand. Maybe one more handful before I decide whether to spill or zip it.

Alas, I am writing the piece. After two bowls of crunchy goodness (boy, that’s an oxymoron), I am hitting the keys. I am tentative about sharing this week’s tidbit. Part of me feels like if I share it that I am somehow accountable if things don’t work out. But a bigger part of me knows that there are women just like me who are contemplating the same thing. Ok, ok, enough with the lead in…I’m talking about having another baby. Everyone has there own opinion on the subject. A lot of women my age are done after having one. Why push it, right? I see their point.

It takes me back to when I was 39 weeks pregnant with O and I had an exam with an older male doctor I had never been seen by before. This practice in Florida was odd. You could request a specific Doctor for appointments, but when you actually went into labor, you got whoever was on call. So they urged you to familiarize yourself with as many physicians in the practice as possible. And there were a lot. Oye! I digress. Anyway, on this particular day I opted to see Dr. Collins a.k.a. Crabby Pants. I remember him telling me while discussing the labor,”Well, at your age, you don’t want to mess this up….I mean, it’s one and done for you.” I remember feeling like I was slapped in the face. I told another physician what he had said and she just shook her head. Tossed it up to him being ready to retire. But it does make you think. At least he made me think.

Well, after a bit of a touch and go medical issue, my doctor up here in New England told me there is no reason we shouldn’t try. I’m fit and I’ve got the blood pressure of a teenager, hence the teenager snack attacks. By all snack accounts I should be over weight, but as my luck would have it, I’m as slim as I was when I was a vegetarian and really watched everything I ate. (Completely unfair, I know). So according to my lovely Dr., we have the all clear to jump to it. I would prefer to say like rabbits…but apparently it’s more of an every other day thing. You don’t want to exhaust the sperm. Who knew? I assumed the more sex the better. There will be no hormones or fertility drugs involved. It’s Au Naturale for us.

So, here’s to trying. Really trying. And if it doesn’t happen, then Frieda, my friend and psychic, was right. It won’t be meant to be. And in the mean time, me and my young husband can have a lot of fun. Either way it will all turn out the way it is supposed to. I have been so blessed already, it seems greedy of me to want another. If you asked me a year ago if I would want another, my answer would not have been the same. I have evolved into a really good mom. I’m so happy to be right where I am. So happy to share raising or child with my husband. It’s more happiness than I ever knew was possible. So I am making a promise to myself right here and now, in front of all of you. I will not be upset if we don’t get pregnant. I won’t let it shade the abundant sunshine we live in. I truly believe in things happening the way they are supposed to. My entire life is a testament to just that. So we will give it a go. Here’s to Project Sibling! Lol!

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight. I know what I’ll be doing. And remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is messing it up. Xo

Sick Baby Silly Mommy

This week there has been no jam making or furniture staining. No re-upholstering, no sanding woodwork, no projects period. Everything is in a holding pattern. Little O is sick. He has a high fever. Red throat. Sick look in his eyes. Yes, my little bub is sick.

It is really the first time he’s been sick. He had a cold once at around 5 months old and he has been teething since before his first tooth at 4 months….but he’s never really been this sick. You know, for days. I don’t like it. What makes it even worse is that he can’t tell me what feels bad. At 15 months old he is just stuck feeling horrible, wondering why. It’s our job to guess and assess. Not easy, is it parents? It’s just the worst.

I say “it’s the worst,” but in truth, we have had it quite easy and have been very blessed. We have a healthy little boy who happens to be sick right now. But it makes me think about the parents who have children who are REALLY sick. Who were born with an illness. Who spend days at a time, even months, in a hospital. I can’t imagine the level of worry those parents must endure. It is unfathomable to me. I suppose as a parent you just do what you have to do to get through it. But talk about courage. The courage to face every day and create a world of beautiful possibilities for your child in the face of such uncertainty…..these parents are truly heroic. I pray I will never really know what that is like.

I realize that I have thought of O’s good health as a given. I have taken it for granted so easily. How awful of me. How audacious. I think about how tough the week has been with a fussy needy sick child….and he isn’t even THAT sick. How dare I! Talk about loss of perspective. I need to thank my lucky stars because TODAY I have a sick little boy….but tomorrow or the next day he will be better. And for TODAY, my husband and I and our families are healthy. My cousin calls it a “grace period.” It’s a window of time where everyone is doing ok. Later? Who knows? Let’s be grateful for the good stuff, NOW.

So I will follow the Doctor’s orders. I’ll continue to push the fluids on my little guy. He just won’t eat yet. And I’ll coddle and cuddle him and control his temperature with a piggyback of Baby Motrin and Infant Tylenol. I’ll read to him and let him be fussy. And soon he will be back to his joyful energetic self and I’ll be writing about some new struggle. But I will not take his good health and our great fortune for granted again. If you happen to be a parent with a child who has a challenging sickness, know that there is someone you have never met who is thinking of you and praying for your child. In fact, I’d venture to say you have a whole army of people doing just that.

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is sure she is messing it up! Thanks for reading! Xo

The Best Part of My Day

As a full time Stay At Home Mom, my days are on a crazy schedule. Add to it the fact that we are moving house, and it is truly chaotic. I have all I can do to stay up till 9pm these days. O goes down at 8pm and, I swear, the bed starts calling my name….”Mary…..Sleeeeep…Sleeeep!” If I decide to live on the edge and stay up till 9:30 or (Oh My God! ) 10 o’clock, I pay for it dearly with a tired crabby attitude the next day. You would think that the best part of my day would be hitting the pillow. But I have to tell you, although it is always welcome, it is not the BEST part of my day.

The BEST part of my day is when I give O his bottle. My husband has dibs on the bedtime feeding for now, so I do either crazy early in the morning when I wake out of my coveted slumber….or before his nap time. I sit in the rocker in his room and he lays across my lap. I stroke his hair. Sometimes his little hand holds my finger. We look deep into each other’s eyes. He lets me know he loves me. And I let him know his love is safe with me and whole heartedly requited. It is fifteen minutes that feel as if time stands still. Where my little baby boy communes with me. Where we connect on a level so instinctual, yet so profound, it knocks my socks off. I don’t care if I get woken up out of a sound sleep. I don’t care if I have a “to do” list that is fifty feet long. I have never known such pure uncomplicated love. And it’s in those 15 minutes (or so) that I savor every part of this incredible gift.

The great thing about this time for me, is that I can’t do anything else while I’m feeding him. Well, I guess I could. I could check my email. I could text on my phone. I could surf Pinterest. I could watch TV. But WHY would I ever do that and MISS this amazing time??? I’d have to be coo coo for cocoa puffs to gip myself out of this slice of heaven. I suppose I CHOOSE to do nothing else whist feeding him. I just can’t imagine any other way. How would I sing him his favorite songs? How would I catch the look in his eyes that lets me know I’m his world (right now)? Nope, I’m gonna take in all this bliss before it’s gone. And let me tell you, it will be gone and before I know it. He is already getting less bottles, which means less sweet time for him and I. I can already see my husband and I duking it out over who gets to give O his bedtime bottle, when that is the last bottle feeding remaining. I’m not sure how that’s gonna go. We will have some major negotiations for sure!

Its funny, I worried so much about not being able to breastfeed my little O. I beat myself up over it and obsessed that I wasn’t going to bond the same way because we wouldn’t have that special closeness. Well, one year into this motherhood thing and I’m a lot wiser for wear. I can tell you with all certainty, my little O couldn’t be any more attached to me. Our bond is true and unbreakable. The time and attention I have given him and the love he has come to know and rely on, is the basis for that bond. I don’t believe it has anything to do with a nipple. Oh, I’m sure there are thousands of women who would disagree. Trust me, if I had been able to breastfeed successfully, I’d still be doing it. Nutrition wise, I believe it to be the best thing for a baby. But I don’t believe my not being able to nurse my son hindered our bond in any way. I wish I would have known that last year. I would have been a lot easier on myself.

These moments…..these “best parts of the day” are the joys we find in the mundane. They are the example of power in simplicity. They are proof that something so small, and so routine can bring such profound happiness. What’s the best part of your day? I would wager to say it’s something simple. Something simply wonderful.

Moving Mommy

I am officially certifiable. My husband and I are moving house, again. Good Lord, give me strength. It’s bad enough that we moved from Florida to New England when O was only 3 months old. I truly don’t know how we did it. I think I must have been on auto pilot. Like some sort of new mommy zombie. It’s the only way I could have gotten through it. We kept our Florida house furnished, so we didn’t pack up every last morsel. It was tough enough packing up all our personal things with a newborn infant. But this move will require us to move EVERYTHING…all with a 12 month old, who is crawling and cruising like a demon and getting into anything and everything that isn’t safety sealed shut. Like I said, Good Lord, give me strength!

Of course, it will most likely NOT be an easy, care free transition. You see, we haven’t found the house we want to move into yet. (Nervous smile). So we could very well be packing this home up into a storage facility until the right house comes along. Eek. Live out of a suitcase much? Good thing I have lots of experience with that from touring. My biggest concern, however, is not how I will handle it, but how O will adapt. When he was 3 months old he was completely adaptable. I knew he would have no recollection of it. The several transitions he made were easy peesey. But will it be that way this time? I mean, he won’t remember it, but will it affect him adversely?

If things don’t go swimmingly, as they most never do with real estate…then we may be moving in with my Mother-in-law until we secure and close on a new residence. Thank goodness I adore her! I can only hope she will still love me after this possible cohabitation. To say we are grateful for her is a great understatement. A huge positive will be O getting to spend more time with her. You know how I feel about grandparents! I’m a big advocate for Grammy time. See, I’m trying to focus on the positive side if things.

I’m certainly not dreading any part of this journey. I guess it’s just that I just want to be settled. Once and for all. I went from leaving my “in and out of town” career to be settled for what turned out to be a hot second…to move up to New England to stay with my MIL until our house was available, to be in our house for another hot second, to now be packing it up for some unknown abode. I feel like I’ve been on the move since forever. It’s just time to slow down and get settled. Time to nest. My soul feels it. Hell, my bones feel it. I not only want to plant roots in the home that O will grow up in…I want to plant a garden and be around to watch it grow. I want to plant perennials and see them pop up next spring and the next 10 springs to come. It’s something THAT simple. I’m ready for simple.

It’s not like this move is news to me. It’s all part of our plan. We actually want to move. But the reality of it is just starting to set in for this Mommy, and it’s a tad daunting. So if any of you Moms have any advice to make the whole undertaking easier…fire away! I am in need of some serious input. I figure I’ll need a secure place for O to play. So far, O doesn’t seem to mind being in his pack and play. He actually seems to like it. If I put a few toys/activities in there, he is usually quite content to amuse himself while I get dinner ready or go to use the bathroom. But packing up a house? Eek! That’s a little more time consuming. And a pack and play isn’t a very big space for him to move around in. I guess I will rely on his nap times? And after his bedtime? Woof! This is gonna be one crabby tired Mama. I guess it will all just happen, as everything does. One day at a time. One box at a time. One foot in front of the other….all while keeping a routine that O can count on. Did I say “Give me strength?” Oh, that was the third time? Well, third time’s a charm. Wish me luck, Ladies.

Until next time, keep on keepin on. And remember, behind every great kid, is a mom who is sure she is messing it up! 🙂 Like me! Like 20-30 times a day! 🙂

Car Seat Cry Baby

I feel ridiculous. It’s silly to even write about. But it’s been the big change that’s been haunting me all week. O has graduated from his infant car seat to his big boy car seat. The car seat that will stay with him until he doesn’t need one anymore. (Boy, THAT day isn’t gonna be pretty for this Mama.) I feel idiotic for telling you, but I cried the day we switched his car seat. I literally shed tears. What the Hell?

Why can’t I be like the Moms who celebrate these milestones with a saucy “thank God!” and move on. It just seems like it’s all going by in a flash. Like he is growing with reckless abandon. And there is nothing I can do to stop it. So I’m emotional. That’s not a stretch for me, as anyone who knows me can attest. But I’m more so now. How will I navigate all the changes and milestones to come?

I recognize that I am not only sad about this recent event, but I am fighting it every step of the way. I found myself saying today, “It’s just so hard now. I hate going out!” Let me tell you since O was about three weeks old, I have taken him out, one place or another, almost every single day. It’s rare that we don’t have some adventure to go on each day. But I have been spoiled. I had a Graco Click and Connect Travel System. I’d get him set in his car seat in the house..carry it out to the car, click him in and we were off. When we got to wherever we were going, I’d take the car seat out and click it into the super easy stroller frame. I had it down to a science. And O liked it. We had our rhythm. Now, I have to carry him out to the car….get him into his seat whilst bent over into the car (not easy)…and when I arrive wherever the hell it is I thought it was a good idea to go to, I have two choices. I either get the very light, but yet ridiculously cumbersome, umbrella stroller (which is a ludicrous name, because when it rains, it will NOT keep baby, or you, dry. In fact, quite the opposite). Or I get my jogger stroller…which weighs 30 lbs. So I hoist one of these contraptions out of the car and then hoist my 27lb baby boy out of the car seat, in a hunched over manner, so as not to hit my head or the baby’s head on the car. I try to remember not to lift with my back. I try to remember to use my abdominal muscles…yeah, right. All while O is not, I repeat, NOT loving this new routine. Then I have to strap him into the stroller, hang the diaper bag on the handles…..and get inside wherever it is I was dumb enough to venture off to in the first place. If there are multiple stops, I’d like to shoot myself. If there is rain involved I think I will just stay home.

Everyone says it will get easier when he can get in and out himself. Well, that’s a long time away, I think. I am blessed with a beautiful boy, but he is a big boy for his age. He became too long for the infant seat over a month ago. I started to feel like some Good Samaritan Mommy was going to report me for having my son in a seat he was clearly outgrowing. And because he is young…I miss seeing him when we are strolling along. And I swear, he doesn’t like it. He might wonder “Where is Mommy?” as he faces forward in this strange new world. Right? Or is it just me, fighting it every step of the way? I could have sworn today that he was feeling scared and alone as he faced forward, rolling along….but he actually had a very wet diaper. A wet diaper that I was out of tune with, because I was so convinced he was unhappy to be facing forward. Because this Mommy was unhappy her baby was facing forward. Unhappy that her baby was gaining independence. That he was, indeed, moving on. I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit.

I’m going to brood about this some more, I fear. They say that time goes by quicker as you get older. Have you heard that? I think it’s true. But I think when you are older you cherish the time more. I know that when I was younger I took time for granted. Not the case now. I am SO aware that this time with O is flying by. If one more well meaning, but yet unsoliciated, granny tells me, “It goes by so fast,” I’ll scream….”I KNOW!!! STOP REMINDING ME!!” Like right in her face! And really loud! It also doesn’t help that this all coincides with that time of the month for me. When it rains it pours! Just don’t use the umbrella stroller that day.

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight…and I’ll try to get a hold of myself. Remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is certain she is screwing it up. 🙂

Motherhood and Mortality

Not all that long ago, I used to tell my husband, I thought I would die on the young side of old. The notion never ever bothered me. I can actually say I was really ok with it. I have always been a big believer of things happening for a reason. I guess it was just a silly gut feeling I had and I was at peace with it. Then something happened….I had my son.

To say I feel differently now is an understatement. And the reasons are layered and complex. I am sometimes hit with the fear of “Oh my God! What if something happens to me and O is left alone?” Well, it’s already ridiculous, because he would not be alone. He would have my husband. His father. The person on this earth who loves him as fiercely as I do. But every child needs his Mother, right? Or is it the other way around? Now that I have him…now that I have tasted this kind of love…I don’t think I could live without it. I need him as completely as he needs me. Maybe more so.

The completely irrational and borderline crazy mourning of my own inevitable passing I experience at times, is about MY missing out. I don’t want to miss a single second of this brilliant journey. Being an older Mom just emphasizes the fear. I don’t need to be sidled with an untimely death. Just dying in the normal course of life will leave me missing a chunk of O’s journey. If he waits to have children like I did, I’ll be 84 if I am lucky enough to meet my newborn grandchildren. Certainly too old to watch them grow up. It’s depressing really. Geez. Right now my husband is rolling his eyes. He wasn’t thrilled with this week’s topic of choice. He likes it when I write about rainbows and unicorns. Lol.

The other night, I started to get worked up over it all. I completely freaked my husband out. I had just read an article that stated 1 out of 2 women and 1 out of 3 men will get cancer. Most survive, but no one lives forever. I started to feel consumed by a loss that didn’t even happen yet? A loss that, most likely, would not happen for a very long time. And when that time does come, and my number is up, so to speak, I won’t experience the loss, cause I’m the one who will be gone. But I guess that really depends on your beliefs on the afterlife. I’m completely certifiable. See how your thoughts can snowball? It’s complex, right?

After researching some other articles, I realize that I’m not alone in these thoughts. In fact, I’m on the sane side of “cray cray.” I read a post by a women who was encouraging parents to document their lives (video, photos, etc.) for their children to have when they are gone…”before it is too late”….(Geez). It is called intentional memory making. There is even an app for it! I mean, I get it. When my husband’s father passed away, he had heaps of recordings of his father singing. It helped him grieve. And even now, almost four years later, it helps him feel closer to his dad. But his father was a professional singer/songwriter. These memories were made by his father simply living his life doing what he loved. It’s a bit different than intentionally documenting everything. I take my fair share of photos, I do. And it is fun to go back and reminisce, but I don’t know. I don’t want to judge what others want to do. So..what do I do?

Well, I can’t change the fact that I am, indeed, an older mom. I can try to keep myself healthy, but even that is no guarantee. In fact, that’s exactly it…..we have no guarantees of the time we have here. No telling when our time is up. So acceptance seems paramount. Acceptance and gratitude. Gratitude for all we are experiencing in the NOW. I can try not to waste days, but I’m sure there will be a few days, at least, lost to complaining, or stress, or both. I’m only human. But I don’t want to spend moments constantly behind a camera lens…hovering on the outside of our experiences for the sake of documenting them. Nor do I want to feel every moment has the cloud of mourning hanging over it…even if it is hanging somewhere in the back of our mind, it’s still there, stealing from our NOW. Our perfect NOW.

As with everything, balance is key. So I’ll mix my neurosis with some healthy belly laughing and get on with this awesome second act of my life. (Did I mention my life is a play in Three Acts?) I guess when it’s all said and done, I can say I have tasted pure true love. I have experienced real joy. I feel like I know what heaven truly is. And maybe I’ll find an old shoe box and occasionally put some photos in it and write some love letters to the sweetest boy I’ll ever know, my little O.

Until next time, keep on keeping on…and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is certain she is screwing it up!

The Flying Crap Shoot

O getting ready for takeoff!

This last week my husband and I did the dreaded…the unthinkable…the “Holy shit! What made us think this was a good idea?” thing…..we took our 9 month old on an airplane. Off to Florida for a reprieve from the cruel New England winter. Let me first say, the whole experience could have been MUCH worse. We could have been the parents who sat three rows behind us, whose child vomited everywhere. Several times. God bless them! Wet Ones don’t put a dent in that stink. Yikes! And considering we were enjoying the beach on the first day of spring while the North East experienced yet another snow day…I’d say it was worth it.

But this endeavor is in no way a challenge for the weak or wimpy. There is no more leisurely magazine reading or a cheeky Bloody Mary in my friendly skies. It’s a freakin P90X workout, even under the best of circumstances. Now that my little O has discovered standing and walking, he only wants to be up. Not easy on an airplane. I have a 25lb 9 month old who is long and solid. That’s some serious weight training on a three hour flight. Luckily my husband and I took turns holding him.

And talk about prepping your gear! I mean you have to have everything you could possibly need for every scenario. (Example: vomit boy three rows back). You’ve got your anti bac wipes to sanitize everything within the perimeter of your little one’s reach. Then you have your regular baby wipes, diapers, bum cream, etc. Now, if you think to, you might want an emergency ziplock with wipes, a diaper, and some sort of disposable pad….cause ever try to carry a diaper bag into an airplane lavatory? Then add you and your baby to that tiny space….yeah, it’s laughable. And then you realize there is no changing table in said tiny lavatory. Most airlines haven’t upgraded their johns to accommodate diaper changes. Really? Get with the times folks! Yet the attendants look at you with horror if you attempt to change your child in your seat. Sorry, my madness makes me lose focus.

Add to your list a change of clothes for baby (Example: vomit boy three rows back) and a change of shirt for Mom and/or Dad (again.. Example: vomit boys parents), toys to keep your little one occupied, pacifiers (with an S, because they will drop them or throw them continually) pacifier wipes, bottles for feeding on take off and landing so your little ones ears don’t get affected by the pressure, room temperature bottled water ( if you’re formula feeding) which you have to search for once you go through security, because everyone sells it cold, burp cloths, baby blanket in case it’s freezing onboard, which it usually is and last but not least your friendly boppy pillow, so your little one can lay on your lap in comfort when they feel like it, which was never in little O’s case. I’m exhausted and I’m only reliving it.

Little O was as good as a 9 month old could be in a confined space for three hours. Heck, he was better behaved than a gaggle of middle aged women who were acting like they were getting a jump start on spring break in Daytona Beach. But it’s tough. You gotta really want to go somewhere to take this on once your child discovers mobility. Now the kicker is that my return trip will be sans the hubbie. Yup, I will be flying back home with O all on my own. Returning a rental car, to boot. I am sure I am certifiable for choosing to put myself in this situation. But when I flew with O at less than 3 months old, it was easy. I didn’t know that it would be, but it was. He ate, he slept, he ate again, we landed. When we booked these flights I didn’t take into account he would be so much bigger and more mobile. Silly Mommy! So I will yet again, roll the dice. Cause that’s what it is…a crap shoot. Will I be the Mom handling her baby’s explosive diaper? Or cleaning up vomit with Wet Ones? Or will I win the kitty and deplane the aircraft unscathed, though undeniably exhausted. Your guess is as good as mine. I’ll let you know. Until next time, pray for me friends, as I will for you if you ever need to travel or just really want to get away with the little one in tow.

Praying for Help

The weeks following coming home from the hospital with Little O, were my bleakest ever. That sounds horrible, but it’s true. I knew I had the postpartum blues, but a diagnosis doesn’t make the day to day struggle any easier, except to know that it would eventually pass. Getting through those days of tears and self doubt was pretty much the most difficult time I have ever encountered. I remember, my husband had to fly up north for a job interview and was going to be gone overnight….about a 24 hour trip. I was going to be alone with the baby. Just me. I was terrified. I couldn’t tell him not to go. That I couldn’t handle it. The interview was for a job he wanted badly, and I couldn’t say ” don’t go!” like I wanted to. So I lied. I feigned a smile. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

I remember holding little O, rocking in my nursery glider…crying. I just couldn’t stop. I remember trying to quietly cry, because I didn’t want to startle the baby..or scare him. Could I scare an infant by crying? I didn’t know! I felt like I knew nothing. I remember feeling hopeless. But somehow I got through the 24 hours. My parents came to stay with us a couple days later. Instead of relief, I felt stressed beyond comprehension. My world was completely topsy turvy. Every reaction or feeling I was having was the opposite of what I was supposed to be having. I kept feeling like I was spinning. Like I was in a bad dream and I was desperate to wake up. I had such shame. Such feelings of inadequacy. I didn’t want my parents to see me like this….I think they thought I was very stressed, but I don’t think they truly grasped how bad off I was, Thank God.

My husband was always trying to get me to take some time for myself…or do something to de-stress. This particular evening was no exception. He told me to go take a long hot shower and I agreed. I remember the scalding hot water running down my back…and the hot tears running down my face. I was silently sobbing. Heavy silent sobs. I wanted to hide. I wanted to stay in that shower for the rest of my life. I remember looking up and asking God for help. Would he please help me..because I didn’t know what I was going to do without some serious celestial assistance.

The next day, again at my husband’s plea…I went to get a manicure. I remember thinking that a manicure was not going to solve anything…but I would go…maybe it would relax me? My usual guy was finishing up with another customer and he told me to come sit down by them. He was congratulating me on the baby…and asking all about it. The lady he was working on was nice and started asking me questions too. I remember telling her that I was having a difficult time. How I just didn’t know how hard it was going to be. She said sweetly, but very matter of fact, “You just have to hold him and love him.” Like it was THAT easy….huh. She told me about her grandchild. I asked her how many children she had. She said,”two.” A son and a daughter. “My son lives in Colorado and my daughter was murdered.” I was stunned! What?! “Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry!” She went on like she hadn’t said something so horrific, so terrifying…telling me about something her granddaughter did recently. She got up and gave me a smile and said, “Remember, you just have to hold him and love him.” And she was gone.

My nail guy told me she lost her daughter in a highly publicized school shooting, years ago. She had since relocated to South Florida. She had done the talk shows and interviews about it afterwards, talking about gun control, dealing with the loss and how to move on. And there I was complaining to this woman about how hard it was to have a beautiful new born baby! How awful of me! And then it hit me. I had asked God for help…and what I got was perspective. I proclaim that I am a spiritual person, but I am not very religious, per say. But no one can tell me that God didn’t put me in that seat next to that woman. Everything happens for a reason, I truly believe. And my talking with that woman was the mental shift I needed to get me over the bluesy hump. I can honestly say, that my whole mindset changed that afternoon. I looked at O differently after that. I could see the incredible gift we had been given. I knew I had to cherish it. Every time I would feel like things were hard, I’d remember that woman…..and my perspective would shift. 9 months later, I wish I could thank her and let her know the huge impact she has had on my life. How she helped me so profoundly. How I follow her simple advice each and every day. “Just hold him and love him.” I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again… You never know from where you will receive help. It can come from very unlikely places. In unlikely forms. In the most random person. In a thoughtful kind word, a prayer answered, or a simple piece of advice. “Just hold him and love him.”

My Breastfeeding Fiasco

Little O

Of course I was going to breastfeed my baby. There was never a doubt in my mind. I took the class. I did the reading. I bought the best pump available. (As a little aside, if you live in the U.S. and have health insurance, you can get a pump through your insurance company. I didn’t know that. Luckily a girl in my childbirth class told me. Mine was 100% paid for. ) Anyway, suffice it to say, I was all for giving my baby the best nourishment possible. The milk from his mother.

After having a c-section, breastfeeding proved to have it’s challenges. Firstly, I missed out on the natural journey an infant can take from being placed on the mother’s abdomen, making his way up to “find” her breast naturally. I had seen this video in my breastfeeding 101 class and it made me weep. So so beautiful. I had hoped for that..but it didn’t happen. There was no putting an infant on my abdomen that had just been freshly stapled. That’s alright, I thought. It will be fine. So we won’t have that initial skin to skin bond. We’ll have it later.

So later came. To be very honest, I don’t know when later was….as I was still drugged out of my head. But the nurses kept saying that the baby doesn’t need much right away. It will all be fine. Your colostrum has extra nourishment. When they put the baby to my breast, he seemed to find my nipple. He seemed to be doing something….but was it all happening the way it was supposed to? I wasn’t hearing the “sucking sound” they talked about in the class. But maybe I just didn’t know really what to listen for. Every couple of hours, Ian would bring the baby to me to feed. In the class they stressed switching breasts with each feeding, but I had my IV in my left hand which made holding him on that side impossible. And I couldn’t lay him on my chest, because he was so long, his feet were at my incision. So we concentrated on the right side. We kept this up…but something just seemed not right. It seemed like he just wasn’t latching on. The lactation person came to see me. Checked my positioning. Listened for the sucking sound. She said she heard it. Why couldn’t I?

In the afternoon, on day 2, the nurse came in with a small bottle of formula, a rubber glove, and a medicine syringe. She told us that the baby was losing too much weight, and she was going to instruct us on how to finger feed the baby, if we wanted to learn. But the baby needed nourishment. And he needed it now. It was up to us. So what do you say? Do you say No? “He will eat from my breast when he’s hungry.” Do you hold on to your idea of the way you wanted it to be? Or do you feed your child? So Ian and I decided that he would supplement finger feed the baby with the syringe and I would keep offering my breast. But we decided that I wouldn’t feed him the formula, in case it became confusing for the baby. And we really were hoping the boob snafu was temporary. Well, he could suck on Ian’s finger. But then again a finger is much longer than my nipple…let’s hope. I could hear the “sucking sound” when he fed him.. well more like gulping. Ian wasn’t all together comfortable with it, because he said it felt like he was pouring it down his throat. We ditched the finger feeding and used a disposable nipple. He drank the formula like he was ravenous. Like he was starving. Something was amiss.

How was my milk supply, you ask? I was producing, that’s for sure. I massaged my breasts and expressed milk before each feeding. But when I fed him, I swear, I NEVER heard the “sound.” The day I left the hospital the lactation consult came in to answer any other questions I might have and to check, again, how O and I were doing with feeding. Again, she praised my positioning on the right side and said everything seemed good. I’m sorry, Harmony (that was her name)….my baby is still losing weight! Then, she paused and said how odd it was that the baby didn’t seem to want my left breast. She then told me that if that kept up, I might want to get my breast checked out, because it could be a sign of something serious. ??? WHAT? I’m sorry….WHAT? I was clearly not dealing well, tears in my eyes before this bombshell…and Harmony, with all her bedside manner and finesse of a clod hopper, plants that notion in my head. Alrighty then. We went home.

In the one week we were home, our little O lost more than 14% of his body weight. The visiting nurse we had gave me the name of a lactation consultant and recommended we feed him mainly formula and supplement with the breast. I was gutted. Wasn’t I supposed to be his main source of nourishment? And what the heck was in this man made chemical elixir, otherwise known as formula? Have you taken a gander at the ingredients on a can of formula? It’s frightening. All I have to say is, if you must use formula, do your research. There are several on the market that use sugar and corn syrup solids as the first ingredients. I’ll say it again. Frightening.

O was so little…and so hungry. No wonder he looks mad. 🙂

So we finally get in to see the Licensed Lactation Consultant who was also an M.D. I was desperate to make it work. I remember the office had a very “wheat germ” feel to it. Nature’s Way granola. Very hippie. This woman came highly recommended, so I didn’t care if she was in her own personal Woodstock. I wanted my child to latch! It was the oddest consultation I ever had, but I had never had a lactation consult, so what did I know? I remained completely open. Right away, she told us that little O’s frenulum was too short, or rather, he was tongue-tied. His frenulum was actually pulling the center of his tongue back. Apparently, about only 4% of babies are born tongue tied. There is no evidence to show that my being of advanced maternal age had anything to do with O being born this way. It is thought to be hereditary. Yet, to our knowledge, no one in either Ian’s family or mine, was born with this. Anyway, she told us, she could snip it and undoubtedly he would be able to latch properly and successfully breastfeed….She didn’t say much, but that. Ian wondered if she was high on all the peaceful vibes emanating from this “far out” practice. This was the first I had ever heard of a frenotomy, a.k.a the snipping procedure. We needed to think about this, research the procedure, the risks, google HER for God sake! After much deliberation, we opted to go through with the snip. When we read about the tongue-tie possibly causing issues with speech development, I knew we should do it. The fact that he would be able to breastfeed was a plus, but not the deciding factor. As it turns out, O didn’t even cry. It was over so quickly. She immediately put him to my breast, and he ate. Or so it seemed. It was a miracle! I booked another session with her to follow up and we left there feeling like there was HOPE! Ah, but the story goes on.

I continued to breastfeed O, but we were quickly back to him not wanting to latch, crying, screaming at the mere suggestion that he might have to suck on my breast for sustenance. When I went back to her for the follow up, she said I just had to keep trying. That I should only offer the breast. She had me breast feed him while she observed. Yup, I was doing everything right. Yup, he was latching and sucking. She could hear it. I could not. I was there for an hour and a half with my boy on my boob the whole time. As I was leaving, he was screaming…he was hungry. Starving. There I was shoving my boob in his face and he wasn’t getting what he needed. I asked her opinion on what might be a decent formula I could use for him, if the problems continued. She told me, in her very relaxed hippie fashion, “The best milk for a baby other than yours, is the milk from another mother.” ?? I said, “Where would I find that?” She said, “Oh you know, there are Facebook groups and community trading, etc.” So, it’s better that I get the milk from someone I don’t know off of Facebook, for who all I know, is supporting her crack habit with money she gets selling her tainted milk on the internet. ?? WTF? When I got home, I fed him formula from the bottle and he calmed down. He was clearly hungry. So, I ask you, if everything was going so well in “Mother Earth’s” office, why was he so hungry? It was that day that I decided I would keep offering my breast (cause hey, I didn’t want to give up) and pump like a mother F’er. We would supplement with formula and I would give him every drop I could get out my rather engorged ta-tas. I decided that Mother Earth could go suck it. I wasn’t going to starve my son, so I could put some sort of elitist mothering feather in my cap. Now this isn’t to say that I think anyone who CAN breastfeed is looking down on me because I can’t. (Gosh, at least I hope not). But EVERYTHING we read, gives us that mindset. I was just reading a post today on babycenter.com that said, “Although formula can’t replicate all the unique properties of breast milk, formula-fed babies can thrive too.” Well thanks. You mean he has a chance? I mean, I get it… all the propaganda wants to convince women to breast feed. But, geez, it really makes you feel like a failure if it just doesn’t work out.

I pumped for over 3 months. After every feeding at first. Talk about exhausting. You feed every hour and a half. The feeding takes a half hour, and the pumping took a half hour. So by the time I could get back to sleep I had about 15 minutes to sleep. Even when Ian fed the baby, I still had to pump. I also wanted Ian to get some sleep, as he used to commute to work an hour and a half each way in Florida. I didn’t need him completely sleep deprived driving on I-95. As my supply dwindled, the pumping became less and less fruitful. I’d pump for 25 -30 minutes and get a couple of ounces, if I was lucky. It was bleak. Formula was fast becoming the main event with my feeble contribution, a mere appetizer.

Did this fiasco lend itself to my fragile state of mind. You bet it did. I beat myself up for quite a while over this “let down,” pardon the pun. Eight months later, I adore feeding time. When that little face looks up at me, touching my face, enjoying his bottle, it’s a slice of heaven. Because he is bottle fed, Ian gets to enjoy it too and I am grateful for that. I just wonder what it would be like had we been able to breastfeed? Would our bond be stronger? Would he feel my love more? Would he grow up with a higher IQ? Would he grow to be more wonderful because of the magic milk? The propaganda seems to allude to that. Or does the love and affection we give him everyday count for something? Does the time and attention we shower upon him matter? I’d like to think so. Mother Earth, thanks for trying….but we’ve got a miraculous child to raise. And, oh, by the way, he’s thriving.

From Gucci To Gerber

Tales, Insights & Observations from an Advanced Maternal Age New Mother

Trials and Triumphs