Backflash, pre-parenthood days and picking a natural labor doc

I'm writing a brief story, for another publication, on how to find a doctor who is pro natural childbirth. I thought I should share my story of switching doctors mid-pregnancy, since that is what spurred me on to write this list for my readers.

I wrote this sometime after Annika was born in 2008.

It was January when I began giving some thought to a natural childbirth. I was due in May and it took me about a month to fully commit to the idea.

By the time I decided to discuss it with my doctor, I had already taken many steps toward embracing natural childbirth.

While at work, I had spent more time reading on-line about natural childbirth than I spent working.

I borrowed a copy of Hypnobirthing: The Mongan Method, read it, and had called to request a chance to audit a local class.

I had written my birth plan.

I had begun convincing Toyin that this was a good idea. (He needed lots of convincing.)

And then, I decided to discuss it with my doctor.

It had never occurred to me that she would not be supportive.

How naïve I was.

She laughed at me!

She didn’t even try to hide her amusement.

“Well, okay, you can do that,” she said gleefully smirking. “But you wouldn’t get a root canal without any pain medication would you?”

She clearly thought I was insane.

After she read my birth plan she told me that she thought I would be more comfortable at the birthing center.

I got no respect from this woman. She practically kicked me out of her office after insisting that a copy of my birth plan be put in my chart.

As I slunk out of her office, I imagined that while I had waited in the examination room, she had passed my birth plan around to her staff and they were all laughing at me.

Even so, on my walk of shame out of her office, I felt good about my decision to have a natural birth. This was not the doctor for me, but I knew that there had to be a doctor out there who would be supportive.

Maybe I was being foolish, but I wanted the best of both worlds. I wanted to do it my way, but with an emergency crew waiting in the wings just in case anything went wrong.

I did not want a midwife, I wanted a doctor, who had an MD behind her name.

I am a firm believer in modern technology and medicine.

I had already considered the birthing center and had decided that I would be more comfortable in a hospital.

I have nothing against the birthing center or midwives. In fact, I’ve heard great things about them and think it sounds wonderful, as long as everything goes right.

But even if I had wanted to use the birthing center, I couldn’t.

I had high blood pressure while I was pregnant and considered high risk, which made me an ineligible candidate for the birthing center.

Even without that consideration, I wanted to be surrounded by every possible machine that could make a difference just in case my baby had any problems. It was simply my own preference.

I was definitely birthing in a hospital.

Before I decided to completely cut myself loose from that doctor I just so happened to make a visit to Round Rock Medical Center, the hospital where I would birth if I stayed with her.

One morning at work, I had one of those new mommy panics where I thought the baby wasn’t moving enough and called my doctor’s office who told me I should get to a hospital immediately.

Once there she was fine, jumping around like a firecracker, but since I was there anyway I asked for a quick tour.

After a few minutes with the nurse, I knew that this was definitely not where I wanted to birth.

As she showed me the labor room, we began chatting. She had read my birth plan and told me that “quite frankly,” she thought it was a bit “wacky.”

She also told me that while many women who came through their hospital did natural birth, that for the most part, the doctors there were strictly “by the book” and followed the policy of “cya.”

“Cover your ass,” she explained in response to my confused look.

Did I want a doctor who was going to force me into a rigid “by the book” labor, forcing interventions on me at the first hint of inconvenience or potential problems? Or did I want a doctor who was going to do what was best for me and my child?

On my way back to work, I called up Rhonda, my soon-to-be hypnobirthing instructor and left her a message asking her if she knew any doctors who would be supportive.

She recommended Dr. Christina Sebestyen, who I did use and I loved her, although she did not actually attend Annika's birth. During my labor she checked on me numerous times, but told me she'd been at the hospital for three days and she was exhausted. I labored for several more hours after she had gone home. It didn't matter. I had a fantastic nurse who I will always be grateful to for being so supportive.

The fact is, if I knew then what I know now, things would be MUCH different. Since Annika's birth I have met a large and supportive community of women who are pro natural labor. Hearing stories about home births and the birth center have made me wish I knew them all along.

Overall, Annika's birth went very well, considering it was my first time and I was actually pretty uneducated, even though I thought I had done lots of research. I got lucky. More to come later.

Fate took a big crap on my head last week

I haven't been able to write this week because my head has not been in a good space for writing about parenting, which is, I guess, essentially what this is supposed to be about.

I'm about to go off on several tangents, but stay with me because it all ends up in the same head space.

I met up with parenting coach Sandra Blackard for an interview a couple of weeks ago. What I wrote about her in that story was the basics. But what she talked to me about was so much more.

Blackard's technique of "Say what you see" for kids works great.

To boil it down, you literally always just say what you see.

For instance, you want your kid to eat his vegetables. "But I don't LIKE vegetables. I don't want to eat them!" he says. So instead of engaging in a power struggle over the vegetables you go, "You really don't like vegetables. You don't want to eat them."

Then, using SWYS, hopefully, the kid will go something like, "Well, maybe I like green beans. I'll eat green beans, but I won't eat cauliflower!" So, there. Problem solved.

Blackard says with SWYS if you allow the child to be heard, they will always come up with a solution to the problem.

(I totally just made up that example, so Sandy, if you are reading this and you want to comment further, please do so. I should say at this point that I do not profess to be an expert on SWYS.)

Moving on.

Okay, interesting enough for the kids, although her idea isn't really new to AP literature. Haim Ginott's ideas have been around for a while and are ingrained in AP readings by Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish, (the "How to talk..." ladies).

What intrigued me most about Blackard is that she encourages you to use SWYS on yourself too.

Ever since I met with Blackard, I have found myself really listening to MYself. And actually saying what I see, or really, HEARing what I am SAYing inside my head.

For instance, when Toyin says he is going to be home by 5 p.m. and then he doesn't show up until 5:30, in the past I would have found myself going, "YOU SAID YOU WERE GOING TO BE HOME BY 5!" Then storming angrily around the house muttering and/or shouting about how he NEVER shows up on time and how pissed off I am and now my evening is RUINED!

Instead, now, I say to myself, "I don't like that. I really don't like it when Toyin doesn't do what he says he's going to."

Then I can say calmly to him, "I don't like that you didn't show up when you said you were going to. I really don't like it when you don't show up on time."

This confronts the problem without being accusatory or judgmental and states the OH-SO-OBVIOUS, well, at least it was to me. Right ladies?

As I write this I realize that using Toyin is a bad example because if he reads this then he's going to be like, "Yeah, you still yell at me all the time."

But anyway, the point is, I have been hearing myself. I'm finally listening to myself. And it's helping me solve problems for myself better than I have in the past.

This leads me to my next tangent.

Last week I got an e-mail from a woman I've seen only a handful of times. She came to my house once for a playgroup and we've seen each other at a couple of AP functions.

She responded to a post I made on our online forum when I posted a link to a story I had written about Austin Attachment Parenting.

I swear to the gods, I have always toyed with the idea that I believe in fate, but I was never sure. I am now cuz Fate bitch-slapped me and said, "Hey, WTF Martha! How can you not believe in me? I'm right fucking here!"

Ok, a little over the top I know. But that's how I felt.

Like, ok, back to SWYS for a minute, Blackard uses the metaphor of talking to kids like you're on a map. Like, you can't tell them to turn left at the Stop sign if they are on the playground and there's no Stop sign. So, you have to be where they are when you are guiding them and that's how they will know where to go next. That's how SWYS works. If you can't see it, then don't say it. Right? Right. Get on the map. Then you can move forward. If you're not on the map, then how can you find direction? Metaphorically speaking of course.

So, like, I'm on the fucking map and this chick Michelle e-mails me with an idea that she wants me to write about: UNjobbing.

That's not a typo, dudes. I am not making this up. There's unschooling and now, I have finally heard it all. Unjobbing. It's basically being self employed. But it's being self employed because you really don't want to have a J.O.B.

That's totally what I'm trying to do.

Do you see how there I was on the map and then out of the blue someone came along to inspire me? How can I ignore that? I mean, it's like a fucking Lifetime movie of the week starring Melissa Gilbert.

See, I don't want to work away from my home for several hours a day and have to stick Annika in daycare. The reasons why are many, but Annika is the supremo number one reason.

Michelle's idea for an article was to talk about how she and her husband, Joel, are able to work from home and stay with their daughter, Siena. She loves it so much that she wants to inspire other people to do the same thing.

So I went over to Michelle's house and we talked about self employment and unjobbing and unschooling. She's really cool. And when I left her house I felt so motivated and positive about my life that I realized something. And for the first time I heard myself say it. Out loud. In my own head.

I don't like having a job. I want to work for myself. I want to be self employed. I want to be my own boss. It's scary. But there it is. Right there in my brain. And it's been there all of my adult life.

So this morning as Annika and I were lying in bed performing our mandatory, morning nursing session, I was thinking about how I haven't written a post in almost a week. And I was thinking about Sandy Blackard. Then I was thinking about all the random and various ways I plan to go about making money. Then I thought about Michelle e-mailing me and our visit at her house and I realized it all tied together. And voila! I knew I had to write about it.

As our morning wore on, I boiled and churned this blog post in my head, I came up with the headline because I knew that this all stuff -- Say what you see, listening to myself, unjobbing, being a mom -- all of this stuff is part of my journey of being mindful.

Then in my head popped my headline, "Wherever you go, that's where you are." I know it's nothing new, but it totally fits with the mindfulness and the map analogy.

And now for the best part, I know, I know you thought I was done being all zen and shit. But here goes.

This morning, on a total whim I decided to take Annika to Ruta Maya for the morning kid's show. The act was Sarah Dinan, a Celtic singer, who also does kids songs. She's a mom too.

And she's singing kids music and we're clapping hands and singing and having a grand old time. Then she says she's going to do one, just ONE mind you, of her Gaelic tunes. She tells us, "Okay, you probably won't understand the words because it's in another language, but the name of the song is -- get this shit -- "Wherever you go, that's where you are."

I shit you not. Okay Fate, c'mon over here and give me a big hug.

Another update on weaning of the human pacifier

I am late in making this update, but it is because we had some crazy nights last week.

During week three of weaning the human pacifier, (Can you believe it's only been three weeks? It seems soooo much longer.) we went from going to sleep really easily, to four nights of flat out, unmitigated refusal to sleep until I was ready to go to bed and essentially forced her to get in bed with me.

Last Tuesday, I found some really awesome YouTube videos by searching "lullaby." Annika loved them and she watched them until she was really sleepy, then passed out after nursing for only about three minutes. She slept for two and a half hours before waking up and crying out for me.

These are my two favorites videos.





Then Wednesday came along and she was like a wild woman. She would watch the videos, then nurse and just as her eyes would be fluttering closed, she'd pop off, roll over, stick her tiny little head up and grin while she rolled over me to hop off the bed and look at books.

This happened every night until Saturday. Then Sunday she nursed to sleep pretty easily. Last night was weird, she watched videos, then I was able to easily nurse her to sleep.

The weird part was not how she went to sleep, but how she slept. First of all, she slept for about three hours before waking up at all.

In the middle of the night, I awoke to find that she'd crawled off of the bed and fallen asleep on the floor. I debated bringing her back to bed because I didn't want to wake her. Ultimately, I decided in all good conscience I could not leave my baby sleeping on the floor. So after a few minutes of debate, I pulled her back into the bed. And she didn't wake up!

Then later in night/early morning, I awoke to find her sleeping half on the bed and half off. I did leave her there since she was technically still on the bed. When I got up at 7 a.m. I put her back on the bed where she stayed asleep for a few more minutes.

The only thing that's changed is her getting used to sleeping without a boob in her mouth. In a previous post I wrote that I heard somewhere that it takes six weeks to change a habit. But last week I heard from another source that it only takes three weeks. So, it's been three weeks. Is the habit changed?

THAT is still the million dollar question.... To be continued.

A single stay-at-home mom's story about healthcare

I am one of the 40 million people in this country who does not have health insurance.

The recent debating about Obama's health plan has made me quite uneasy about the state of my future health.

While I would like very much to see a public health insurance option enacted, my biggest fear about the new plan not being enacted is the loss of the clause that says insurance companies can no longer deny coverage because of pre-existing conditions and they can no longer drop people for expensive-to-treat diseases.

See, I'm healthy now. But I have committed the cardinal sin of going without health insurance, not just in the past year, but a couple of years ago for approximately seven months after a layoff. I worry that one day I will contract a hideous disease and even if I have insurance, I will be denied care because of my lapse in coverage.

I don't think it's fair that people can be denied coverage because they lost a job and couldn't afford to shell out $400 a month for COBRA while unemployed. And it's equally unfair to discriminate against someone because they made a life choice that doesn't line up with typical American lifestyle.

The thing is, for the most part, I have always played by the rules.

As an adult, I have been a contributing member of society and I have had health coverage.

I went without insurance during my college years, not an uncommon occurrence amongst the young. When I was 22 I married a military man, which meant the government covered me. It was, if not the best, certainly the cheapest health coverage I have ever had. (It was all free, even prescriptions.)

By the time my ex was discharged from government service I had gotten myself a job with a lovely benefits plan. For seven years I worked that job and enjoyed plenty of doctor's visits, and a low co-pay.

Then I decided to go back to college and get a degree. When I graduated I moved jobs, but I still had health insurance. It wasn't quite as good, but it did the job.

Then, a layoff. Boom. I was told I'd have coverage for two months, but when I went to refill a prescription a month after my layoff, I was denied unless I paid full price because my coverage had been canceled. I couldn't afford the COBRA So I went without.

Sixteen months ago when I left my job to stay at home with Annika, I knew that once again I'd go without coverage for some time. My employer covered me for six months after her birth. But when that lapsed, I was, once again, vulnerable.

And again, I couldn't afford COBRA.

I've heard people say things about uninsured folks, as if they are lazy or just losers who don't have a good enough job to have insurance. Maybe they just don't care enough. Maybe they want to get sick and have to go to the hospital and then skip out on payment because they are deadbeats.

I'm so sick of that attitude.

People don't have health insurance because of circumstances that leave them with any sort of safety net.

When I left my job to stay at home with Annika, I had two choices when it came to health care.

Go without or get a job and take my daughter to day care. But I believe that babies need to be near by their mothers (or fathers) during the first years of life. The reason I chose this route wasn't because I wanted to sit around at home, but because I wanted to give my daughter a healthy start in life.

Staying at home with Annika meant I could nurse her full-time. It meant she could slowly integrate into this world with the person who cares for her the most. Being a stay-at-home mom meant I had time to bond with her. It meant the world to me. Honestly, the insurance thing wasn't much of a quandary at all. I just knew that I'd go without.

So, there's my story. I hope that if anyone is reading this who thinks Obama's plan is a bad thing, all I ask of you is this. Please try to assume that most folks who don't have insurance aren't lazy losers, but honest folk just like you who are just trying to get by in the world. Shouldn't everyone who lives in the richest nation in the world have access to affordable health care?

My mom met a woman at the doctor's office yesterday who told her that she had brain cancer, and is currently using COBRA because she is laid off. But when her COBRA expires, she'll be left without health insurance and will, in all likelihood die.

It makes me sick to think that people are being swayed by the arguments against this bill. Who cares if illegal immigrants are allowed to purchase a public option? I bet nobody is checking the records of the big insurance companies to see if they are allowing illegals to purchase their policies.

So here it is, time for health care reform. Will it happen? Will we finally get some change in this country or are we going to let health industry lobbyists and bi-partisan bickering continue to kill people?

Co-parenting as an alternative lifestyle

In a recent e-mail from a reader our family life was referred to as an alternative lifestyle choice.

For those of you who are not aware of our situation, Toyin and I are exes who chose to live together during the first year/s of Annika's life so that I could stay at home with her. We made the choice for financial reasons.

When my reader made that comment, it got me thinking. Could this situation that Toyin and I have created become an option that might become more common in the future?

Current trends indicate that it could. At least, in my opinion. I've not seen any research to support my theory, just in case anyone is wondering.

But if you think about it, look at the way youngsters today behave in and view relationships.

When I was in my 20s, sex was way more casual than for instance, my parent's generation. One might sleep around with random partners, but it was for fun, or the result of too much partying. But casual sex aside, a relationship remained the goal.

To our parents, casual sex was typically out of the question, or so they said.

Now that casual sex seems to have become even more normalized, it begs the question, will this generation be more careful about birth control, therefore having less unplanned children?

Or will unplanned children just become used to a different standard of family. I think this generation is savvy enough to figure out that there are more choices than: A.) Getting married, B.) Being a single mom with a deadbeat dad C.) Having a weekend-only dad.

Our family works. Like I said in a previous post, some days it works really well, and some days it is a living hell. But it works as well as any marriage. Maybe better than some, not as well as others. Some people find it odd, and most people question how we do it. The most common question I get is, will it continue indefinitely?

Our current situation will not continue indefinitely. The current plan is that during the next year some time, we will not live together anymore. But we will always parent together. We haven't discussed the semantics of visitation or custody. I hope that we never have the need to talk about that stuff. When I was pregnant Toyin once started talking about going to court and drawing up custody papers.

I almost fell apart. Here my kid wasn't even born yet and battle lines were already being drawn.
I didn't blame him or get angry at him (although, it is possible I yelled, which I have a tendency to do...), I understood that those seemed like the natural options.

So I said to him, "Hey, lets see if we can work together on this and make our own decisions." I told him that I never wanted some judge to make parenting decisions for us.

He agreed pretty wholeheartedly if I remember correctly. I think he might have even been relieved.

We agreed to live together for the first year and see how things went. Annika is almost 16 months now and we are still living together. We are talking about moving into separate places, which will probably happen over the course of the next six months or maybe sooner.

Toyin has said he plans to see Annika every day. That is about all we have talked about. I plan to see her every day as well, unless she and Toyin are on a trip together.

We plan on living as close by each other as possible so that Annika can have the best of both worlds.

Ironically, I was thinking about how the religious right has been making such a fuss over gay marriage, saying that gay marriage is going to ruin marriage as an institution, then quietly, here we heteros have come along and snuck up on them with a scenario that nobody ever even thought of.

You can have kids WITHOUT getting married. HA! Take that bitches!

Week two of weaning the human pacifier

In the past two weeks I've seen some very moderate changes in Annika's sleeping habits. She will now, for the most part, accept being popped off the breast so that I can get up once she's asleep. She is still only sleeping an hour to an hour and a half without waking up and crying out for me, but it is an improvement. This has given me some much needed time to myself. Because of this, my head is becoming uncluttered and I am feeling like a much nicer person.

In addition to the benefits to myself, Annika also seems to be benefiting from the extra rest.

She also seems to be sleeping a little harder and deeper than she was before. In the past, I was a bit concerned that because of the suckling, she wasn't actually falling into a deep sleep and therefore, not getting the rest she truly needed.

She has been saying and doing things in the past couple of weeks that she hasn't before. Naturally, because of her age, it could be simply a coincidence, but I have my doubts about that.

She is now saying a whole list of new words, mama, cat, car, truck, seriously. Seriously, she said, seriously. She was repeating what Toyin said while he was joking around with her. Only it sounded more like, "seessly?"

After months of calling all animals woof woof, or go-go, her word for dog, she is now saying cat, and pointing at pictures of them and saying meow. In the past two weeks she has started pointing out her head, belly and feet. She can distinguish between her toes and feet. She is starting to shake her head "no" when she doesn't want something. She has started using a fork. She is very interested in how cups work, although, she still mostly just pours water onto the floor and herself, she can drink from a regular cup.

This morning, I watched her as she took a cup, filled it with water, drank some and then pulled it away from herself and poured the water down her front. It was no accident. She was examining how the liquid drained from the cup.

Also, she has been saying up, for a while now, but now it seems more definite. Like she really understands what the word means. She puts her arms up and says firmly, "UP."

There have also been a couple of times she has woken up and gone back to sleep without nursing. She just snuggled up next to me and fell back asleep. For the most part, she is still nursing when she wakes at night, which is still at least three or four times a night. I'm not really sure how much she is waking up at night since I am starting to sleep through a lot of it, or at least, I'm not being fully awakened, as I was before.

The progress is slow-going, but it's nice. And other than the first couple of nights, there has not been any major drama. Earlier this week I went to the library to get some work done and Toyin put her to sleep. He was able to get her to sleep and put her down in bed, something he has not been able to do since she was very tiny.

So, folks, we have progress. I read somewhere that it takes six weeks to change a habit and get a new routine started. I will update along the way. Happy trails.

Does this mean that bottle feeding is possibly linked to postpartum depression?

Just another good reason to breastfeed. I have no idea if bottle feeding is linked to postpartum depression. But it seems like a logical argument.

This one is for you Ted and Renee: Top ten reasons why having a kid is great

In one of my recent posts I apparently spooked some of my non-parent readers with my description of bedtime woes so lest anyone should decide against becoming a parent because of this, I want to name off a few awesome reasons why having kids is well worth it.

Now, I could name a bunch of mushy reasons, like how great it makes you feel when your baby smiles at you or what a sense of accomplishment you feel when your child pees in her potty all by herself. But I won't. Because that stuff will only make sense to people who already have children.

So here's my list to all you folks who think parenting is a real drag. It's not. I promise. It has it's sucky moments, but those moments are outweighed in vast numbers by the awesome stuff that comes with parenting.

Reason number 10:
You get to read Dr. Seuss books. Remember the classic Green Eggs and Ham? Sam I am! I do not like green eggs and ham! I do not like them in a boat, I do not like them in a moat.... We just started reading Dr. Seuss to Annika and she loves it. She's totally obsessed with The Foot Book, but I'm sure that we'll graduate to Green Eggs and Ham eventually.

Reason number 9:
You get to talk like Pootie Tang. And when you do, nobody calls you a dork and stupid for liking that movie. Cole me down on the panny sty. Sepatown.

And the best thing? When you talk like that, you get an answer that makes equally as much sense. Matter of fact, it makes tons of sense to both of you. Kappa Chow mofos.

Reason number 8:
Kids crying in public is no longer a bother. You know how when you go out to eat and at the next table there's a bunch of fucking booger pickers running around flinging french fries at you and their parents are just staring out the window as if they didn't notice? Well, that's because they didn't.

When you go out without your kid, those kids won't even register on your radar because you are just glad to be at a restaurant drinking a margarita with your friends and not having to wipe someone else's face or pick up french fries off the floor when you're done eating.

Reason number 7:
Naps. When you're a parent, nobody thinks you are a lazy schmo for taking naps. You actually get congratulated for taking a nap. People pat you on the back and say, "Good for you for sleeping in the middle of the day. I'm sure you really needed that."

Reason number 6:
Swings. Maybe it's just me. But before I had Annika I used to walk by the swings at parks and look dreamily at them, wishing I had a reason to swing and pump my legs as high as I could, like when I was a kid. When you're a single person with no kids, people look at you funny if you go to the park by yourself and play on the toys. If you're a jungle gym person, by all means, feel free to go hang upside down until you turn red in the face.

Reason number 5:
Cartoons. Need I say more? Seriously.

Reason number 4:
Laughing. When you have a kid, you laugh all the freakin' time. You laugh when you wake up in the morning, just because. You laugh when the dog drools on you. You laugh while you're eating breakfast because your toddler thinks it's funny to feed you. You laugh at the park and on a train. You laugh in the car and on the plane. You laugh at a cat, at a hat, at a bat and after a nap. You laugh at the park, in an ark, and at some guy named Mark. You laugh on the potty and while drinking hot toddies. You laugh at night and with a kite. You laugh here, you laugh there, you laugh and laugh everywhere.

Reason number 3:
Snacks. Did you know that with kids comes a requirement that you carry food with you at all times? Yeah. It's true. If you are a well-prepared parent, you will always have snacks with you. Granted, it's usually fruit, or cheese crackers or some form of cereal, but it's food.

And it's not just for the kids. You can eat it too. You can even pack separate snacks for yourself. So instead of heading to the closest vending machine, whenever you get hungry, you can just reach into that giant bag you're carrying and pull out some food. It's awesome. Now I'm hungry.

Reason number 2:
Cuddling. Ok, now you're all like, "Dude, you said you weren't going to get mushy on me!" But seriously, this isn't mushy. Cuddling with a baby and toddler is so much fun. When they're sleeping they are really warm and their skin is really soft. Lately, Annika's new thing is that she is really into sitting on stuff, me included (and Toyin), so she backs up to us and plops her little booty on a lap and then waits for us to read to her, or play drums.

Reason number 1:
Baby hugs and kisses. Yeah, still not mushy. Ok, maybe a little. But baby hugs and kisses are the best ones you will ever get. When that tiny little arm wraps around your neck, you can't help but totally melt all over the ground.

And the kiss, well, it's fucking priceless. Because little babies and toddlers don't know how to purse their lips. They just place their mouths on you and drool. And for those of you who think of your dogs and cats as your kiddos, well, let me tell you, baby drool is a million times better.

Another sappy rendition of how much I love my child, that, and some commentary

A recent post on doubleX has got me thinking about my initial days as a mother.

When I first read the essay, which parallels Katie Roiphe's first days as a new mother to an opium den, I marveled at the the beauty of her description of newborn/mother love. I remember feeling this way.

Apparently there was some backlash about the essay, saying that it wasn't an accurate description of the newborn days and that the narcotic effect of the pregnancy hormones doesn't last for long, then drudgery sets in.

I thought Roiphe's essay was a beautiful description of the newborn days, even if it isn't completely accurate.

Annika's birth commenced an epoch when my arms became a cradle of motherly love, depth and warmth. My breasts ceased to be sexual objects and became a form of nourishment, comfort and consolation. Gone were/are the days when the public cries of children are an annoyance.

During Annika's newborn days I remember thinking that somehow the presence of my eyes upon her face, even while she slept, was a necessity to her development. And even if I hadn't thought that, I couldn't look away. The magnetic draw to stare at her was instilled so powerfully in me that I often wondered how I would ever be able to tear myself from her side when the time came. The image of Annika's minuscule newborn fingers and toes are etched in my memory for life. I can still feel the smooth glass-like quality of her soft skin under the soft touch of my stroke.

Truthfully, I also remember having a crick in my neck so bad that only a chiropractor could alleviate my pain. Pregnancy left me with plantar fasciitis, not to mention that the newborn days are filled with worries about weight loss, and a number of other standard physical ailments left from pregnancy and labor.

I also remember crying and telling Toyin how desperately I needed to be able to leave for an hour to go the gym.

I agree with Allison Gopnik where she writes In Defense of Katie Roiphe that the essay is akin to a love poem. While Roiphe's essay may not be exact, what is significant to me is the depth of love and bonding she experienced. It is the beginning of their attachment relationship. And remembering her son's newborn days with the honeyed glow of intense craving is more important than remembering with factual accuracy how tired she was or her body's aches and pains.

I am in the throes of missing the newborn days because I see the baby days slipping away day by day as my baby morphs into a little girl.

But the feelings I felt then, the keen craving to be close by my infant, are still intense for me.

Even now, 15 months later, I ache when I am away from Annika for a few hours. This morning when I left the house, she was gone with Toyin on a shopping mission. It is the first time I have ever left while she is gone and won't be home when she gets returns.

It looks like this is going to be harder than I thought

Day eight of weaning from the human pacifier.

I made a major boo boo last night. I was the one who backslid this time. Consistency is key when trying to institute a new standard, especially when one is dealing with an almost-16-month-old who is not at all happy about the new rule. And I was not consistent last night. I pulled a fast one on Annika, which was not cool at all.

Last night Annika fell asleep on my chest nursing while I watched TV. I managed to pull her off my breast without waking her. Toyin had gone out for a rare evening to meet some friends in from out of town and I was feeling very put upon, even though he totally deserved to go out and have some fun. So I decided to keep her on my chest and continue to watch a Reba marathon. Seriously, I know, it's Reba McEntire as a divorced mom, whose adult children still live with her, and her ex-husband his ditzy wife live nearby and are always popping in and out. Sometimes I think I must have a short in my brain, but when I am tired and cranky really stupid TV shows are like crack to me.

So anyway, Annika woke up an hour later and stayed up for another hour and a half. Apparently, she wanted to watch Reba too.

When I finally took her to bed, I fell asleep and slept through the suckling. And so, two hours later, I awoke to find her on my breast still.

"Uh oh," as Annika says now.

I tried to unlatch her and she demanded more nursing. So I let her nurse.

Then, I fell asleep, again!

Two more hours later I awoke and unlatched again.

There were some tears, and I nursed her back to sleep, finally managing to stay awake so I could unlatch her.

Well, at least I'm sleeping again.

Adventures in backsliding and tearing up Band aids for fun

Here it is Friday afternoon, one week since I started weaning Annika from using me as a human pacifier. We've had a couple of not-so-good nights. But right now she is napping, alone, without a breast or a warm body to snuggle up to. She also ate a proper lunch, which she doesn't always do. So I am considering this nap a success, even if she only sleeps for an hour.

Up until Tuesday, Annika did really well with sleeping on her own at night for a few hours before I came to bed. Then hump day came along and she was no longer interested in accommodating our new arrangement. To be fair though, it was due to some congestion in her throat. So, Wednesday night, as she tried to fall asleep nursing, she kept coughing and gagging from the milk as she tried to nurse. She was very frustrated, so we got up and suctioned out her nose, blew it, and then nursed to sleep. I stayed with her.

Last night, all bets were off. She flat out refused to even try to nurse to sleep. She'd lie down with me, look at books, start to nurse and then as soon as her little eyes fluttered close, she'd roll over, hop up on all fours and smile in the most beguiling way possible and go get some books to look at. Even though it was dark and we could barely see them.

Finally we got up and went in the living room and put on Planet Earth. This was a recommendation from a friend of mine who uses the DVD to calm her own son, who is the same age as Annika. It works with Annika sometimes, but it didn't last night. She kept running around like a mad woman. We finally went to bed together at 10:30 p.m.

No big deal. See, if I've learned anything since becoming a parent, it's not that being a good parent means you have a perfect kid. It just means that you know your child. I wasn't surprised that Annika had a rough couple of nights. I've learned that sometimes I just have to give her space to do her thing. Trying to force her into what I want doesn't work. So I give in. I let her have her way sometimes and tonight, we'll go back to trying to do things my way.



Annika's new favorite thing to do is tear up Band aids. She is fascinated with pulling them out of the wrappers and then pulling the tabs off of the sticky part. But if she gets the sticky part on her, she freaks out. If anyone knows of a good toy that would simulate something like this. Please let me know.

How we got from there to here

Annika's sleep habits have been the hardest part of the first year of her life. Other than sleep issues, Annika has been a super easy baby. She's a happy-go-lucky kiddo. She smiles all the time. She gives hugs and kisses. She's curious about the world around her. She loves to laugh.

But sleep has been an issue. For the most part of her first year, I have been pretty sleep deprived. Well, after the first four months anyway.

So here goes.

I am embarrassed to admit that during my pregnancy I didn't do much reading up on sleep habits of infants. I had no idea that infants can't just fall asleep on their own. And I had no idea that they wake up a lot. I mean, A LOT. You know that saying, "sleeping like a baby?" Whoever said that was a moron... or didn't have kids... I mean.

When we brought Annika home from the hospital, the first night I nursed her to sleep, put her in her crib and went to bed. She awoke around 2 a.m. And I sat up in the rocking chair nursing her until she went back to sleep. I remember moving to the couch staring at her for awhile while she slept. I was able to carry her around and she'd stay asleep. I thought this was how it would be.

Little did I know that newborns are very sleepy during the first week or so. It makes sense if you think about it. They've just had a major move. They went through some major trauma, essentially being evicted out of the womb.

But after a couple of weeks, all of a sudden, sleep doesn't come so easily. And I quickly learned that the easiest way to put her to sleep was to nurse her all the way down.

I never planned on co-sleeping. I'd heard all of the negative things about it.

“You'll never get them out of your bed if you co-sleep.”

“They won't learn how to sleep on their own.”

Yada yada yada.

I was going to have none of that.

Well, after waking up every night around 2 a.m. to nurse and then again around 6 a.m. again, to nurse. I realized one night that I could just take her to bed with me when she awoke at 2. I decided to ignore those stupid voices in my head that said she'd never want to leave my bed. Plus, I'd been reading Dr. Sears and he promotes the hell out of co-sleeping.

I decided Dr. Sears and myself were right. It would be easier to bring her to bed with me. So I did. And we were happy. I was getting plenty of sleep. I'd wake up easily when she woke me at 2ish. She'd nurse and I'd watch her dreamily and stroke her hair while she nursed; then when she was done, I might get up to go to the bathroom; then I'd go back to sleep for another nice four-hour chunk of sleep.

It wasn't long before I was skipping the crib altogether and just nursing her to sleep in my own bed. Often, I stayed in bed with her. I was tired, she wanted to nurse. It made life easier.

I wondered why people said newborns didn't sleep well. When people asked me how Annika was sleeping, or commented on how I must be tired. I'd say, “No, I'm not tired. I get plenty of sleep. It's not good quality sleep. But I get plenty of sleep.”

I realize now just how lucky I was in those first few months. Sometimes I wish I had realized it then. But how could I have?

When I told other parents how well Annika slept, they said, “Oh you are so lucky to have a good sleeper.” In some way I knew it. But I didn't really get it. I couldn't have. I had no idea that I was resting up for what were to be some of the hardest, most tiring days of my life. Nineteen and a half hours of back labor had been a cake walk compared to this.

At this point I was just about to write that it's probably a good thing I didn't know what I was in for. But then I revisited that thought. No. It is not a good thing I didn't know. It is a very bad thing I didn't know. If I had known. I think, I hope, that I would have prepared myself better for it. I would have asked for more help. I would have done more research. I would have been better prepared and maybe it would have gone more smoothly. Maybe it wouldn't have lasted so long. Maybe she would be sleeping better now and I wouldn't have to wean her from using me as a human pacifier.

But, as they say, kids don't come with manuals.

Becoming a parent is like getting an Ikea bed off of Craigslist with no directions and no picture of the final product. You've got all these crazy parts. Everything looks the same. All the holes fit together, so you're not really sure if you've got the right parts attached to each other and just when you think you've got it put together right, you look down at the floor and see this tiny little bolt and you figure, oh, it's no big deal, the thing is put together. It seems fine.

Then you go to sleep that night and in the middle of the night the bed comes crashing down around you. You are running through the house crying because your nipples are sore and you are tired of nursing, and your neck hurts and your back aches, and you are tired of getting woken up just as you drift off to sleep, so you are trying to get the bed some water thinking that might pacify it, or maybe you just want to go to the bathroom, meanwhile the bed is screaming from the other room as if its going to die and then this random thought floats through your mind that if only you'd found where that bolt went, maybe you would be sleeping happily in a safe and secure bed right now. But you have no idea where the bolt even is anymore and even if you knew where it was WHERE THE FUCK IS THE SCREW IT FITS ON?! I DON'T KNOW!

That paragraph is a horrifying metaphor of several nights I had around the six month to eight month mark of Annika's life. And maybe a few between eight and 10 months, although I don't think they were quite as dramatic the second time around. Maybe it was because it wasn't as bad. Or maybe it was because I was used to getting woken up for the seventeenth time to nurse for five minutes or an hour, or three seconds and then two minutes later, again for 20 minutes. And then 30 minutes later just as I was about to drift off again for the seventeenth time that night OH MY GOD SHE WANTS TO NURSE AGAIN I AM IN A LIVING HELL!

Ok, so, yeah, that basically describes the sixth month, most of the seventh month and some of the eighth month.

I didn't dream at all during that time and most of the time I felt like I was living under water. The world was right in front of me, but I was detached from most of it. I lost words mid-sentence. I couldn't quite see what was right in front of me because often it was blurry, or there were dark swirly waters and waves drifting in front of my face.

I think for the most part I had just gotten used to it and started sleeping through some of the night wakings because I know that during eight months to a year, Annika still woke up a lot. I mean, a lot. But it wasn't every night. We'd have a bad night or two, then she'd sleep ok for a night or two, or sometimes a week, then we'd have a bad night again. But these nights weren't so bad because I knew what to expect. I knew that if I got up, it would just get worse. So I'd lie there and stare and think.

I found ways to enjoy the time while Annika nursed and slept. I spent a lot of time staring at her dreamily and reminding myself that she would not be this little for very long. I cuddled with her. I stroked her hair and kissed her face. I kept the light on and read parenting books. Toyin bought me an iPod Touch for Mother's Day, which was one of the best presents he's ever bought me. And he gives good presents.

So, we got through it. Now we are in a new phase. I know she might backslide and I'm okay with that. The cool thing is I've realized that these days were a good thing because I've learned a lot. I am much cooler under pressure. And I've realized that the infant days are prep work for the future. I feel like we've prepared a good solid foundation.

Update on weaning from the human pacifer

So far, so good.

I can't believe it's going so well this time. See, I actually tried this before, when Annika was eight months old. At that time, it was two months into the human pacifier habit, and I was feeling really frustrated. We went through some really rough nights around that time. So at eight months old, I tried the No Cry Sleep Solution, by Elizabeth Pantley. This is not a judgment on Pantley's advice, I've heard lots of mamas sing her praises, but it didn't work for us. Not one bit.

Annika is a lot like me in the respect that she knows what she wants and she is going to get it come hell or high water. I admire her strong spirit, but when our bullheadedness clashes, it is not pretty. I am already thinking ahead to her teen years when I will likely be going through menopause. Lord help us all when that time rolls around. In about 15 years if Texas starts having earthquakes, you'll know why. That will be me and Annika duking it out over who gets the car that night.

So, yeah, it didn't work well at eight months. But now, it is working like a dream.

I was able to get up during her nap yesterday. I did have to go in and nurse her back to sleep once, but I was able to get up again. And SHE STAYED ASLEEP. That never happens.

Then last night, I was able to watch almost an entire movie after she went to bed.

It is truly a miraculous thing.

Balance is good. My brain is feeling clearer and the days are looking brighter. I no longer get that sense of dread when it is 7 p.m. and I have to get myself ready for bed because there is no telling if I'll be able to slip away in order to brush my teeth.

Weaning the human pacifier, night two

Tonight went much easier than last night, so far.

At 7 p.m. I took Annika into the bedroom. We read three books and then she was ready to nurse. By 7:30 p.m. she was sound asleep. She even unlatched on her own. Her mouth had fallen open in a rare deep sleep where she is no longer nursing.

I waited a few minutes, then tried to get up. She started awake and immediately began to root around for my breast. I decided to let her have it. I figured I should have waited longer to try and get up. I let her nurse for five minutes. She was sleeping, but still nursing. I unlatched her.

Knowing that she was not fully asleep, I felt more emotionally prepared for what was about to happen, than I did last night.

As soon as I stood up, I could tell that she remembered last night. Even so, I attempted to sing and sway. She was having none of it. This time she fought me harder. She arched her back and wailed. She pushed away from me in a mean tantrum.

As I swung her around, trying to sing, I felt a nervous laugh well up, I tend to laugh when I am nervous.

Standing there, grimacing, with my 15-month old thrashing around upside down, kicking and screaming, I had a moment of clarity. One of those moments where you can see yourself and you are in full and total control of your actions and emotions.

I took a moment to wonder why I was nervous.

Was I nervous because I wonder if I am doing the right thing? All along this sleep process I have been listening to the advice of other attached parents. The basic idea is that most kids who need to sleep with a breast in the mouth or right up next to you with full body contact, is that they will eventually outgrow it and begin to sleep longer and easier.

Other parents have told me this and they tell you all kinds of ways to deal with it. Watch TV with close captioning on, use an iPod Touch (which I have), bring your laptop to bed with you, take turns with your partner, keep the light on and read, keep your kid up until you are ready to go to bed, get an Amby bed (it's a cradle-type contraption that sways).

All of these are good ideas, and I have used some of them over the past 15 months.

But as I stood there swaying and holding my thrashing child, I knew that continuing this way of life was not an option for me. I feel resentful and impatient when I am lying in bed with her when I am not tired, when I have other things to do. I know I will be a better mom to her during the day if I can get some things accomplished while she sleeping. I will be more attentive and happier. Therefore, she will be happier.

And I knew that Annika would be okay if I did this now, even though it would not have been okay before. She might be angry, but she will not feel scared or lonely. She knows that I will come to her when she cries out. I have told her what the plan is. She understands me. I am not always sure on what level, but she understands. So, she might be unhappy about it, but she is not confused, or losing trust, or feeling unheard. She's just pissed. I can deal with that.

Even though I listened to all these other parents and their advice for the past 15 months there was always this little voice inside my head that said, "They are wrong. You know what's best for you and Annika."

So maybe, I wondered, am I nervous because I am finally listening to myself? It's something I've always struggled with.

Despite myself, I have often ignored my inner voice. That has gotten me into a lot of trouble over the years.

So, nervously, I did what I knew was right for our family.

After a few minutes of struggling, I took her out into the kitchen, wiped her face and offered her a drink of water, which she angrily turned down.

We went back into the bedroom. As I approached the bed, she laid her head on my chest asking for comfort. I put my hand on the back of head and kissed her. Then we laid down, and I nursed her to sleep.

She has now been sleeping for almost an hour. Alone. Without a breast in her mouth.

Weaning the human pacifier, night one

Toyin and I had a long talk tonight and we have decided, or rather, I decided and he agreed to go along with it, that enough is enough. It is time for me to reclaim some consistent me time.

I have read plenty about regular weaning and night weaning, but I haven't ever read much about what to do when your toddler is addicted to suckling your breast while she sleeps.

I have no inclination to night wean yet. But for some reason, that seemed to be the only option, until I realized what it was that I wanted the most was not so much to not get woken up in the middle of the night, but to be able to sleep next to my child WITHOUT my boob in her mouth. And most of all, what I want is to be able to put Annika to sleep and then get up and be an adult for a few hours.

When this all started around six months of age, I thought it was a phase. That's what everyone told me. "Oh, it will only last while she's teething. She'll hit her developmental milestone and she'll go back to sleeping the way she used to."

Well, here it is nine months later and she's teethed and not teethed, milestones have come and gone, and she's still doing it.

It is a habit now, a habit I need to break.

Over the past few months in particular I have spent a lot of time thinking about this. When she was coming up on a year, I figured I could wait it out. Everyone said that babies start sleeping better after they start to walk and after they turn a year old.

Maybe some babies do, but mine hasn't.

We decided to start the process tomorrow night, which is a Friday. But tonight, as I laid down with her, she fell asleep and I was able to get up. Five minutes later she was crying. I knew what I was in for. She was going to take my breast in her mouth, latch on, wrap her hand around my breast, sling her leg over mine and settle in for the night.

NOOOO, my brain screamed. NOT AGAIN! I MUST BE FREE!

So I went in, nursed her and sang for a few minutes and then pulled her off my breast. She protested with a screech and stiff body, then settled back to my breast waiting for what she usually happens. Me offering the breast.

This time I said no.

I picked her up and began to sway and sing.

Oh no, no mother. She wanted none of that. For a few minutes she screamed, arching her back, pushing away from me all at the same time leaning her head in toward my breast. This went on for a few minutes. Then we left the room to clean her snotty nose and give her a drink of water.

I did this four times before she finally gave in and nursed all the way to sleep. The last round of it, she threw herself around the bed, stiffening up and screaming and running for the door several times before she finally allowed me to take her in my arms once more and give her the comfort she was looking for.

The whole process took about and hour and half. I'm hoping it's less tomorrow.

Slowing down to smell the stillness, re-energizes

I just used up a bag of flour that I've had in my pantry for the past couple of years.

I only had it for the occasional sauce thickening agent, or... uh... why did I have that bag of flour? I guess it's just one those things that is expected. One must have flour, or you cannot consider yourself a member of polite society, or something like that.

The point is, I used almost all of it in the last month.

I actually used the flour -- to bake.

Since becoming a mother, I have gone through a metamorphosis. Recently, I have emerged with a fresh desire to actually experience such ordinary activities as eating and dressing.

I want to avoid flat, lifeless experiences like shopping in a grocery store with tinny muzak playing in the background, dead air circulating, and food rotting in piles with Sale signs flashing in front of my face.
I want to roll my own flour tortillas from scratch, and make fresh pasta.

I want to grow a fall garden and sew my own clothes. I want to keep chickens in the back yard, (yes, we can do that in Austin, Tx, I think...) so I can eat fresh eggs every morning. I want to avoid buying things that come in packages.

I realized that somehow, this all ties in to my last post here.

In my last post I wrote about how I am feeling free-er than I have in months because I am finally able to get up when Annika falls asleep.

But the truth is, it has only been recently that I have even wanted to get up again.

For the first months of Annika's life I sat with her during most naps and held her, breathed in her sweet newborn-ness. I loved snuggling with her and most nights, I couldn't wait until bedtime when I could snuggle with her tinyness. I loved the moment she fell asleep when her solid little legs would stretch out on top of my legs, her soft breath slowing, and her little eyes would shut and I could see her dreaming and happy because she was in the crook of my arms.

Something about becoming a mother has made me stop, take a look around, and really be here, right now, something I have been attempting, and failing miserably at, for several years.

Having a child has breathed new life into this world, into my world.

When I first thought about having a child, I thought I would stay at home with her, for her. Not for me. I looked at it as a sacrifice.

There is a common expression, "gift of life." I always assumed that meant the parent giving life to the child. And now? I see it the other way around.


My first attempt at homemade tortillas.

Awakening from life as a human pacifier

Lately I've been feeling like Robert De Niro in that movie, Awakenings, where he plays a guy who has been catatonic from encephalitis since he was a boy. I haven't been slack-jawed and drooling for like 30 years, only for the better part of 15 months as I laid in bed with Annika for naps and bedtime -- staring at the ceiling, reading, thinking, daydreaming, planning my escape -- so she could nurse. And nurse. And nurse.

Lately, I have been able to sneak away occasionally when Annika falls asleep, which has been nearly impossible for the past eight months.

I remember the moment my career as a human pacifier began.

The moment is etched in my brain as clear as day because at that moment, I wondered if I was making a huge mistake. I still don't know for sure.

Annika was only a couple of weeks old. I was nursing her to sleep one night and as she fell to sleep, I took my finger, slid it into the side of her mouth and popped her off of my breast. She stayed asleep, but new mommy guilt set in immediately. What had I just done? I was new enough to attachment parenting that I didn't quite understand all of the semantics. I suppose I took the "attachment" part quite literally.

So anyhow, as I sat in my rocking chair, hormones flowing, considering that I had quite literally forced my newborn away from my breast, panicked thoughts raced through my brain: What if she really needs to continue suckling? What if she feels rejected? What if something innate in her HAS JUST DIED because I physically extracted her away from me?

Unanswered questions raced, guilt surged, panic flowed, I did what seemed rational to me -- at the time. I carefully and tenderly attached my sleeping infant back onto my breast.

Now, almost 15 months later, in my head, I laugh dejectedly at this poor misguided woman. How I wish I could go back to that evening and tell her, "Hey, your kid is asleep, you did what you were supposed to do. Now get up as quietly as you can and deposit the child into the bed."

I spent the first three or four months of Annika's life not trying to un-attach her while she slept during the day.

I wonder -- now -- if I created that nursing monster, the child who seems to think my breast is her own personal chew toy.

Back then, I did realize though, that I needed SOME time to myself without a nursing baby attached to my breast, so at night I'd nurse her to sleep then slip away for a blissful two or three hours on some nights. Little did I know that my griping about THAT was foolish, foolish, foolish. How I wish, Oh HOW I WISH, she would sleep that long alone now.

These days I'm lucky if I get 45 minutes. And even that is an improvement over the chunk of six months to a year. I couldn't get up. She'd wake up immediately if I moved to get out of the bed. Some days she would not sleep at all without my breast firmly attached to the inside of her little mouth.

So, yeah, I'm finally able to move about the cabin. It feels nice, and like Robert De Niro, I don't know how long it's going to last and I wonder if I'll ever be normal again.

Live and left live

It has recently come to light in my own head that I am way more controlling and a super tight ass than I have let myself believe. In my head I am pretty laid back, non-judgmental, open-minded, yada, yada, yada.

Since becoming a mother, I have been so intent on ensuring a happy and carefree childhood for Annika I have taken over the job of controlling everything around her and forgotten that I am not the only parent here.

Last week Toyin and I began having this same old argument we've been having on and off for some months. I don't even remember when it started. But a while after Annika was born Toyin mentioned something about how he hoped Annika would be right-handed. Not only did he hope this, but he intended to go about "encouraging" her to be right-handed because in some cultures, specifically Nigerian culture, left-handededness is seen as a negative trait.

Now, I am left-handed, a huge minority in the world, to be left-handed, and even more of a minority to be a left-handed female.

Toyin is right-handed.

It pissed me off royally that Toyin would try to sway her handedness. I worried that if he was successful she might have learning difficulties. And even more so, I guess there is a little part of me that hopes she will be left-handed because I think being a lefty is just the bees knees.

But Toyin's take on it is different. He says that we should encourage her to be right-handed because it could potentially ease some cultural divides. He says that Annika already has a lot of strikes against her being a Black woman and all, so we should try to ease the things that we can.

At first I tried to reason with him by telling him he was being stupid. He refused to see my point.

Then I tried to use reverse psychology on him.

The conversation went something like this.

Me: "So you want to sway Annika to be right-handed by trying to get her to use her right hand more?"

Him: "Yes, I'll encourage her. I'm not going to try to force it. But I've done some research on this. Handedness is mostly genetics, but it's partially environmental. I think that it would make life easier on her, especially in Nigerian culture since it is still seen as rude or bad luck to use the left hand. Did you know that in some cultures they will throw you out of their house if you try to shake hands using your left hand?"

Me: "Oh yeah? Well if you do that, I'm going to start straightening her hair! Maybe I'll even bleach her skin!"

Him: "You aren't going to do that. Be reasonable."

Me: "Go fuck yourself!"

After that particularly enlightening conversation I started doing some research, which mostly consisted of me reading the Wikipedia page on left-handedness.

Here's some of the information that struck me as the most interesting.

It is considered rude in Semitic cultures to shake with the left hand. In Muslim and Indian culture the left hand is traditionally used to clean oneself after defecating. In Christianity the left hand is used as a metaphor to shame society.

Language has tons of negative associations about the left hand.

The root of the word sinister originally meant left, but eventually was changed to mean evil.
Left is often used to describe awkwardness, example: two left feet. In Mandarin, left means improper.

The word ambidextrous comes from the root word, dexter, which, ironically, means right.

Then after I learned everything I never wanted to know about being left-handed, I started writing this blog, determined to find some sort of meaning in this potentially useless and time-consuming-waste-of-space argument.

It took me a couple of days, then I found the significance of this argument.

I started out by telling Toyin that he should just live and let live. Then I realized that I was not doing that.

I told him that he needed to leave it alone and let Annika be who she is going to be.

But as much as I'd like Annika to turn out to be a carbon copy of me and wonderfulness that is ME, she is not just my daughter. Toyin is her dad and that means he will have just as much influence on her life as I do.

Freaky.

My thoughts on Michael Jackson

I spent the afternoon watching Michael Jackson's memorial and feeling sad. A part of me felt embarrassed for even feeling sad. After all, Jackson was the topic of freak jokes, suspected of being a pedophile, and poked fun of in general for years.

But the one-gloved wonder was my favorite childhood singer.

I loved Michael Jackson as a child and pre-teen. I obsessed over his music, buying everything I could afford on my meager allowance. I even kept a scrapbook of articles and pictures about him. I wish I still had it.

I didn't feel sad when I first heard of his death. I was shocked, intrigued about how he died, and wondered what the outcome of his autopsy would be.

But after watching his memorial, I was reminded just how human he was, despite his appearance and all the rest of the Michael Jackson facade. And I feel a profound loss, which surprises me.
I also feel sad for his children. They have lost their father. And now that I'm a mother, I have real insight as to how this will dramatically alter their lives.

During the service, I, and I assume millions of other viewers, was interested in catching a glimpse of his children.

At first I didn't think they would show them. Throughout the service the camera panned quickly over the family and seemed to keep a careful distance from the kids, especially Blanket, the youngest.

Then at the end, they showed them in full view up on stage during the We Are the World rendition. It felt awkward and a bit callous how easily the family paraded them in front of the world when for all of their lives Michael had carefully kept them from the spotlight. Then wham, he's not even buried and they are in full view during a media circus.

Their lives will never be the same. They have lost their father and now they are being taken care of by the very people who put him in the spotlight and took away his childhood, as he complained of in past years. Up until now, they have been living what I can only guess was a relatively normal life.

That's all about to change. At least it will over the next few weeks and maybe months while the media speculates about his death.

MJ never had a real childhood. It is assumed that because of his upbringing, he clearly had severe mental problems. And now, likely, his worst fear has come true. His children will endure the same kind of intense public scrutiny that he did.

As a mother it frightens me to no end when I think of the possibility that I might die before Annika grows up. I can't imagine anyone more fit to raise her than myself and Toyin. Not even our families. It's not that they wouldn't do fine. But no one wants their kids to just be fine. I have hopes and dreams for her. I want to protect her from things that others, even family members, might inflict on her.

I can only assume that Michael Jackson felt the same.

Food Inc. is an eye-opening, sickening, must see

Toyin and I went to see Food Inc. today. It was an enlightening documentary about the corporate takeover of our food. As I watched, I felt sick thinking of the disgusting things I have been ingesting all of my life.

The film was sad in so many ways.

It showed how the monstrous food industry corporations cause death, poverty and injustice in the everyday lives of average Americans and it had a profound impact on me. After seeing this film, I intend to alter the way I buy groceries.

Because I am a mother of a toddler, the saddest part of the movie was the story of Kevin Kowalcyk, a 2-year-old boy who died in 2001 from E. coli poisoning from eating a hamburger. The meat that he ate was part of a recall from a processing plant that had been cited numerous times for unsanitary conditions. The plant should have been shut down. The recall didn't actually happen until several days after he died.

His mother, Barbara Kowalcyk, has been on a mission to have the law changed to allow the FDA to shut down processing plants that violate contamination standards repeatedly. She helped introduce a bill called Kevin's Law (which never passed) that would give the FDA authority to shut down processing plants that violate unsanitary conditions repeatedly. Apparently, the government does not have the authority to do this? How crazy is that?

At the end of the film Kowalcyk says that the thing she hates most about telling her story is the look of pity in people's eyes when she talks about her dead son.

She says she doesn't need a pity party; what she wants most is for people to help her get laws changed.

I started this blog last night and I didn't post it because I wanted to continue writing, but I didn't know what I wanted to write.

Now I know.

I can testify that this movie changed my life because already, this morning, as I fixed my breakfast I was slower to put things in my mouth. I wondered what is in my cereal that is going to have a harmful effect on my body and I don't even know it.

I wondered if the milk I drank came from cows who were standing in their own feces and pumped full of antibiotics.

It pisses me off when I think about the farmers who are being controlled by companies who hold patents on seeds.

Monsanto is highlighted as a corporate bully against farmers into using only its products and suing the crap out of anyone who doesn't lie down with them. There is even a documentary.

This film pissed me off at our country and our political and legal system. Where's our aid? Where are our rights to live the way we want and to do business the way we want to as individuals in a supposedly individualistic society?

It pisses me off when the government tries to shut down local farmers who do things the old fashioned way.

It pisses me off that small farmers are sued by big companies for just trying to make a living.

It pisses me off that 90 percent of processed food is filled with corn and corn products because corn is subsidized, making it cheap filler.

It pisses me off that migrant workers are jailed for working illegally in the U.S. while the American bosses who hired them aren't given so much as a fine.

It pisses me off because now I wonder what kind of crap I have been feeding my 1-year-old daughter.

It pisses me off because I think about 2-year-old Kevin Kowalcyk who died because he ate a hamburger. And instead of watching her child grow up Barbara Kowalcyk fought the government for seven years and lost, and she did this only to try to keep other mothers from experiencing the same pain that she did.

It pisses me off because I think of all the times I've fed Annika junk food and said, "Well, it might not be good for her, but it's not going to kill her."

And now I wonder if maybe someday it will.

Soul mirror

My daughter and I look nothing alike.

Physically.

I have actually been asked numerous times by strangers if she's adopted. The most interesting phrasing of that was by a third cousin's husband at my great aunt's funeral.

"How long have you had her?" he asked.

Had her? I didn't quite understand what he meant at first.

My answer, "She's a year old."

He then went on to tell me that he and his wife had adopted some bi-racial children.

Too.

"No, no, no, she's all mine." I said itching with irritation. "I carried her for nine months and went through 19 1/2 hours of labor to prove it. Although, I know, she looks nothing like me."

But I have been noticing lately that she is becoming more and more like me. Watching her is like looking in a mirror sometimes. She reflects back to me much of what I am. I see myself in her, and I see her in me.

For instance, she gets this look on her face when she is examining something very intently.

That's me! My inner voice screams with delight when I see that look.

"I get that look too! That's me! She does look like me!"

And also, the way she enters a new situation warily, and insistent that she examine every thing and every person before she gets comfortable.

That is also me. To a tee.

I have heard parents say that they see themselves reflected in their children.

I never really understood.

Having a child forces you to see yourself in a light that was impossible before becoming a parent.

Socrates said "An unexamined life is not worth living."

I spent years writing in my journal, going to therapy, meditating, hashing out my problems with my best friend, venting, examining, amateur psychologying....

Only to have a child and see so many things as clear as day.

It's nice to see myself in her.

Now.

It's cute.

I just wonder what it's going to be like when she starts yelling at the dog and screaming "Asshole! out the window at other cars while driving down the highway.

You are not alone

Becoming a mother was, for me, an identity crisis. While I was pregnant, I had this constant feeling of unease when talking about myself because I was in such uncharted territory.
After Annika was born, the pregnancy hormones kept me lurching down the motherhood path and I began to think I was changed forever.
Mother was the new me.
But that didn't last forever.
I realized this when I recently began craving cigarettes and booze, cravings I thought were long gone.
Last year when Annika was still a tiny newborn I envisioned myself turning into Suzie homemaker. I would be the type of mom who joined PTA, ran bake sales with my famous homemade chocolate chip cookies, carpooled all the neighborhood kids to soccer practice.....
Okay, maybe I've gone too far, the point is I am not that person and I never was.
I have been feeling my old self returning for a month or two now. And these feelings have coincided with the ending of my amenorrhea, due to breastfeeding.
It has also coincided with Annika sleeping better, which is a relief.
But this feeling of my old self caused me no end of distress. I never planned to be a mother. I never wanted children. When I was pregnant and when Annika was born, I thought that I had really changed. I thought that the old me, the one who disliked most children, was gone. Then I came back.
I started to wonder if I was going to turn out to be one of those horrible mothers who drinks in the bathroom and leaves her child with men she barely knows.
Would I be able to merge my former self with my new mommy self?
And then, to my relief, I found out that I am not alone.
I'm actually.....normal!
A few nights ago I went to a happy hour gathering of moms from my Attachment Parenting group.
I walked into the restaurant, which was BYOB, carrying my paper bag of beer, sat down, realized that all but three of us were pregnant. Only one other mom was drinking.
I decided not to be a dork, and acted like it was no big deal that I had brought booze. It turned out not to be.
As I poured my drink, another mom (who is a kind, caring and attentive mother) said to the group, "(My daughter) was screaming when I left, and I DO NOT care!" She laughed uproariously, adding to the giddiness of our table of mommies who all likely felt more relaxed than we had in days, if not weeks.
I realized as I sat drinking beer and laughing with these other moms that just because we are moms does not mean that we can't care more for ourselves than our children -- sometimes.
Just because we are moms doesn't mean we can't be selfish and crude, telling dirty jokes and bad mouthing our partners.
Just because we are moms does not mean we have to change.
I can still be a vulgar, selfish, drunk -- on occasion.
And I'm still a good mom.
What a fucking relief.

Working with babe on my back

“Woman verbally assaulted here yesterday for breastfeeding.”

That's what the sign read, written in black magic marker on white poster board. It was 10 a.m. I was 30 minutes late and sweating my booty off already having hiked along the trail for about a quarter of a mile with my 13 month old on my back in her carrier.

I had stopped to ask a woman walking with her daughter if she had seen a group of women nursing babies along the trail.

“No,” she exclaimed with a broad smile. “But I would have LOVED to see that!”

I was looking for this “nurse-in,” planning to write about it for an online publication I am applying to. The day before, a woman from one of my online parenting boards had been yelled at for nursing her baby in public without a cover. She came home and furiously sent out a message to the board asking women to meet her the next day to nurse their babies along the trail where she had been abused.

I had woken up late that morning. Annika usually wakes me up anywhere from 7 a.m. To 8 a.m. on any given day. But noooo, not this morning. The one time I wanted to be dressed and out of the house by 9 a.m. she decided to sleep in until 8:45 a.m.

As I approached the women sweating, I looked around for the woman who had been yelled at.

“Hey!” I smiled at everyone, hoping they would notice that I also had a baby with me and take me as one of them. No such luck.

“Who are you with?” a woman asked me, only noticing my reporter's pad and camera swinging from neck.

Nobody was nursing anymore. Luckily, Monica, the woman who had been verbally assaulted, cheerily greeted me.

“I need some nursing moms,” I told her.

She quickly complied, nursing her baby and asked some of the other moms start up again. Luckily there were a few moms there with kiddos who had healthy appetites.

As I snapped my photos, I told one mom, “This is the first time I've done an assignment with a baby on my back,” as I slowly bent over carefully trying not to swing Annika too much while avoiding hurting my knees.

“You'd never even know she was back there,” she smiled with the contented smile of a nursing mommy. I love that mysteriously contented smile.

I realized that I had made a rookie mistake when I began to write on my pad and my pen didn't work. I didn't have a second one with me.

When I used to be a reporter I always had at least two pens with me along with extras in my pockets and car.

I felt like such an amateur.

I was too embarrassed to tell any of them that I didn't have a working pen, so I didn't interview any of them. Luckily, the pen worked just enough for me to get their names and one quote. It looked like a third grader had written it, but at least I had the names.

As I headed back to my car, Annika still swaying along behind me, she started to squirm. It was almost as if she knew that I was done working and ready to just be her mommy again.

NIP still not normal

Breast is best.
So everyone says.
The American Medical Association promotes it.
Most pediatricians will tell new mothers that breastmilk is the best food for their growing babies.
Then why oh why are mommies expected to first express it into a bottle before feeding it to their babies?
And if, horror of all horrors, we decide to let the babes suckle the magic milk straight from our breasts why are we expected to cover up said breast?
Nursing in public is still somewhat tabboo here in the U.S.
When I was pregnant I remember an older co-worker telling me how she used to go sit in bathroom stalls to nurse her boys in the early 1980s.
Another female co-worker came in to work one morning and rushed to tell me about this really cool tent-like contraption she saw a woman using to nurse her babe in a restaurant the night before.
"It kept her covered and the baby was able to eat in private!" She regaled me while I wondered why on earth a baby needs privacy to eat.
When I first started nursing, I carefully kept my breasts covered while I held my often wriggling daughter in one arm, unlatched my bra and stuck my her head under the covers of my shirt and a blanket.
In May.
In Texas.
Earlier this week a woman on my online Attachment Parenting group wrote a scathing account of being verbally assaulted while out for a jog, needing to nurse her baby and realizing she had nothing to drape over herself, so she nursed anyway, exposing herself.
The attacker, a woman, said my friend was being rude, was disgusting and told her to go do that in the barn with the other animals.
And this is Austin. It's a pretty liberal town. I've been told that being topless is legal here, although I don't know it for a fact.
And another thing.
MEN don't have to cover up their tits when they are in public and they don't even need to be bare chested for any reason other than to keep cool! How fair is that?
Luckily for me, I've dropped that puritan attitude about my breasts.
Are they sexual parts of my body? Sure, sometimes.
But they are also a way for me to nourish my child physically and emotionally.
I'm not going to cover that up.
No way.
No how.
I'm here. I'm bare-breasted. Get used to it.

Take that obnoxious toy and shove it!

About three months ago I started noticing that my daughter needed more stimulation. No longer was she content with just a boob, although, it still satisfies the savage beast most of the time.
As much as I tried to ignore it, my baby was no longer a newborn anymore. She needed some stimulation.
Now, I'm not one of those uber-socially conscious moms who thinks all electronic toys are from the devil. But as cliche as this sounds, (I have lots of friends who are those uber-socially conscious moms) the most expensive and loudest most obnoxious toys really and truly are a waste of money.
Annika has already been given lots of toys and she will play with those loud, plastick-ey type toys for about five minutes (if that) and then she'll look at me like, "What now mom?"
In my head I can imagine her as a pre-teen whining, "I'm bored!"
So, in order to nip that kind of shit in the bud, I asked my online AP group to share some creative play ideas that I will list below.
Creative play is important for a number of reasons:
Creative play teaches kids things like cause and effect. It gives them more control over their own environment. It helps them learn how to improvise and be creative. It helps them learn basic things like colors and counting. It gives them confidence.
It helps them self-regulate and improves the cognitive skill of "executive function."
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=76838288
Here's the list:

Dress up clothes
Pots and pans and a spoon for stirring
Small animal figurines
Containers for putting things in, stacking like big blocks, etc. Suggestions, wipes boxes or thread boxes
Silk scarves
Old phones
Water play
Homemade paint and play dough
Paper towel and toilet paper tubes
Big bowl of dried beans for mixing and pouring (Cheerios works great for this too and they can have a snack at the same time)
Water in several small cups with food coloring for mixing and pouring
Small toys frozen in water in yogurt cups. Kiddo plays with the "icebergs" until
the toys melt out.
Finger painting with whipping cream or shaving cream (if he or she won't eat it).
Sand box with treasures hidden.
Cornstarch or rice in a big plastic tub that kid can sit inside (only if kid is
past the stuff-in-mouth stage)
Lots of "putting in and taking out" at this age. Nesting cups - yogurt
containers, etc. Pouring.
Make a "baby lava lamp" with a plastic water bottle: colored water (water +
food coloring) and vegetable oil (clearer, lighter oil is better). Close with
lid, then duct-tape the lid to secure it.
"Painting" rocks or other things with water.
A water table and/or sand box/table
Feathers
Bubbles
Try to snag a free set of cardboard "blocks" by checking with
various stores, like at the fabric store. You can get small cardboard boxes the size of 5 spools of thread.
Blocks
Instruments: An assortment of drums, a xylophone/piano toy, shakers, jingle bells, harmonica and kazoo, slide whistle and sticks. Oh and the pots, pans and lids combined with wooden spoons!
Felt board

Here's another good link with ideas for older kids:
http://www.nncc.org/Curriculum/create.play.grow.html#anchor829095

Delusions of simplicity

I was at the library late the other night and when I left, I was sitting in my car enjoying the peaceful evening when I watched another woman emerge.
This woman carried so much burden.
I watched the fifty-something woman walk unevenly across the parking lot, as if her feet hurt. Her back was hunched. She had one of those butts that is big, yet looks smashed from sitting up against a chair all day.
Her hair was unkempt. She just looked tired.
I watched her get into her car, unaware of the soft glow of the warm evening around her.
Then I noticed her car.
It was a sparkling clean Mazda coupe. I couldn't tell what year it was. I'm terrible with that sort of stuff, but I recognized the make because recently a friend was telling me about her Mazda.
It just seemed so out-of-whack.
Now, I'm not judging her specifically. I don't know anything about this woman.
But I saw it as a statement on our world.
The world we live in esteems things over self.
Have we deluded ourselves to the point where we don't see who we are anymore? We only see what we have?
It seems to me like many people I know are constantly searching for simplicity, myself included. Yet, nothing we do is simple.
We work and work to buy things we don't need. We have tons of gadgets that are supposed to make our lives more simple, or more fun, but they take up space, energy and time. We live in a rat race.
I have only recently begun to truly notice this because it has been a little over a year since I've been home with Annika.
I don't want to go back to that life.
I like staying home in the morning until we are ready to leave. I like hanging out in the backyard all afternoon, or going to the pool. I like gardening.
But I also have to pay my own way.
This is my biggest fear and worry lately. Once I go back to work, will the simple life disappear? Will Annika and I grow apart as she goes into her world and I go into mine every morning? Only to barely reconnect for dinner and bedtime?
Will my world become overburdened?
Will I be that woman?

A is for Annika

I've been thinking about getting another tattoo. I have a fish tattoo on my inner thigh, which I got when I was 22.
At the time I thought I would get a whole bunch of tattoos, but when my new husband (now ex) found out I had gotten it, he had a conniption. The irony of that was that he had (at the time) four tattoos himself. I had done it as a surprise, thinking he would only think that I was even cooler than I already was.
Gee, I wonder why that marriage didn't last.
Anyhoo, I've been thinking about getting another one symbolizing Annika, my daughter.
One night in a half-dream state as I was awoken once again by my nursing/co-sleeping daughter a lovely image materialized for my new tattoo.
I pictured this simple tattoo, a black A, against a white background encompassed in a circle.
I loved the simplicity of it. My daughter is Black; I am White. Yet our lives encircle each other and will forever and ever.
I've had this image floating around in my head until recently as a nice little dream that I am putting off until our nursing days are over, just in case I were to contract Hepatitis or something, don't want to put my daughter at risk.
Then I had lunch with a friend recently. She had a new tattoo. After admiring her beautiful new back art I told her about my idea.
She said, "You mean the A is for Anarchy sign?"




I think I'll do it anyway.

The best gift ever

I got an iPod Touch for Mother's Day and to all moms who have a child who won't sleep without someone nearby, BEST GIFT EVER!
I can lie down with Annika, nurse her to sleep, then I can check my e-mail and read news to my heart's content.
I'm finally catching up on the Obama administration. I was beginning to think I would turn into one of those moms who never knows what's going on in the world.

Birthday magic

We just celebrated Annika's first birthday. It's actually tomorrow, but since that's Mother's Day we had her party today on the 9th.
I think it is every parent's responsibility to make sure that their kid's birthday party is well done and memorable, but most of all, make sure that the kid feels like it's a big deal.
The first few are dry runs since your child is not going to remember it. Afterwards, it's good to sit back, take notes and figure out what could have gone better, what mistakes not to make again.
And quite frankly, having a party for a one-year-old was a mistake.
I ran around all week buying food and a cake; cleaning house; mowing the yard; and just generally getting ready for the party.
Then the morning of the party, I spent most of it doing last minute cleaning and food preparations.
During the party I spent half the time talking to other parents and not focussing on Annika.
By the time the party ended I was exhausted and realized, too late, that I hadn't even fed her any of her birthday cake!
This party was a stupid idea.
I'm just glad she won't remember it.
Lesson learned.
The good thing is, I realized it.
Birthday's should be about the birthday girl (or boy).
I want to make sure that my daughter feels special on her birthday. And it's a good thing I have a few more birthdays to practice so I can get it right when she's old enough to realize what's going on.

For about five minutes I was a lesbian

It finally happened.
Using the term "partner" for Toyin, my co-parent and the father of my daughter, made it appear to someone that I am a lesbian.
To clarify, I don't mind lesbians. I have had, over the years, plenty of gay friends. But I am not gay.
It was pretty amusing. I always imagine that most people in my age group, like me, enjoy having gay friends. It makes us hipper, more diverse, and appearing to be very open-minded. How cool to go to a playgroup with a lesbian and her bi-racial baby! Now that's some serious points on the diversity scale. My new friend is, I believe, Asian, so maybe she cares less about that than me.
Here's what happened.
After a few months of haggling with calling Toyin my boyfriend (which he's not, but it's easier); trying to refer to him as Annika's dad; or just using his name and leaving off any modifier, I finally settled on calling him my partner while speaking of him to people who don't know us very well.
I knew it could be confusing to some people since it's common for gay couples to refer to their significant others as partners, so I always tried to make sure I referred to him as Annika's dad or use a male pronoun before I used the term "my partner." But I have gotten so comfortable using the term, that, without any forethought, I casually mentioned him as my partner to a woman I had just met in a playgroup.
After a couple minutes of talking she asked me if I had Annika with my partner or with someone else.
"What an odd question," I thought to myself as I answered her that, no, I had Annika with my current partner.
About ten seconds later it hit me and I smirked.
"She thinks I'm a lesbian," I realized.
Hee hee hee.
For a few minutes I felt like a very hip, urban stay-at-home mom lesbian whose partner was probably some sort creative type, a commercial photographer, a music producer or something like that who made lots of money to support her little bi-racial baby and breastfeeding lover.
In my head, if I was gay, my partner would be super cool, with lots of tattoos and piercings. I don't know why, because most gay people I know don't have any more tatts or piercings than anyone else I know, but it's my fantasy, so I can do what I want.
But alas, the fairy tale came to an end when I finally decided to tell her a little about Toyin and made sure to use male pronouns a lot.
She didn't seem disappointed. Hopefully, my coolness is still high up there since I am an unmarried mom to a black baby.
I remember a day and a place when that would have just made me a slut.