Just like the birds and the bees, parents should talk about race

Annika has been learning her colors for some time now. She learned brown and orange pretty well several months ago For a while she confused all her colors, but in the past few weeks she's really gotten the hang of it. Since she understands now that she knows her colors, she's been excitedly pointing out the colors of things without being prodded.

A mama friend of mine, who is also a fellow Bi-racial mom, told me that her daughter started being curious about her skin color around the age of 2. So ever since Annika's new proficiency with colors and labeling them I've been waiting with mild and somewhat increasing interest in when she notices our skin color is different.

A couple of weeks ago we were sitting in the living room with our dog, Baltar, and she looked at him and said to me, "Baltar brown."

This was new, pointing out his color instead of the color of something inanimate. I wondered if she was going to notice her own skin color, and then mine. I still don't know what exactly I will say to her about our differences. I think at first I will be matter-of-fact about it and then as she ages and the appropriate times present themselves I will delve deeper into it.

Then she looked down at herself and said, "Annika pink."

She was wearing a pink shirt.

Then she pointed at me and said, "Mommy red."

Yep, I was wearing a red shirt.

I wasn't disappointed though. She's a little young to talk to about skin color yet.

But that episode and a Facebook exchange with another mom about brown-skinned dolls led to a reminder of a couple of articles I read last year that I loved and I wanted to share. Even if you don't have children, these articles are good reminders that we, as a society, are still not completely comfortable with the topic of race. But it's good to talk about it, as you will read.

The first article is an excerpt from the book Nurtureshock. The article talks about how children are inherently racist. Not that they hate all people of different color, but they naturally select people who are like their parents, gravitate to them, and unless they are told differently, they believe that people similar to them are the best.

Studies performed at University of Texas, in Austin, showed that White parents didn't want to talk to their children about race. Unfortunately, this is the wrong way to approach it. These parents want their children to be colorblind. Their intentions are admirable. But silence on the topic was found to give the children the opposite idea. The researchers found that these kids, who could clearly see the differences, took it to mean that their parents didn't like Black people, or they thought it was a taboo topic.

The next article is about a Black family who adopted a White little girl and the racist attitudes they encountered, especially the father when he was alone with his daughter.

Hair products aren't black and white

After skin color, the other most obvious difference between the races is typically hair texture.

When I was pregnant I wondered about fixing Annika's hair.

How would I comb it? Would it be easy? Would I mess it up? When do I start using product? Do I really need to use product?


                                                                              Last week we visited Toyin's family in Michigan. One of the mornings that we stayed at his parents' house, I got in the shower with my toiletries from home and realized that my crappy little plastic travel shampoo bottle had cracked and most of the shampoo had leaked out.

I was reminded of why I had actually brought my own shampoo. Even though I had not given it much thought, I had this idea that I wouldn't be able to use the shampoo at Toyin's parents' house. Toyin rarely uses shampoo on his own hair, so it's never been something we have discussed. Plus, well, he's a guy. I have never really talked about hair products with any of the men in my life.

So when I got into their shower, and realized I might have to use some of his mom's shampoo, I examined it and realized that there was nothing much different about it than my own shampoo other than it was for curly hair and I don't have curly hair.

I felt like an ass. This whole hair product myth in my head was just another one of those stupid stereotypes or just flat out pieces of misinformation.

I mean, it has never occurred to me to buy different shampoo for Annika than for myself. Conditioner, maybe, but not shampoo. And the conditioner would only be different because she has thick, curly hair, unlike my flat, limp hair. So why would hair products for Toyin's family be any different than Annika's?

After my shower I got myself dressed and I began cleaning Annika up the for the day. I haven't bought any hair products for her yet, although I've been meaning to, so I decided to look at Toyin's mom's stuff and see if she had anything I could use on Annika.

I tried this stuff called Luster. It worked great. I barely even needed to comb her hair because it smoothed it out so much.

Then, in order to cultivate myself a little further into the world of African American hair products, I decided to see how it would react to my hair.

I dabbed a tiny bit on my palm and smoothed it on the tip of some of my strands. I was like, "Wow, this stuff is great!"

It didn't take much, but it smoothed out my frizzies ever so slightly and made my hair feel silkier than usual.


The next day I tried his mom's shampoo, Creme of Nature detangling shampoo. I really liked it. It was a bit creamier and a little heavier than what I typically use, but my hair was less frizzy than usual too. I'm planning on buying some and I will likely use it on myself as well as Annika.

Deep in my roots I am a bit more of a hillbilly than many White folks, so maybe I'm in the minority, but I grew up thinking that (big deep breath here, please don't think I'm an idiot) Black people's hair was way oilier than White hair.

I have no idea where that idea came from. I'm not even sure I remember ever hearing it from anyone. Maybe it was because it was the 70s and the Jheri curl was a popular hair-do, which to me, always looked wet.

What I've learned from various Black friends over the years is that Black hair is typically drier than White hair. Heavier conditioners and less washing is a must for Black folks, also the reason many Black women wear braids a lot of the time or use hair weave to keep their natural hair from breaking.

I've learned a lot about the differences between the races in my adult life, and now that I have a child, I'm starting to see the similarities.

Success, a Bi-racial baby doll... sort of

We're in Michigan this week visiting Toyin's family, and I knew being in southeast Michigan, which surrounds Detroit, I would likely have a much better chance of finding a brown baby doll. I was right.

Of all places, my friend Tareeshia and I, found a whole shelf filled with Black babies at Big Lots.

When we got home we realized that the baby dolls were actually Spanish dolls, but I don't care. I'm just happy to have another baby doll closer to Annika's skin color.

Kwintshle kwintshle Little Star, I'm finally as important as my car

Annika mixes up her Ks and Ts. When she asks for Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, she says, "Kwintshle, Mama, Kwintshle." When she gets tickled, she laughs and says, "kittle." This has nothing to do with health care reform and the bill finally passing, as this post does, it's just fucking cute.

When I awoke this morning to read that the health care bill finally passed yesterday, I shed a few tears of joy and relief.

I've been without health insurance since Annika was 6 months old. I left my job to care for her at home in the first year of her life and with that decision came a decision to lose health insurance for myself. I was lucky enough to have an employer who would cover me for the first six months after she was born. They were not required to do so, but they did anyway because it's a small company and they felt like it was a good decision for the company and their employees leaving on maternity leave.

My biggest fear with losing health insurance was not for my current health, but for some big unknown in the future. What if I get cancer and my then insurance drops me because it might be a pre-existing condition? 

Now that we have health care reform in this country I am overjoyed at the prospect that I will soon (someday?) be able to pay a bill once a month that will allow me to be covered in the event of a catastrophic occurrence in my life, much the same as if I were to have a car wreck and my car is covered.

I've always thought that insurance was one of those necessary evils. I mean, it's silly to pay into a system that you will never get anything out of unless something bad happens to you, right? In theory and with cars and homes, yes, it is sort of silly, however in such a large society, I suppose it's necessary. The truth is, big companies have more clout than the average American and the reason cars and houses are required by law to be covered is because banks don't want to take the fall for accidents. Human beings on the other hand, can just go piss off.

The odds that my body will fail at some point in my life are greater than my car getting into a deadly wreck before I trade it in for a new one.

My expectations of a great change with this health care bill are not great. It will be months, if not years (more likely) before people like me will be able to expect any great change in their lives. I might even (hopefully will) have some coverage through a job or another network by then.

But it's nice to know that our lawmakers finally acknowledge that people are just as important as cars and houses. Finally.

Finding a Bi-racial baby doll is starting to stress me out

Did you know that they sell hair relaxers for little girls? Yeah, you know, chemicals to make your hair straight if you have curly hair. They are sold in the ethnic section. But the pictures of all the girls are Black girls. I guess that's what ethnic means. (Please note the sarcasm.)

Yet, in those same stores you will be lucky to find a Black baby doll that would be way more appropriate to buy for the girls that are pictured on the side of the boxes of those hair chemicals.

This post has been brewing in my mind since I wrote my last post. The same day I read this article on The Root.

My first thought, to be honest, was, "Wow, they had enough Black Barbies to put them on sale? Where is this store?" (Louisiana.)

Ever since I was pregnant with Annika I have browsed the toy sections at random stores checking for Bi-racial and Black babies. And I am continually disappointed with the lack of baby dolls in colors besides White.

Annika actually has a Bi-racial baby doll, which I happened to come across at a used toy store, quite randomly. But other than that doll, I have yet to see any Bi-racial dolls and rarely see Black dolls in stores.

Now, I'm not a shopper by nature. I admit freely that I haven't done as much checking as I should have.

But this week we spent some time at a friend's house who has a 3-year-old. She has way more baby dolls than Annika. Annika was so absorbed in playing with the dolls, holding them, feeding them, pushing them in the stroller, I realized I need to get her more. She has exactly two, and one of them is White. Thanks Mom.

Spending time with our little friend who is well-endowed with baby dolls made me realize that I have been remiss in searching for some baby dolls closer to Annika's color, so I checked at the few stores we visited this week.

I didn't exactly expect grocery stores and pharmacies to carry a wide variety of dolls, but I figured they would probably have a few white dolls and maybe one shade of brown.

None of them had any brown.

I felt, sad. Angry. I wondered if I should complain to the management, but I didn't really feel like it would do any good. The problem is not with the managers at a handful of local grocery stores in largely White Austin. 

This morning I did a search on Amazon and was sadly, sadly disappointed to find exactly one Bi-racial baby doll. Two things. First off, she costs $49.95 and secondly, she doesn't even look Bi-racial! She looks White with brown curly hair. I found this doll labeled multi-ethnic, when I searched for Bi-racial baby doll. Closer to Annika's color, but she comes with a pretty hefty price, at $98. Oh, and she comes with a storybook and self-esteem poster too! Thanks for assuming my "multi-ethnic" child has self-esteem issues.

So, short story, when I look at run-of-the-mill stores for a baby doll for my daughter, I can't find one. When I search Amazon for Bi-racial baby doll, I come up with "Your search did not match any products." But they give me plenty of White dolls to choose from. A search for Bi-racial doll comes up with exactly three dolls
all priced between $50-$100.

I followed a few other links and found some Black and Bi-racial baby dolls. Amazon has several multi-ethnic dolls. Way to cover all your bases doll companies.

The thing is, I don't like to shop. I don't want to have to research buying a doll for my daughter. But it looks like I'm going to have to. Pretty ridiculous.

I know that there are going to plenty of dolls to choose from once I find them, and I'm sure they won't all be so high dollar. But it sure would have been nice to be able to pick up a cute little $5 bean bag doll at the grocery store.

My daughter is NOT the color of food

I think I finally get it. At least -- as much as a White person can "get it." And I'm even going to attempt writing about it, even though I'm not sure I can explain it.

Yesterday a White woman casually referred to Annika as "caramel-skinned."

She wasn't being racist or malicious. But in some ways that is exactly the problem.

She was reminding me that we'd met before and in her attempt to describe Annika she used the phrase. Likely it's her uber-liberal, supposedly open-minded way of attempting to connect to people of color without using such banal terms as "Black" or "African American."

I'm not a big fan of such terms as descriptors either. Not that there's anything wrong with saying them. What it comes down to is that they're overused, not that they should be changed to something less baggage-filled.

Living in Detroit for nine years, I got schooled in all the subconscious slights that we Whites/Caucasians make toward Blacks/African Americans.

It's not real racism. It's the kind of undercurrent that we (Whites) completely miss. It's so ingrained in us that it's normal that we don't understand some of the hostility we receive. Hell, a lot of the hostility that's doled out is subconscious and ingrained as well.

Toyin and I have had some pretty enlightening conversations about race.

But even so, since becoming Annika's mother, I have been on the end of such missteps by other White folks and actually felt the icky feelings.

When I was still pregnant I overheard a White woman telling a little girl that she liked her "puff balls."

She was talking about her hair.

I'm sure the woman meant no harm, but I was irritated as fuck by it. And I didn't even know the little girl.

Later on in my pregnancy I was taking a trip to see Toyin in Detroit. On the airplane I was sitting next to a White woman about my age and we got to chatting. She was a mother of two, so she was interested in hearing all about my birth plans and the father of my child.

As mothers do, we fell into talking about things that most strangers would not talk about, TMI subjects like poop, childhood bi-polarism, pregnancy sex, and then lice.

I had mentioned that Toyin was African, so she knew that I was carrying a bi-racial child.

When the topic of lice came up, I said, "Ooooh, that sounds gross. I so hope I never have to deal with that."

She replied, "Oh, no, you won't. They (lice) don't like horse hair."

I couldn't breathe for a few seconds. I felt like I had been kicked in the gut. Did she just compare my child's hair to animal hair?

Yes, yes she did.

I stuttered for a few seconds and said something that passed for a response.

She looked uncomfortable. We talked for a few minutes to pretend like nothing had happened. Then we fell into a silence for a time.

She probably didn't mean anything by it. It was probably so ingrained in her upbringing and since I am White, she fell into the trap of saying racist things to other Whites without fear of indignation.

And in case you're wondering, as Toyin did. I did not misunderstand her. It just reminded me that it was a common comparison that I had heard growing up in west Texas.

So, back to the overuse of the terms, African American and Black.

Nothing wrong with it, when used correctly or in the right context. But as Toyin explained to me once when I told him I didn't see anything wrong with using them as descriptors he said to me, "Yes, but why does it always have to be the first descriptor. How often to you describe someone as the White person? You would use the hair color, or height or what color shirt he/she is wearing." 

This might seem benign to some. I can say that at some point in my life, it certainly did to me.

But now, as a mother, I have begun to see how what others think of you can define you in many ways. It takes a strong and mature person to fight against stereotypes and even then, people don't always manage to fight them successfully.

So, really, changing her descriptors to something that sounds sweet or delicious doesn't change the fact that you are using her skin color to describe who she is.

Go fly a Kite

Toyin and I took Annika to the annual Zilker Park Kite Festival today for some fun, sun, and toddler running.

She wasn't that impressed with it. The festival was super crowded. Annika reacts to crowds much the way I do. They slow her down. She gawks at everything. She is overstimulated and can't really enjoy the festivities. So we didn't stay very long.

Once we had made our rounds, we headed back to the car. As we picked our way through the crowds of cars, families, dogs and random kite strings in our path, I overheard a snippet from a father who was clearly at the end of his rope. He was semi-chasing his son, who was around 5 or 6, with a candy bar. Shoving it up against is mouth and loudly saying to him, "Just open your mouth and TAKE A BITE!"

As the mother of a picky eater, I had to laugh. Before I had a child, I might have wondered what on earth was possessing this man to try to force-feed his kiddo a candy bar. I may have even given him a dirty look and then spewed things about terrible parents and child abuse.

But not now. I've never had to force feed candy to Annika. That's the one thing she will gladly eat. But I have been known to chase her with food.

This poor dad, he'd probably been trying to get his kid to eat all day then finally broke down and bought a candy bar, thinking his son would eat that and at least he'd save him from malnutrition for another day.

"But I don't LIKE peanuts!" the son wailed as we passed them by.

"JUST TAKE A BITE! IT'S ONLY PEANUTS!!"

My guess is that dude is having a huge drink right about now.

Anyhoo.

We had parked at Toyin's office building right up the street. Annika really wanted to go inside and go up the elevator. Figures. Take the kid to a kite festival with junk food and bouncy castles, but she just wants to go press buttons in an office building.

So we did that and then we went to eat Chinese food at our favorite Chinese buffet.

The best part of the day was when Toyin made a mini ice cream cone as we left and Annika stood outside learning how to lick the "cream."

Thinking about weaning, and thinking about not weaning

I always thought I would let Annika nurse until she was done. When Annika was an infant, I had no intentions of even night weaning.

But this past week I've been seriously considering weaning completely.

This topic has been no different for me than all of the other choices I have had to make when it comes to parenting. One minute/hour/day/week I want to go one way, then I think about it and I can't decide if that might be harmful for my child. So, I put off making a decision. Then I get frustrated with it all and go back and forth, back and forth.

There are no easy answers for these things.

I didn't read up much on nursing because I thought I knew it all. My mother was a La Leche League leader when I was a kid. Ever since I can remember I heard how great nursing was. I was nursed until I was 3.

I thought my decisions on nursing were set in stone. It was a relief to think that at least ONE thing I didn't have to make a decision about.

The idea of mama-led weaning seemed laughable to me. Until this week.

Annika still nurses as much as seven or eight times a day. She's been sick this week and it has been that much or more on the days when we are home most of the day. I did not think that Annika would still be nursing this much at this age. I had always heard that during the second year kids usually drop down to two or three times a day, usually surrounding sleep. I thought that was the natural progression.

Even in my peer group, where most of my mama friends still nurse their toddlers, it's not typical to see them nursing in public.

Some moms make a point to stop nursing in public in the course of the second year.

I never even thought I would do that. And I haven't so far.

For the most part Annika rarely asks to nurse when we are out and about, which is why most toddlers aren't seen nursing in public. They just don't think about it. If Annika does ask for it, it's because she sees another kid nursing and even then she only nurses for a minute or two. If we do nurse out of the house, it's usually in the car before leaving somewhere.

But lately I have gotten so frustrated with nursing that I started thinking about weaning.

I picked up a couple of books (How Weaning Happens and Mothering Your Nursing Toddler) from the South Austin API book library. It's a local group I'm a member of.

I only read the first page of How Weaning Happens and I started to cry. All of a sudden all my frustrations began to become reality. What got to me was a passage that said weaning was equivalent to a mother's rejection of her child.

It had taken some time, but I realized that what was frustrating me was not that Annika still wants to nurse. I think it's that I'm not doing something right or I'm missing something.

I don't know what it is, or if that's even the case.

But I wonder if Annika is getting all the nutrition that she needs. She must be missing something if she still wants my milk so much. She also refuses to eat enough solid foods. Or maybe I'm not giving her enough attention, or the right kind of attention. Being with a toddler all day is exhausting. It's not the same kind of exhausting as a baby.

Babies are at least easier to interpret. Babies need four things. Food, sleep, diaper change, or holding. Toddlers need those things, but they also need mental stimulation. They want you to sing with them or to them. They want you to dance with them. They want you to give them food. Then they throw it on the floor. They want you to play games and read books. They want to leave the house. But then when you are ready to go they don't want to leave. You spend all day cajoling, helping, stimulating, feeding, dressing and undressing.

And then on top of it all, parenting experts tell you that you have to set "loving limits." What the hell does that even mean??

So I wonder if I'm setting the "right" limits around nursing. I don't want to give Annika the wrong signals. But I also don't want her to think I'm rejecting her.

As I write this I'm still at a loss. A big part of me says that I should just continue down this path and let her determine when she wants to nurse. We've night weaned and even though she still asks to nurse at night, she has stopped fussing and mostly it seems to be mumbling in her sleep out of habit, and not actual wakings.

So that's the one limit I've set and I wonder if I should be setting any more limits. After all, they grow out it.

Right?

Right?

A good relationship with Annika is my "good enough"

Over the weekend I met with my Personal Renewal Group to discuss this month's topic: Good is good enough.

I hastily read the chapter the day before our meeting. It did not resonate with me in the slightest, so I skipped all the questions and journaling exercises. The author was talking about her perfectionist attitudes about always wanting more. Never being satisfied with what was already good in her life.

As I sat listening to my friends talk about how they were hard on themselves, I realized I had misinterpreted the chapter.

In the chapter, the author talks about how she was always wanting more, more, more. How she never felt like she had done enough for a client and always thought the next thing would make her life better.

I am not that much of a perfectionist, so I didn't think the chapter applied to me. I didn't get it.

What it was saying, as my lovely friends explained to me, was: My good is good enough. If something in my life that I have labeled as good, is good, then all is well with the world.

I realized I needed to define my good enough so that when I'm getting down on myself for not having things as I would like them, I have something to fall back on.

Right now my good enough is just having a good relationship with my child. I have other goals for the future, but right now my goal is to set a secure base for Annika as she grows up.

I forget that sometimes and I get irritated that I can't get other things done. Sometimes Annika wants sooo much attention, just sending a quick e-mail or cooking an easy dinner can be an hour-long task.

This week Annika has been sick and it's been like that times 100. The clinging toddler was really starting to get to me.

Then I remembered that I needed to look at what was good today, right now.

Right now I have a good relationship with my daughter. The reason I chose the path I'm on right now is because I wanted that.

My other goals are on my priority list, but I only have a set amount of time to build my daughter up, construct a good relationship with her, and give her a secure base to hold on to when she approaches the world on her own.

So we left the house, and instead of gritting my teeth, I sang a song, I made faces at her in the mirror. I took her to the park. We played and ate. And when she insisted that she did not want to leave the park even though she was bleary-eyed and yawning, instead of getting angry, I held her close and whispered in her ear as I walked quickly to the car. There have been way too many screaming and struggling trips to the car lately.

So what's my good enough? It's always changing. I realize that. But for right now, today and tomorrow and then next couple of years, my good enough is to have a thriving and healthy relationship with my daughter. It's hard for me because I didn't/don't have that. I don't have a good model. So I need constant reminders and I have to read a lot of books to help me along this path.

As she gets older and more independent, I'll have time for other things.

But for now, that's my good enough. The rest of the world can wait. Every day when I get up and I spend time with Annika I remind myself that I'm doing this for a reason.

What's your good enough?

Just one of the things nobody warns you about parenthood...

I've been keeping a mental list of the things that nobody warned me about parenthood. (Okay, okay, I've got a long list documented on my computer just in case I ever find someone to blame.) But ANYWAY this one was just too pathetic not to share.

Yes, I drew that. Being a parent makes you revisit all the things you were really bad at when you were a kid. Let's just say none of my teachers ever told me I should take art classes.

When Toyin stopped by tonight to pick Annika up, he saw this and said, "Oh, Mommy drew a cat."

No.

It's a pig.

I was doing okay until I had to draw the body.

Here's hoping that I never have to write out notes to any of Annika's teachers when she starts school. I really don't want to get red penned for my handwriting again.

Holding puke in my hand, a definitive mommy moment

If I wasn't sure before, I am now. Yes, I am wholeheartedly a mom.

A mom who wipes foul-smelling poop off of another person's butt and makes jokes while doing it. A mom who doesn't bat an eye at human feces on my living room floor. And now, a mom, who in the middle of the night, catches a handful of vomit in my hand and instead of being grossed out, happily holds it as proof to my daughter that I am in control and I will always take care of her.

Well that, and giddy with the knowledge that I won't have to change the sheets.

Annika has a had a nasty cough for the last couple of days so she's having trouble sleeping. Last night she went back to sleep easily after a couple of night wakings, but around 3 a.m. she awoke and informed me that she wanted food. I was prepared. I grabbed a small bunch of green grapes out of the fridge and we sat in the middle of the bed while she munched them down and drank some cool water.

Then she began coughing again. With the coughs up came everything she had just eaten.

It all happened so fast, I can barely believe that my first instinct was to reach out and put my hand under her mouth and catch the puke as it came boiling back up her esophagus.

But I did.

I grinned to myself as I carried the puke to the bathroom sink and told her I was going to bring a towel. It was such a mommy moment.

Really though, the best part was afterward. She stayed awake for almost two more hours, talking, singing, making requests and fighting sleep. Something about catching that puke gave me a pool of patience. I felt like one of those super patient mamas who only has kind words and cuddles for her babies.

The girl in black: I introduced Annika to Johnny Cash last week. She thoroughly enjoyed his music. Today she picked this outfit out. Kinda spooky.

Sleeping at night, part 50 million

I don't really know what number post this is about Annika's sleep habits and I really don't feel like going back and counting them. Annika's sleep has changed again. And as a new mom, this is the kind of story I needed to hear. So here goes:

Annika has been a horrible sleeper since about 6 months old. The first few months of her life she awoke twice a night, usually around 1 a.m. and then around 6 and then slept until about 9. It varied occasionally to 2 and 4 a.m. but for the most part it was great. Sometimes I got the feeling that other parents didn't believe me when I told them that my newborn slept great. But mostly I heard, "Wow, you're so lucky." Little did I know that I'd hit a (really long) stage where I got woken up every hour, or even more often during rough patches.

But anyway, we've reached a new stage. Finally. From what I've heard from other moms and in my own experience somewhere around 18-20 months seems to be a benchmark in sleep changes for babies who are attached and co-sleeping.

Annika is no different. She is finally sleeping harder, more like a real person, without the fluttery light sleep stages that wake up her needing to be comforted back to sleep. She's rolling over and cuddling up to a pillow, and when I get out of bed she's continuing to sleep.

It is sheer heaven!

We started night weaning in December. It went really really well.

The first week.

Then she got a cold and I couldn't say no to her when she asked to nurse in the middle of the night.

When she recovered she was more aggressive about wanting to nurse in the middle of the night. We had several nights, off and on, when she ran around the room screaming. Annika is very intense when she's pissed. She's also tenacious. She digs in and insists that she gets what she wants. It's a characteristic I admire in her; something I hope will serve her well as an adult. As a toddler, however, it's  frustrating. My neighbors upstairs probably think I'm abusing her in the middle of the night.

I've had several nights where I've felt abusive. I've yelled at her. I've gotten up and left the room for a few minutes to calm myself down while she screamed.

I've beaten myself up over this night weaning crap over and over again. I didn't ever plan to night wean. I've heard stories of attached moms who just kept nursing their kids at night until the kid started sleeping.

More power to them. Rock on mamas. I am not that strong.

My back hurts. My neck hurts. My nipples are irritated. I want to be able to get up to pee without a screaming toddler running into the bathroom and demanding to nurse. I want to sleep.

I've also wondered if her own sleep is suffering because she's waking up just as much as I am. She's not eating properly. I've watched her energy drain quickly and I wonder if she slept better and ate more, wouldn't she feel better during the day as well?

But something snapped in her this week. It's like she finally figured it out after being told over and over: "Nighttime is for sleeping. We can nurse in the morning." It's become my nighttime mantra.

Last night I put her to sleep without nursing. I've done it before, but only after an hour or longer of nursing and no end in sight.

Last night was different. After we read books, I turned the light off and nursed her while I sang a few songs. Then I told her we were going to try sleeping without nursing. She whined and I told her that we were just going to try it out.

To my utter and sheer surprise, she agreed and pushed her back into my chest and started whispering. "Cow, pig, sheep." She was listing her animals that were sitting on the nightstand watching over her.

So we listed several things. Animals, Sesame Street characters, Mommy, Daddy, Baltar, Annika, ABCs, colors, numbers. Eventually she drifted off. Her body felt heavy against mine, like a hibernating bear. I don't think I've ever  felt her like that before. Her sleep has always been light and airy and just the whisper of noise or movement awoke her.

When Annika was an infant I used to ask moms all the time about sleeping habits. I wondered when they changed, if they just did, or if there was some magical secret.

Then last night as I lay in bed with my sleeping big girl who is no longer a baby (and it still trips me out that she is so big now) I realized the answer to my questions.

As parents it is our job to give our children the openness and security to explore the world. But when it comes to things that they need, it is our job also to guide them toward it in a loving and (sometimes firm) manner. There's no rule set in stone about when or how it happens. It is our job as parents to get to know our children well enough that we can figure that out.

So, for any new parents out there. It does get better. When you are deep down in it, it really doesn't help to hear that. But you will come through it, torn and tattered, lean and rock solid, ready for the tougher challenges that lie ahead.

The soothing stirring of homemade soap and sour cream sauce

My love of soap making began when I started making homemade chicken (sometimes spinach mushroom) enchiladas with sour cream sauce.

This may come as a surprise to those who know me best and know that my favorite movie is Fight Club. But my desire to learn how to make soap did not come from Tyler Durden, although, I do think it would be super awesome to sell rich women's fat asses back to them in the form of cosmetic soap.

But really, I love to make soap because I love to stir. Soapmaking is about four percent ingredients and about and hour or two of stirring. I figure I must have been a witch in a former life (shut up Toyin) because I feel so very at home standing over a simmering pot.

This is not something I figured out early on in life. It actually took many years of stirring that sauce to realize how much I loved it.

My first go around with making those enchiladas with sour cream sauce ended up with way over-spiced enchiladas; a huge fight with my new (now ex) husband; tears; a night out at a bar drinking with a strange man; and watching a middle-aged Japanese woman shoot a cut up banana out of her twat. But that's a story for another day.

The enchiladas got eaten. My husband and I made up, and eventually got divorced, but not before I continued making those damn enchiladas and stirring the sauce. And stirring it. And stirring it.

Then one day, years after that first time I made enchiladas, I was cooking them for a small dinner party and chatting with my best friend on the phone. It was likely that I was in a mellow state of mind at the time, which was pretty common for me after I got divorced and before I had a child. As I stood over the lovely mixture of sour cream, corn starch, spices and chicken broth I said to her, "Damn, I love to make sauce."

I don't know when I had realized it, but I did. I loved making that sauce. There was something so very soothing about watching the mixture glob together, become clumpy and then eventually smooth out. All I had to do was stand there, stare at it, and stir it.

I haven't made those enchiladas in a long time. Toyin is lactose intolerant so I never made them while we were living together. But I started learning how to make soap.

I made some soap last week. And don't you know, ever since I've had a craving for those damn enchiladas.

Proof that Annika is not just an extension of me

This week Annika has let us know that she's been paying attention to what's going on with her life. Out of the blue, she said to Toyin, "Annika two homes." Then a couple of days later she said it to me. We weren't talking about Toyin or homes or anything that would prompt it, so clearly, it's been on her mind.

This completely trips me out. My 21-month-old child has figured out on her own that she has two homes and has been thinking about it completely independent of any discussion.

I know that children are separate people from their parents; that they are not just extensions of us. Before I had a child it seemed pretty obvious.

But ever since I carried Annika in my womb for 9 months along with having her cling to me for literally all of her basic necessities like sustenance, help falling asleep, carrying her before she could walk, and soothing, and as she gained a bit of independence, still helping her transition from one state to another, guiding about 90 percent of her motions throughout life, it was hard to accept the reality that she truly is a whole other person.

Then bam! Just like that, she throws it in my face. "Hey Mom, I have thoughts."

Annika has her own thoughts.

Wow.

The past couple of months have clearly been difficult for her. She's apparently been processing our split. Almost three months after we moved into different apartments, she's figured it out.

"Annika two homes." 

I know at some point we told her that we would not be living together anymore, but at 19 months it must be a hard concept to understand. I mean really, think about it, the concept that you poop and pee in a bowl instead of a diaper is difficult to understand.

I can't even imagine how she finally came to the conclusion.

Toyin has been telling her that we go to Mommy's home and then to Daddy's home. I guess it finally sank in.

The notion that she's been processing our split and finally come to some conclusions on her own is also proof that sometimes parents really have no idea what kind of stuff their children are thinking about.

It gives me some clarity on why parents are often at a loss as to why their children behave in ways they don't understand.

It scares me a little to think that already my child has thoughts and problems weighing on her mind that I don't have a clue about. All I know is that I worried about our split and processed it pretty quickly. I suppose I thought she had done the same.

It's pretty cool that she told both of us what she's been thinking about. It's also proof that kids don't often make a big deal out of talking like adults do. Parents have to pay attention and snag the big stuff or it will get lost in the chatter.

This divulgence gives me even more incentive to stay connected to her, to stay close to her so that she will feel comfortable enough to talk to me whenever she needs help or clarity in her life.

I wish I had had that growing up.

My Dad told me once that he remembers when I was first in college, I came home one day and was moping around. He asked me what was wrong. I told him I was depressed. He said to me, "Oh, just get over it."

Yeah.

I'm not going to go there. 

The funny thing is, I don't remember the incident. But he does. Or, he did anyway. I guess even when parents don't say the right thing or know what to say, their kids problems stick with them.

As for me, I hope that even when I don't say the right thing, it will still be loving and obvious to Annika that I'm at least trying, that I love her unconditionally and that no matter how her life turns out or how she chooses to live, I will love her wholeheartedly.

One thing that I want to do differently than my parents did is to give Annika a secure base to work with so that she will always be on solid ground emotionally. I never had that. And it's the one thing I needed.

So, just what does an ear infection feel like?

I know you all are just dying to read more about my ear infection.

Okay, okay, I promise will be the last post about my puss-filled ear. In the meantime, kick back, grab a bag of popcorn because this is going to be just like an episode of Grey's Anatomy, minus the sex and angst.

Being naturally curious and also since I am attempting to be a mindful mother, I generally try to see the world through Annika's eyes as much as possible and it occurred to me that in some ways it might have been a blessing that I had this ear infection, in case Annika ever has one, I will know how she is feeling.

First off, I gotta say, if your kid has an ear infection, keep the pain medication coming! This is not one of those times that you should skimp on the ibuprofen thinking that it's not that bad.

It is that bad. Hell, it's worse. I was wishing for some Vicodin during the worst of it.

So here goes:

I started to feel a buildup of pressure on Friday afternoon and by the evening, my ear felt like something had crawled down inside it and was growing, it was clawing around inside my ear canal and scratching me, making me feel highly uncomfortable.

By Saturday, I felt achy, nauseous and had tremendous pain in my ear, and also along my jaw. My outer ear was swollen and red hot as well, but the worse part was the pain that was traveling up and down the left side of my face and shooting me in the gums. I also felt feverish off and on throughout the day. I never took my temperature. I think I only ran a low-grade fever off and on. The infection was sitting hard and clumped up right inside my ear canal. I could feel it in there. It felt like a big ball of gunk that needed to come out so like a little kid who can't stop picking at her scabby knees, I kept picking at it around the edges until Toyin threatened to take away my Yugioh card collection.

This whole thing started because I used some ear candles, and the jury is still out on whether I think that was a good idea. See, I had some ringing in my ears for several months and the ear candles were the second thing I tried, after using colloidal silver drops, which didn't seem to help.

I mention this because my ear infection was clearly brought on by something that a child would likely not do, and so some of my symptoms might be irregular.

My theory on this ear infection is that I had something infectious deep down inside my ear canal and the ear candles loosened it up.

By Wednesday the pain was completely gone, but the ringing is still there, it is localized right inside my ear canal where I could feel the infection sitting.

For several days every time I swallowed my ear popped and it felt like I was landing after a three-hour flight to nowhere.

If you didn't read my previous post about my trip to the pharmacy, I started taking Congaplex last Monday and started feeling tremendously better the next day. The pain is gone and now I just have this damn dead bug ringing in my ear. 

So there you have it. That's what an ear infection feels like. A big hot ball of dead bug that won't shut the fuck up.

It has now been 10 days and my ear is still plugged up but I am still waiting for all the gunk to come out.


It has been the most annoying and also the most painful thing that has happened to me in a long time. However, if the ringing goes away, which I am keeping my fingers crossed that it does, it will have been worth it.

Food standoff with a toddler

See that picture in my last post? The one where Annika looks like she's eating?

Well, it's real, but it's not typical.

This is what she usually looks like when she eats.

"I ain't too sure 'bout this here food thang Mama. Me thinks I'd rather just nurse."

Toyin is out of town this weekend and Annika decided to spend the day not eating, mostly nursing. She did eat a handful of trail mix and about half of a banana sometime around noon, then nap-nursed for two hours.

Tonight I spent about an hour trying to cajole Annika into eating dinner so I wouldn't get stuck with her sleeping with my breast in her mouth all night.

By 5 p.m. she was crying over things that she would normally laugh at. Throwing tantrums, whining and just generally fussing. She was hungry. I knew it. But how do I tell her that she will feel so much better if she just eats?

I know it's not that she doesn't like what I'm offering or that she doesn't feel hungry. I can offer her food and she'll refuse, but if Toyin walks in and picks up the fork and offers her a bite, she'll accept it gladly and continue eating. She just prefers to nurse. But at 21 months, nursing just ain't cutting it for her necessary caloric intake.

So tonight after spending the whole day letting her nurse as often as she wanted, and then enduring tantrum after tantrum, I got ready for battle.

"Ok, see here lil gal, you'se gone have ter eat yer dinner," I says to her, setting my body in a cowboy stance and lightly stroking my six-shooter.

The dust swirled around us. She stared me down and let out a yell that would peel the skin offen a wild cat.

"NUSE! MAMA!"

"Ok, lil girly, you kin nuse, but only after yer eat cher dinner," I says.


The screams became more gutteral.

"NUSE MAMA NUSE!"

I stepped forward locking my stance and staring into the sunset. Bedtime was drawing near and this lil cowgirl had not eaten but a stitch of food all day. Something had to give. I set my brow and hardened my stance.

I decided to sweeten the pot and offered her juice and a banana.

In an instant, something changed. I suppose my peace offering did the trick.

She gobbled down the banana and then grabbed her fork and began spooning down mouthfuls of pasta. She guzzled down grape juice.

I couldn't believe it.

The standoff had worked.

And I didn't even have to pull my gun out of the holster.

Having fun with leftovers

The only thing I have in common with Martha Stewart is the first name. I've never been much for cooking, much less anything else crafty around the house, but today, I got a yearning to have something yummy for dinner.

We didn't have much in the house that was easy and Annika seems to be tired of pasta lately, but she's on a cheese kick, which is nice because it's an easy way to some protein in her.

I had a stack of corn tortillas in my refrigerator that I had no idea what I was going to do with. Annika won't eat them and I'm about tortilla'd out and there's about 50 million of them left.

So I went to Allrecipes.com, and went to the spot where you list ingredients you want and don't want and then you get recipes. When I typed in corn tortillas, the second recipe on the list was chicken flautas.

I was pretty geeked about it. It's easy and everything in the recipe are things that are staples in my house, chicken, tortillas, cheese, cumin and salsa.

I whipped these together in less than an hour and felt pretty proud of myself. They were tasty too.

A different kind of healthcare reform needs to happen

Doctors should seriously consider moving in the direction of offering up alternative medicines, mostly to keep people like me from doing permanent damage to themselves out of ignorance and sheer obstinance.

Before I start in on my story, I should mention a couple of things. I'm a complex person. I like to think of myself as a relatively healthy person. I try to eat lots of fruits and vegetables. Ever since I watched Food Inc. I've started buying hormone-free meat. I make an effort to buy organic when the prices aren't more than the price of gold. I take vitamins every day. But as I sit here I've got a 20 ounce bottle of Mountain Dew sitting by the keyboard that I bought mostly because it is being sold for a limited time only, Mountain Dew throwback, Made with Real Sugar. I've also been known to polish off a bag of tortilla chips and salsa along with half a bag of Oreos and call it dinner, although that happens much more rarely since I've become a nursing mother.

Now that I've come out of the closet as a junk food junkie extraordinaire, let me tell you why I am just a little bit concerned that I might be headed on the path toward deafness and yet, I still haven't gone to see a doctor.

I don't have health insurance at the moment, but that really and truly is not the reason I haven't gone to the doctor for an ear infection that developed in my left ear over the weekend.

If I was on my deathbed, I'd shell out of my pocket to get some good drugs and whatnots to make me whole again. (Yes Larissa, the whatnots is just for you.)

But since I've become a mom, I've noticed a trend amongst mothers that makes a ton of sense to me. We are not rushing to the doctor every time our kids get sick because nine times out of 10 they will either over medicate or tell us to wait it out.

Most moms I know are a lot smarter and way more in touch with alternative medicines and home remedies than I am. Oh sure, I put on a good game face. I know lots of good words to throw out when people start talking about things they do to ward off infection. But the truth is I'm just shitting in the wind most of the time when it comes to this stuff and yet, I'm sick and tired of doctors! They shine some fancy looking equipment in your ears and mouth, listen to your back and then tell you that everything's fine and charge you 20 bucks.

Or, they hand you a fistful of papers with a lot of scribbling on it and god knows I wonder how the fuck the pharmacists can tell that I needed 2 four ounce doses of amoxicillin a day when all it looks like to me on the paper is tttt axlln, swoop, swirl and end it with a flourishing signature.

And let me tell you another reason why I am becoming less trusting in the whole medical establishment. I'm not even going to get started on medical interventions in labor because that would take this post in a whole nuther direction. (But that is one factor.)

Pharmacists.

That's right, those damn pharmacists will tell you something completely different than what your doctor told you. Once, when Annika was just under a year, she had a bit of a cold, which I would not have taken her to the doctor for, but Toyin was insistent. As usual, the doctor told me she was fine, but if it made us feel better I could give her some Benadryl.

So I went to the pharmacy and was about to buy it but the label said not for under two, so I asked the pharmacist and he told me that children under two could have seizures on the stuff. Turns out that was happening when people were overdosing their kids accidentally.

Today, I went over to People's Pharmacy to look into buying some garlic mullein ear drops which came highly recommended by a bunch of moms on an online listserv I am part of. When I asked if they carried them, the pharmacist who was assisting me asked me why I wanted them. I told her I was pretty sure I had an ear infection and they had come highly recommended.

"By who?" she inquired eyeing me with suspicion. Maybe she didn't trust me because I had a Bandaid over my ear. I mean, what am I, 3?

"Oh, some moms I know," I answered.

She squinted and scrunched her face up at me.

"Uh, really just some random people," I said uneasily. I mean for gods sake, the woman was wearing a white lab coat, I folded under the pressure! I started to feel like I was selling out. It was all happening so quickly!

"Well," she said. "Are you having any pain, fever or drainage?

"Yes," I mumbled, feeling like I was in the principal's office.

"Why do you have the Bandaid on your ear," she asked, looking me over pityingly and with a touch of scorn.

"Umm, you know, to keep out water, and umm, the wind," I added realizing that it was not raining outside. I wondered how she would look at me if she knew that I had a chunk of raw potato under the Bandaid.

"Would you be interested in taking a tablet?" she asked.

"Well, umm," I stared at the longed-for ear drops that I read wonderful reviews about on an unknown source's website. They must work, right? This guy had a great story about using them on a friend's daughter who turned out to have a bean in her ear.

"Let me take a look at them," I agreed. She convinced me to buy Congaplex tablets after I poured out the whole story of using ear candles, which made a bunch of wax come out and then started to drain and now I have an ear infection. After I told her the story she looked at me with more pity. I felt irritated. After all, I had bought the damn candles at this store.

I suppose the Congaplex tablets aren't so bad. I bought the drops as well since I am a rebel and I hate the establishment. But I think I'll wait a couple of days before using them to see if the tablets work.

My point is, if you can't already tell by this ridiculous story, is that doctors need to start considering other alternatives to antibiotics and decongestants with heavy side effects. I used to run to the doctor every time I got sick and I realized over the years that a lot of the medications I was taking were either overkill, or just gave me other problems that I had to deal with later.

Now, I turn first to Dr. Google.

Second, to my friends.

And third, doctors.

Shouldn't it really be the other way around?

Trial sleepover

This weekend an ear infection snuck up on me and Saturday at 6 p.m., after Annika had spent the day with Toyin, I called him and said I really needed him to attempt keeping her that night. I told him I was in so much pain and felt so crappy that I didn't think I could be a good mother that night.

He was hesitant to try it. He said he thought the plan had always been that would work up to it, but I was insistent. I could not be the nighttime parent tonight.

This wasn't how we had envisioned it. I'm not really sure how we envisioned it, but this was definitely not it. There would have been more planning and we would have talked to Annika about it. Other than that, I have no idea how it would go. Toyin hasn't put Annika to sleep in several months. He wasn't even sure what our routine was anymore.

For instance, he wasn't aware that she didn't really need to nurse to sleep anymore. I still do nurse her to sleep most nights, but occasionally nursing is just a distraction and she falls asleep without it. I imagined that he would do everything I do to get her sleepy, except nurse and then just cuddle her to sleep.

He asked me to bring a couple of things and leave them outside. I brought the stuff he requested along with her favorite books and a teddy bear.

He did not follow my usual routine. He stuck to his own regimen of walking, which is how he put her sleep when she was an infant. At first he drove her for a while. She got sleepy, but didn't fall asleep. Then he walked her around his building to and around the apartment until she fell asleep.

She awoke around 11 p.m. after falling asleep at 9.

He was able to get her back to sleep with more walking, but she awoke again at midnight and cried for 30 minutes before he called me and said he was bringing her home.

By then I had had several hours of uninterrupted sleep dosed up on ibuprofen and Vitamin C and I although I was not 100 percent, I was feeling much better and welcomed her home. She fell asleep after nursing heavily for about 20 minutes.

At that point I had not nursed since the morning and I was pretty engorged, so I was a little relieved to have her home. I guess even a part of me felt some reassurance that it wasn't so easy to stay over at Toyin's. She still needs me. 

This situation snuck up on us and I wonder in amazement that this is the first time in 21 months that I have been unable to care for Annika every single night.

I also wonder how things would go if I was totally incapacitated. She would be fine. Toyin would probably be in worse shape. He was pretty stressed about the whole situation.

So, now, I wonder when and if we should start hard core planning for her first real sleepover. Part of me is so ready for it I can taste an entire night alone in my own bed, able to be loud in the house, able to do whatever I want without worrying that she will wake up and need me.

But the other part of me, the mama bear in me, says, no, she's not ready. We should wait until she's completely ready and even excited at the prospect of spending the night with Daddy.

But that could be another year or more.

I would love to hear and suggestions or ideas for helping us transition Annika to the idea of spending the night at dad's.

Making yoga a priority

I've always had bad posture. When I was a kid my parents were constantly telling me to sit up straight.

As an adult I ignored my poor posture until I had a knee injury and I realized my weak knees were affecting more parts of my body than just my knees. I learned how to stand without locking my knees and pull my chest back so that my back wouldn't feel so much pressure. Even so, I knew I should be doing more to strengthen my body.

When I went through my divorce, 10 years ago, I bought a yoga book and began doing the poses at home. It always helped me feel better, but I could tell that I wasn't getting the full benefit of the stretches.

All of my varying jobs in the past 15 years have been sitting in front of a computer, which means my back developed an (un)healthy habit of eight-hours-a-day-hunched-over typing and staring at a screen.

After Annika was born last year, I spent so much time holding her and nursing that my poor back and shoulders began to stiffen up and I felt like my mass of back and chest muscles were turning to stone, more like rounded marble. Chiropractor sessions and acupuncture helped, but it seemed more like a patch than a cure. I began to feel like I was turning into a hunch-backed old woman. 

For 10 years I've wanted to do yoga. I wanted to do it really well. There is something about the mind body connection of yoga that really draws me to it as a form of exercise.

So why didn't I bother to sign up for a class?

I realized that I haven't ever made self-care a priority. Before I was a mother, when I got stressed out I'd take a sick day, or a vacation and enjoy myself to the point of exhaustion. But now I've realized, as my friend Tareeshia (yes, that's really her name, and no, I did not misspell it) says, being a mother is relentless.

You can't take a sick day. You can't just take off for a weekend or plan a week-long of self-indulgence. Self care has to become a priority and part of your routine. It can't be something you put off.

In my post yesterday, (which was supposed to be about yoga) I wrote about setting priorities and self care. For the past four months my lists of self-care activities have included yoga every time.

Then a friend of mine and her husband opened a yoga studio. I couldn't really give myself any more excuses not to go.

So finally, after 10 years of procrastinating and four months of putting it off, I finally went to a yoga class.

It was fan-fuckingtastic.