THAT Mom, an explanation

I got interrupted during my last post before I could get to the part about my being "that" mom. I was referring to the fact that I went through an entire (week) day without taking a shower. That felt like crossing a certain threshold. I can remember hearing my mom friends say, through the years, that they had days where they didn't take showers, but I thought that was like a myth. You know, like Big Foot or straight male hair dressers.

It's no myth. It's actually really easy to just pick something else to do besides shower. The obvious choice is to sleep. I used to be unable to sleep if I was not clean and smelling good, but now I just rub some of Sadie's spit up on my face and snuggle under the covers for any shred of shut eye. It's so totally insane how much I covet sleep. There must be a better way to do this. I keep meaning to look up what anthropologists or Biblical scholars say about why the sleep piece is so difficult with a human newborn baby. When the baby wakes after 1.5 hours in the middle of the night and I am in my darling toile rocker wondering how a baby can eat through two breasts at 3:00 a.m. AND at 4:30 a.m., my mind goes to strange places. Some of them are dark. I wish I had religion in those dark and desperate hours. Anne Lamott's Operating Instructions, the journal of her son's first year, is like a Bible of sorts to me these days. I envy her deep religious beliefs, which led her to think about Jesus' compassion on those long colicky nights with her son. I mostly just think that I am going to go insane from the strange burden of being on call all night long with my breasts exposed and my baby daughter crying out for reasons that are more mysterious than whatever reasons made my ex-boyfriends date me when so many of them were clearly gay. (They had to be or why would they break up with me.)

So, I look for religion. Then I think bitter and vengeful thoughts about people whose children sleep through the night. Out of my reverie Sadie may made a heartbreakingly vulnerable sound that reminds me why I am sitting on a toile chair with a burp cloth on my shoulder. Sadie. Oh, you're still here. I like to ask her in a sing-song voice -- since babies allegedly love the sing-song voice-- what it feels like to have a self-obsessed martyr for a mother. Then I tell her that I will work as many jobs as I need to in order to be sure that she can have a great education, go to summer camp, and have as much therapy as she wants. It's the least I could do.

Last night, my entire world tilted when Jeff suggested that I sleep for the night on our first floor and let him handle the night feedings with Sadie. I was just ragged and twitchy enough to take him up on it. I figured it might feel far away to be two floors from my family for the night, but it would be closer than the psych ward, which was my next stop. I fed Sadie at 10ish and then she and Jeff said goodbye and left me in the quiet darkness surrounded by nothing but pillows and my own thoughts. Luckily, I fell asleep right away. I slept from 10 until 4, when I could hear Sadie crying upstairs. I tried to pretend I didn't hear it so I could keep sleeping, but I am pretty sure that biology is rigged so that a mother can't "forget" her baby crying once she hears it. I went upstairs to visit Jeff who was giving Sadie a bottle. I am pretty sure Jeff hadn't slept much at all since we parted at 10, but he was sitting up looking competent and happy anyway. That's the good thing about parenting with someone who used to do M&A work for a large law firm-- he's used to no sleep for days on end. God bless him for being able to run on no sleep and still be nice. The first time I worked an all nighter at work I wanted to quit. Not just the job, but the whole human race. I am not cut out for work that happens after the sun goes down.

And then I became a mom.

After our 4 am visit, I ended up downstairs again sleeping until 6:45 a.m. So, today was a very blessed day. The sharpest edgy desperation lifted with that spell of more sleep than I have had since Sadie was born. I felt lighter and more positive about everything. When I relieved Jeff at 6:45 a.m. I felt so happy to hang out with Sadie. We had a great morning-- I took 400 pictures of her, 3 of which are actually in focus. For the first time ever, I laid Sadie on the bed and she just laid there turning her head toward the night. No crying or fussing. Just hanging out. I never thought we'd be able to do that. At one point I picked her up so that she would know that I was game for doing the whole cuddling thing, but she didn't want to cuddle with me. She wanted to lay on the bed while I folded the clothes and sang old New Order songs to her. It was simple and it was a blast. Moments like that will go a long way on the road to having a normal schedule and having her sleep 7 hours at a time.

I also did a little fashion show for her. I showed her how my pre-pregnancy jeans do not yet fit me, which wasn't a huge surprise. It's only been 4 weeks. I do wish the swelling would go down so I could wear my engagement and wedding rings. I think it's been long enough and I am ready to get my bling back on. Other than that, I am happy to run around town in Old Navy jersey skirts and flowy dresses. Jeff says that my swelling will go down when I get to exercise. Judging by how much my uterus still hurts, it's going to be a while before I can really do any cardioo exercise. Right now, walking to the train and getting to therapy is about as ambitious as my fitness plan gets.

Oh, and speaking of therapy, whose idea was it for my therapist to be out of the office for THREE (3) weeks in September? That person needs to be booked on one of those flights that sits on the runway for 9 hours, in a seat next to a toilet that overflows. It's a bad idea. What if I develop serious post-partum depression? I am an overwhelmed, overtired new mom and now my therapist is leaving for three weeks. As the kids say, WTF. In all fairness to him, he is having surgery, so it's not like he's taking the money I give him and going to Bermuda, but hearing he's having surger is not exactly comforting, especially when I have a tendency to think about the worst case scenarios. There are moments in my toile chair when I think about him being in hospice and my having to look for a new therapist with all the other things on my plate. It's not like I imagine him having hair plugs or his appendix taken out. Behind my jokes that he's getting his nose done is a vibrant hum of neurotic fear that he'll die on the table, which would be terribly inconvenient for me and probably not good for Sadie either.

So glad our work on my extreme thinking and my flair for making everything about me is paying off.

Am I THAT Mom?

Don't be deceived by how my arm looks in this picture. I am getting some serious guns from bouncing Sadie in her preferred style: bouncing in my arms up in the air. When the lactic acid builds up and I start to see stars, I sometimes try to "cheat" by putting her on my knee and bouncing her from there to give my arms a break, but she catches on in about 3 bounces and starts crying, so back up we go. I didn't know that having a baby would be the route to my Linda Hamilton biceps. Having a child is a full body experience and I am not just talking about the breast feeding.

Speaking of breastfeeding-- what a difficult and complex thing it is. Holy milk maids, it's really hard. At three weeks, I almost gave up because the pain in my right breast (that, incidentally we named Fred Couples after the famously down to earth golfer). Then, just like the nausea of the first trimester, it became bearable. Now, I almost can't tell the difference between Fred Couples and my left breast, which bears the name George Hincapie, after the hot cyclist. If someone asked me for advice on breastfeeding, I would say two things: 1. Get as much support as you can to hang in there because there may be a magic moment when the pain lightens and 2. Name your breasts after famous sports legends because it might just be ludicrious enough to help you shift into a more pleasant phase of a really difficult part of early motherhood.

Is it any wonder so few people ask me for advice?

Right now I am flush from victory. I have spend a great part of the day with Sadie, culminating in a new high: I comforted her to the music of my choosing (Michael Jackson's Man in the Mirror (or Baby in the Mirror at my house)) and she is now swinging peacefully in the swing while adult music is playing. What's this emphasis on adult music? Usually, when Sadie is around we listen to her CD. Her CD is a 5-track musical abomination-- it's actually "white noise," such as rain falling or a blow dryer. It's supposed to soothe Sadie by reminding her of the sounds she heard in the womb. All I know is that we have a copy of Sadie's Soundtrack in our house and in our car. Nothing like cruising down North Avenue to the rousing tunes of the blow dryer hoping that Sadie will STOP melting down long enough to catch her breath before I crash the car into the Hollywood Diner.

So, it's a big deal that I made an executive decision to sing actual music to Sadie and if she knew what was good for her she would surrender to sleep because I was going to just keep singing in her ear. My Michael Jackson falsetto impression isn't pretty. And, Sadie is smart so she surrendered quicker than ever to the sleep that she earned by listening to me sing. It's funny-- the books say that babies like to hear sing-song voices at this stage. I keep trying to think of songs to sing her her, but the only songs I know all the words to are just plain inappropriate. There are some Bible songs, but I feel guilty singing those to her since I can't say exactly where I stand on the Bible and then there's the whole "Sadie, your dad's Jewish," which would only further muddy the waters. Then, today this song from local band Moonshine Willy popped into my head. It's beyond inappropriate because it's about a woman who buried her baby alive. Um, nice, Christie. I tell myself it's ok because look at all those old fashioned lullabyes-- they are all about harm befalling little ones. "Rockabye baby in the tree tops, when the bough breaks the cradle will rock." That's really nice. Hey, everyone, let's sing songs about babies falling out of treetops. And then there's Ring Around the Rosie, which is a celebration of the plague, which basically oblitered the population of Europe. Looks like I am not the only one who has struggled with ambivalent feelings toward my offspring. I am in good company....with all of Western Civilization.

So, Sadie is sleeping away. We had a nice morning at the Green City market, which was so pleasant and happy and kid-friendly it almost broke my heart to be there. I felt so lucky to be sitting in the shade with a sleeping Sadie, hanging out with a good friend, surrounded by all manner of organic food stuffs, watching dozens of kids run around in the cool breezes. How could I improve on that in any way?

She's doing great taking the bottle and we can spend more time with her where she's just hanging out with us. Every now and then it looks like we get a smile from her. Usually she smiles when she's sitting on the changing table, which may be because she associates that with having her diaper changed and being warm and cozy. I love just hanging out with her and the times when she's crying are getting easier to handle. When I start to get edgy and desperate with a desire for her to STOP. CRYING. RIGHT. NOW. I visualize her working out some emotion or energy that is really none of my business. I can picture her and her Higher Power deciding that crying and screaming is the next right thing for her and my job is to let go-- once I am sure she is safe, fed, burped, comforted, and I have made my presence known, my job is to back off. Her spells of discomfort seem to pass more quickly when I keep my cool and trust her little process. Easier during the day than at 4:00 a.m., but I am working on finding my mama zen place at any hour of the day.

YaYa and Pops Visit

Sadie had her first visitors from the southside of the Mason Dixon line. My parents, YaYa and Popps, came to fawn over their newest grandchild. Grandparents sure have a way with grandchildren, and Sadie is loving the new attention and the new tricks my parents have brought. Their skills have been honed by Preston, Patrick, and Lucy, my siblings' kids who were kind enough to break everyone in before little Sadie arrived with her cry that could clear a crowded auditorium!
The consensus is that Sadie has my hair line and my pouty style when she's about to start wailing. She's been a real trouper-- having her first restaurant meal at Wishbone and her second at Bongo Room. She's a big fan of a brunch menu. Speaking of menus, Jeff and I had our first post-Sadie's-birth date last night. We went to dinner at Buona Terra in Logan Square while my parents babysat Sadie for us. We were gone about 1.25 hours and the report is that Sadie slept the whole time. Jeff and I toyed with the idea of going out again tonight, but I confessed last night that I am too plum tired to go out again. I really just want to hang out and have someone cook for me so I can eat it on the couch in my milk-stained clothes with my disheveled hair thrown in a pony tail. Ah, the magic of asking for what you want and throwing in a little something about your recent "major abdominal surgery"-- it really opens doors.
It was great to see my parents with my daughter. And don't think that my bawling my eyes out every night is a sign it didn't go well. It did. Something about being the middle part of three generations just really gets me. Then, my mom brought a DVD she made last fall for my father's 65th birthday, which showcases all of the parts of my dad's life, complete with 800 pictures from his rural Texas roots, through Vietnam, the early family years, and through the current time. I cried from the minute it started. We watched it twice through and I cried all the way both times. I am not sure what's up with the waterworks but there is something about family and connection and healing and hope and, as always, the sheer exhaustion which has always been a stimulus for my tears.

My parents stayed at a cute little B&B in Wicker Park and made themselves available to whatever we wanted or needed the whole time they were here. I really appreciated it and while it was hard not to play hostess or have a bunch of stuff planned for all of us, I was grateful they were cognizant of my somewhat diminished physical capacity and were happy to sit and hold Sadie for hours at a time.

There's way more feeling stored up about all of this, but my bed is calling and Sadie has grown fond of waking up at about 4:45 p.m. I have to get my beauty rest. Sadie also slept for 6 hours yesterday and that was a revelation to me. She then followed that up with 2 stretches of 3 hour sleep. If I seem like I am obsessed with sleep, I am. Good catch!

Multi-tasking

Moms are famous for multi-tasking; it's practically a cliche. I think I am being initiated into the art of multi-tasking, and to brag for a moment, I am getting good at it. Yesterday, I was able to walk around with Sadie while breastfeeding. Yes, nursing my 3-week old daughter while moving both of us from the first floor to the second floor. All me. Kind of creepy, but when time and expediency matters, I let myself be as creepy as I need to be.

And, right now. Sadie is sprawled out on my lap and I am typing away. I can Facebook and mother at the same time. I can take a phone call while nursing. It's the little things in life.

Today is Sadie's three-week birthday. Three weeks ago today I was itching like a flea-infested dog because the post-op drugs had the side effect of making every inch of my swollen body tingle and demand a good old fashioned scratching. How lucky for my hospital visitors to see that show! I believe the last of our visitors were leaving right about this time and Jeff and I were settling in to our first night with Sadie. How how good you have it when you are in the hospital with 24-hour care! I can hardly believe that was only three weeks ago! Sadie's little cheeks are getting fuller and she can sleep for pretty long stretches of time, which makes everyone very happy. My nerves still jangle when she's crying and I can't tell why. I feel guilty for wanting it to stop, but it would be sort of cruel if I wanted my baby to cry all day, so I guess it's natural that I want my baby not to cry.

My favorite thing she does is wake up from her long stretches of sleep. She has a fairly elaborate method of waking up, that includes stretching out her arms and her legs over and over again. She makes the same faces each time: first she starts with a general yawn, and then she makes different faces with her lips, including this one face where her lips form a perfect little "O" as if she is trying to blow smoke rings. I am so in love with those little lips I can hardly keep myself from gobbling her up when I see her little O rings!

We have done a little research on babies and discovered some interesting information about how they process information that comes at them all day long. Turns out that babies are quite sensitive to emotional energy around them because they do not yet filter any information out. Because they lack filters, they absorb or take in everything going on at once. As adults, we can screen, filter, or ignore certain dynamics or people or energy fields. Babies can't. I think of the prospect of NOT being able to filter out certain aspects of the environment and I get overwhelmed and want to shut down and cry too. Poor little thing. Makes me think twice about where I will take her in the upcoming days and how I will respond to her reactions.

We also learned that when babies get overstimulated they cry in order to protect themselves and reduce the interactions. I do notice that when Sadie is crying heartily there is not much I can do to "reach" her-- the research I read said that's the point: She's trying to make herself unavailable until she can get comfortable or reduce the stimulus coming at her. Well, that's one possible explanation so long as I also rule out a loaded diaper or the ubiquitous gassy stomach possibility.

I find all the information about babies very fascinating. I mostly wonder how the hell anyone purports to know what is going on in babies' minds. I sure can't read Sadie's mind, though it's not for lack of trying. I like the explanations I have heard and they engender more compassion and empathy for the experience of being new on the planet, so there is no harm in just embracing it for now. I also wish I had gotten a Ph.D in early childhood development before having a child so that I would have more knowlege about what is happening. And, as always, I think that having more knowledge would give me more control. You would think that having an newbornn would disabuse me of that fallacy once and for all, but I cling tenaciously to the idea that if only I knew more, I could control this.

Sadie will have the last laugh-- there's no doubt about that!

Bottle This Feeling

Big big day at my house. For approximately 20 minutes, I left the house BY MYSELF. No other living being was with me. That's the first time in 3 weeks that has happened. And I liked it. I liked it a lot. I also cried for the first 12 minutes of my walk. It's so freaking emotional to do anything right now. I left the house because Jeff was giving Sadie a bottle of my breast milk so we could experiment with me being able to run errands without her or allow Jeff to take a night feeding or let my parents feed her during their visit this weekend so Jeff and I can go out alone. Before I left the house, I was afraid she wouldn't take the bottle and I would have to deal with my feelings of being trapped and needing some more space or having to confront using formula.

When I walked out of the house into the coolish August breeze and everything was still outside my front door, I felt afraid about letting her go, loosening my grip on her as her ONLY source of nutrients, food, and the comfort that comes from a full belly of milk and a full mouth of breast. It's my first letting Sadie go so that others can be important to her. It seems entirely appropriate that Jeff would be able to take a turn feeding our daughter, but for three weeks the role as the ONLY feeder had a psychological grip on me that I didn't know until I stepped out this morning.

I walked through my neighborhood at a slow pace, partly because I was crying and partly because I am still incredibly tender and sore and sometimes in pain from the C-section surgery. I called my friends and left messages about the heroic action I was taking by letting my husband give Sadie a bottle of my pumped breast milk. I finally got ahold of my friend Bobby who is a father of four with another little boy on the way. He was incredibly supportive of the process of having lots of feelings about letting go and letting Sadie have new experiences that do not include me.

I also had the pleasure of confronting my own control issues. It was suggested to us that I leave the house so that the baby can concentrate on the bottle and not be confused or sense that the breast was nearby. In all honesty, I left the house for my own sake because had I stayed, I would want to "consult" (read control) and interfere with the process because of course, who knows better than I. Turns out that lots of people know lots of things and I don't need to monopolize the information about Sadie's food or pleasures or anything else. Sometimes, I just need to get out of her way.

Jeff called my cell about 5 blocks into my walk and said that everything was great and that she sucked down the 2 ounces I pumped very quickly. In fact, he thought she might be still hungry so I should probably head home.

Ahhh, the universe has mercy on me. It was the best possible outcome. Sadie and Jeff managed the bottle just fine; I got to get out of the house to peruse the neighborhood for a few minutes on my own while connecting with another compassionate parent who has been around a block or two; and Sadie still needed me. When I got home, there was an empty bottle, a happy dad, and a drowsy, but still game for more food, baby.

This is so good. I am breathing more freely. I am feeling excited about not having to drag Sadie to every drug store, therapy appointment, and errand around town. The whole point of having Jeff home during the beginning of Sadie's life was to give him and her the chance to build a relationship. I don't need a psychology degree to tell me that allowing them some space where I am not hovering around is a healthy dynamic for my whole family.

Baby Sleeping

My two favorite moments of the day : when Sadie is fast asleep and I know that I can talk as loud as I want to crank up the stereo and she won't budge. It's the nearest bit of freedom I have these days and I really relish it.

Second, this afternoon I made lunch for me and Jeff and brought it upstairs on a tray. We were having a little picnic on the bed-- (Note to self: order new linens after we pass through the newborn phase)-- and Sadie was sitting on my lap just relaxing and looking at Jeff. I was able to hold her in my lap and eat my lunch, which was a new trick for both of us. Next thing I know, Miss Sadie, the Mistress of Manners, starts with her farting and suddenly there is literally poo coming out of the top of her onsie. By top, I am referring to the part by her neck. I have heard parents talk about this, but who can believe this is really something that a little person can do until it happens to you? I was wondering what it would take for her to sit with us while we relax and have a meal. Now I know: explosive diarrhea. Hell, I guess it takes what it takes.

And, because the poo bore a striking resemblance to the food I was eating, I wasn't sad to leave my half-eaten plate in order to change her and when we saw the extent of the damage, we went straight to the bath. Sadie still hasn't taken to the bath yet, but we hold out hope that one day she'll enjoy being submerged in lukewarm water and having her hair washed. I kept explaining to her that taking baths were just one of many things to come that we would subject her to that she would not necessarily like, but that we would insist upon. I love her and I love her when she calm and peaceful, but I really can't have her lounging around with her own feces caked on her hair and her ankles.

She's in one of her long nap stretches right now. It's really peaceful and I am glad she can settle down for these 3 and 4-hour stretches. And, not just so that I can get on line and order more comfy maternity leave clothes, but also so that her little brain can develop along with all the associated neurological systems. I have addressed the birth announcements, but fear that if I send them out this early-- before she's even three weeks old-- then people won't believe me when I say I am overwhelmed and maybe have a touch of the baby blues. Look, just because I am organized and want to get the word out about the baby does not mean that I am coasting along and don't need lots of love and support and encouragement from anyone and everyone.

Ta Daaaaa!

She's got flair, this little 9lb daughter of mine. Jeff captured her sense of drama in the latest photo shoot. This picture makes me laugh thinking about what kind of a personality she will have at 4 or 10 or 15. So far she seems curious, spirited, feisty, and very into automatic gratification. She's exhibiting more of my personality than Jeff's so far, much to my chagrin and amusement, depending on how much sleep I have had.

I have always known that change is very difficult for me. I don't like haircuts or rearranging the furniture or having a new schedule. It's no wonder that those little paragraphs in the parenting books about how a new mom may be "anxious, depressed, moody, irritable and struggling with the responsibility of caring for a newborn and the loss of her old life and freedom," applies to me with a shattering accuracy. Before Sadie was born, I skipped over those paragraphs, cockily assuming that having a great husband and a wide, competent and compassionate support network would bring me through with all smiles and a cute outfit everyday. And, while all those things are true, I have struggled to make sense of my feelings of sadness and despair when I wonder if I will ever sleep in again or if I will ever get to lose myself in the aisles of Dominick's grocery store by myself. I think the hardest part for me is the feeling that I always have a sense that there is a clock ticking and that at any moment the baby could wake and need to eat and for now, in these early exclusively breastfeeding days, it's all me. It intimidates me and brings up lots of feelings: I feel proud of my availability and my willingness to give her every single nutrient she needs; I feel happy my body is on board with my wishes to breast feed; I feel angst about how much my right nipple hurts; I feel resentment that no one else can do this at 3:00 a.m.-- and all of this I feel at an intensity of a 10 on a scale of 1 to 10. There rarely is a medium speed for me, and now it's all 10 or 0.

It's a confusing time. I thought I would feel differently about everything. I didn't know I would miss being alone in the car listening to the Indigo Girls and sucking on a Crystal Light from a straw. I had no idea that running through Filene's Basement or being able to decide on a whim to do something crazy-- like go to the Post Office-- would vanish and I would cry about it for a weekend. How could I know this? Now I can't imagine having whims that involve me being farther than 20 yards from Sadie. And, it's not exactly a complaint because what did I ever really get at Filene's and the post office always pisses me off with the workers' horrible attitudes and those long lines. It's not even that I wish I was doing something different exactly, it's more than my daily life is so radically unrecognizable from what it was on June 30, which was only about 5 weeks ago. I think I am adjusting the best that I can. I cry a lot, which helps me relate to Sadie. Just like her, sometimes I just need to blow off steam and let it all out. She does the the same thing sometimes and it's more tolerable to hear her cries when I trust her process of crying is as important as mine is. I never wanted to raise a daughter who was afraid or ashamed to cry. Happily, I can report that doesn't seem to be the case with Sadie.

I am also happy about the good humor I have about having breast milk all over my clothes. I don't bother changing them, because I will just get more clothes dirty. I do, however, plan to burn these early motherhood clothes because I wear the same few things all the time. It reminds me of the clothes I wore during my month-long backpacking trip through Europe. Man, if I ever saw those Birkenstocks and that green pocket tee from the Gap, I was going to spontaneously vomit. It's actually hard to look at the pictures to this day.

My favorite thing that Sadie is doing now is allowing me to cradle her and rock her after we feed. When I am trying to burp her, she always squirms so that her head ends up in the crook of my elbow so we can look each other in the eye. I talk to her all the time, but during those moments, I actualy shut my mouth and memorize the look at her face and the feeling in my arms because she won't be 9lbs forever and she won't be at my breast forever either. Those are the moments when I understand what is great about being a mom, especially Sadie's mom. I forget about the loss of solitude or the pain from childbirth and the whole world is just me and Sadie and staring into those deep blue eyes hoping I am worthy of what will develop into her love and affection of me. It's easier to talk about what I am missing because it's hard to describe this new relationship with my daughter. I want to get better at describing my love and attachment to her, but for now I will stick with the image of my little baby cradled in my arms and the hope that she can feel that I would do anything for her health, safety, and well being and that I will continue to work out my intense feelings about the relationship so I can remain ever present to her as we grow together.