Cattula

My Sweet Baby Boy

Somehow you are 10 months today.  I don't know how.  The days slip by.  We get up, we play, we have breakfast, you nap, we go to the park, day melts into evening, you drift off to sleep.  You wake during the night and cry out - to see if we are there, to see if you are not alone.  You are not alone little boy.  You are deeply cherished, deeply loved.

You pull yourself up to standing now - creep around the room holding onto furniture.  You marvel at big kids.  You long to walk - I can see it in your eyes.  You are slowly weaning - the fullness in my chest each morning tells me this is true.  You hold your own cups, drink from a straw, feed yourself.  The shadow of your baby days is slowly edging out of my life - to make room for the little boy, the young man you will become.

You love people.  You smile huge and clap whenever someone enter the room.  You are quick to anger, but also quick to recover.  Your laugh makes me swell with pride and joy.  Your tears make my chest ache.  There is no greater privilege than to parent you.  Thank you for coming, my sweet baby boy.

Weaning

That is the great topic on my mind of late. Breastfeeding has always been a love/hate thing with me. I love the hormonal surges of prolactin – the bliss I feel – the deep connection I have with Ben. I love when he cries and I can stop it so quickly just by sticking a boob in his mouth. I love that it is so good for him – will build up his immunity and help him develop.

But then – there is the hate. Sometimes I just don’t want to have someone attached to my body. I want the freedom to come and go as I please without accounting for how much milk is in storage before I go. I’ve never been able to get very far ahead w/pumping – so in a way – Ben’s need for breastmilk has been a bit of a leash for me.

I’m determined to make it to the first year – to August. But after that – then what? Ideally, I would breastfeed him another year. But given the frequency of Ben’s breastfeeding, I fear that will prolong the return of my fertility – and at 36 – how long is too long? A year is a long time to breastfeed. A year is a solid start. And yet I have guilt at the thought of stopping.

Ben will start preschool in the fall. I should keep going so he keeps getting immunities – to reduce his exposure to new germs. I shouldn’t take away the comfort of breastfeeding right when he is starting something new. But if I got pregnant in August – I would be on maternity leave over the summer and not need to worry about finding childcare then. And yet so much of this is out of my control.

Perhaps the best middle ground is to start weaning around his birthday and proceed with caution. See how he is doing and assess from there. Of course that flies in the face of my wanting the anwer and wanting it now – but then again – all of parenthood does!

Breastfeeding

I saw a post on a message board the other day. It was about breastfeeding and how this particular woman decided to stop because she didn't like the pressure of being responsible for all feedings. She had imagined parenting would be shared to a greater degree. And I could totally relate. There have been times when I have been frustrated with breastfeeding - wanted to sleep or leave the house without accounting for milk beforehand. But yet, I am still breastfeeding. And to be honest - I have had a relatively easy road. Ben latched well after the first couple weeks - and I never really had any pain. But I know several women who have quit only because they found the frequency of feedings, the extent of the committment, to be overwealming.

And what I am about to say is rather controversial. But I don't think feminism - as it is currently practiced - has really prepared us for the biological realities of parenting. The simple truth is - babies need their mothers in a primal, physical way. Of course they need their fathers too. But breastfeeding requires a physical committment to be near your baby - or at least a pump - for a year or longer. I can see how this physical need is both terrifying and overwealming - but I think surrendering to it helps you in larger ways surrender to your children. There is real beauty in sacrifice - a beauty we have lost as a society that focuses so much on pursuing individual happiness. There is a contentment - deep and solid - that comes from giving up momentary pleasures to be there for the ones you love. It is not easy - but it is worth it all the same.

6 Months (But it took me until 7 months to post it)

So I wrote this post when Ben was just turning 6 months - and it took me until now to post it - such is life with a baby!

Ben is now 6 months old. He is eating solid foods (rice cereal and oatmeal), making his first attempts at sitting, and teething on everything in sight (with one tooth peeking through his bottom left gums!). He is such a joy to be around – smiling, laughing and giggling. He is a total flirt – catching the eyes of strangers and unleashing his sly grin.
The other day we were in Borders and Ben had fallen asleep in his ergo. I was sitting back, sipping coffee and stroking his downy hair – his soft breath on my chest. It was one of those iconic moments – the kind you imagine when you think about having a baby.
A lady nearby was talking and her voice was raised just above the level of most conversations – so I found myself drawn to listening to her. She was describing to an older man how she did not have kids and could not imagine ever doing so. They would hold her back. She wouldn’t be able to go where she wanted when she wanted. She couldn’t imagine that kind of sacrifice would be worthwhile.
I looked up to see the woman who was voicing these thoughts and saw a couple nearby. Their hands were locked and they were gazing at me and Ben – having a serene, quiet moment together. I could tell they were imagining having their own children together, one day.
And I found I could completely sympathize both with the woman who found the thought of children overwhelming and the couple who longed for the day they would be parents. When I imagined having children, I was far more like that couple. I didn’t picture long nights and screaming that I couldn’t stop. I pictured downy hair and warm breath against my chest. But parenting gives you both. And I do ultimately think it is worth it. But I am glad that woman was wide eyed to the sacrifice. It is good to go in knowing that there will be struggle. But I suspect many go in blind – like I did – like that couple will. There are simply no words to describe the enormity of caring for another life – of putting your own needs on hold. But there is also no way to describe the joy that comes with being able to use the words “my son.”

Norman Rockwell We Are Not

Before I had a baby, I had these visions of family life.  They were like Norman Rockwell paintings - soft on the edges and full of nostalgia.  My husband and I would gather around the Christmas tree with our new baby, touched with bliss.  We never argued in these dreams.  We never disagreed.  And my fantasy baby certainly never had colic.  In fact, I'm amazed looking back how convenient my fantasy baby was.  I would rock the baby and place him or her lovingly in the crib for a long nap and then sneak away, undisturbed.  The fantasy baby never startled awake or refused to go to sleep in the first place. 

But the reality is my baby doesn't reliably nap - and even when he does nap they are often short.  Holidays are stressful because it is hard to schlep to the relatives houses with kids in tow.  And my husband spends more time driving me nuts than I ever imagined he would.

And yet there is bliss here.  Like today, on a trip to the mall with Ben, when I slipped into a dressing room to nurse him.  The moment he saw what we were up to, he flashed me a huge smile.  And then his body, limp on my shoulder after he fed, warm and heavy.  I breathed in his smell.  I love him so much.

Bliss is an island you find in the midst of chaos.  And having a family is almost never like a Norman Rockwell painting - but in a way, it is better.  Because sometimes you need the hard edges of life - the fight over the missing sock, the rat race to get out the door - to make you treasure the moments - the bliss - you are given.

18 Weeks

Ben is 18 weeks now (4 months) - he is at the point where it is easier to keep track of the months than the weeks.   He truly is a delight.  He loves to play with his hands.  Yesterday he discovered his feet and just started to reach for them - they will be in his mouth soon I am sure.  He is practicing rolling over and can do it by raising his legs up and shifting them to the side he wants to roll to - then the weight causes the rest of his body to follow.  He also will hold himself up on his elbows for brief periods of time when placed on his stomach.

I still struggle to keep from being cranky with Steve from time to time.  I guess the cumulative sleep deprivation really can take its toll.  I used to look at my friends and wonder why they seemed so stressed as parents.  I would think they should just relax and enjoy the moment - even if the laundry isn't done or the house is a mess.  But I now I know parenthood is like standing inside of a storm.  Sometimes you can be still and let it swirl around you, awed by its beauty.  At other times you just want everything to be still.  I love Ben so much.  Parenthood has been a shock and a blessing.  But I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Achieving Balance

Ben is now 11 weeks old and we have really turned a corner. Colic is way down and the vacume cleaner has been mercifully silent. He is starting to really smile at me and the sight of it is unbelievable. At the height of his colic I worried so much that I had brought a being into the world to be so miserable. But now he has shown us he feels joy and for that I am so thankful.

He is also able to do new things every day. He rolled over on Thursday for the first time (with the exception of when he flipped himself over by accident at 3 weeks and then looked stunned and stopped crying). He can now grab a rattle if it is placed on his stomach. His head control is improving and he can hold his head upright for brief periods of time.

And yesterday at Karina's house, she told me I had grown as a parent. Ben was crying and I was distracted from listening to her as I keyed into Steve trying to comfort him. She said to me - "He is crying and it is all you can think about. But you used to just jump up and run to him when he cried. Now you can sit hear and listen to Steve calming him. It's real progress."

We also think we have a good nanny for Ben - her name is Zoya and she is from Bellaruse. We would love to have her speak to Ben in Russian so he can then speak in Russion to Alex and Ryan. It would be so cute. Let's just hope they don't conspire aganist us!

Sometimes when I am rocking Ben to sleep I start crying tears of joy. I knew I would love my child, but I never knew how deep that love would go. I feel so privliged to walk beside him as he grows. The colic is gone and I am left with a sweet little snuggle bug. And I couldn't be happier.

Back to Reality

Ben is now 14 weeks old and I started back to work part-time this week. It is the week of Thanksgiving, so work is very slow - which has left me in the odd position of having a babysitter and no work to do. I'm trying to take advantage of that fact by catching up on laundry, taking uninturupted showers, and working on my long neglected Family CD project. But every time he cries, I feel the need to rush out to my living room and soothe him. I don't want to be an overbearing mom, but it's hard not to.

At the same time though I am enjoying some free time. During the last weeks of my maternity leave I realized my life had become all about him. I no longer watched any tv shows regularly or followed politics. The biggest thing on my radar was when the next diaper change was and when he would eat next. It may sound boring - but it was oddly freeing - to just think about and focus on him completely. I love him so much.

Now, being back at work, I am starting to find a balance again. And I realize that the early months do end and things do get easier. We found out Ben has acid reflux and the zantac has made him a much calmer baby. I can now figure out why he is crying and remedy the situation -whereas in the early days he cried so long and so hard and nothing we could do would soothe him.

But now we have learned to respond calmly and he has learned to trust us. We are caught up in a dance of need and response, parent and child.

Five Weeks

Ben is five weeks now.  The time has gone by too fast and at times too slow.  Watching him cry or pitch a fit is either too sad or just too tiring.  He cries real tears now.  I continue to take him on outings and they continue to be hard.  Handling a newborn while trying to juggle a sandwich and adult conversation is no easy feat.  But like him, my fits of anger over how much my life has changed are less frequent and less intense.  I learning to put him first - to truly be selfless.

We have a date night planned.  On October 9th, Karina will watch Ben so Steve and I can go to Cheesetique for an early birthday celebration.  I'm longing to spend time alone with him.  We sleep in shifts to ensure we each get some uninterrupted sleep.  And while it is worth it not to hallucinate, I miss our one one one time.  I miss us.  But I know we are still there, in the background, still loving each other and thriving.  We are the basis from which Ben came.

I think back now to when we had the very first ultrasound and how we marveled at that little cluster of cells.  And now I think of those cells as Ben - fully formed - and how he was with us even then - as just a glimmer,  just a whisper at the edges of our lives.  But if that time was a whisper, then his birth was like a volcanic eruption - sudden and fierce, beautiful and terrifying.  I'm listening to the book The Seven Stages of Motherhood right now and she notes that other than death, the human body undergoes no series of changes greater than birth.  And it comforts me to think of it like that - even if I somewhat doubt the veracity of the statement.  Ben's birth, for all its wonder, felt in some ways tramatic.  And as the details of it fade, I know my mind is doing what it needs to do to allow me to move forward.

I wonder how single mothers - and teenage mothers - cope at all.  As a 35 year old in a stable marriage, I felt thrown for a loop - from which I am still somewhat reeling.  How do others with less support make it? 

And yet holding Ben, stroking his hair as he breastfeeds, I am keenly aware of time slipping by - of how truly fleeting infancy is.  My own life from here on out will forever be measured in his.  I will say, "Yes, that happened when Ben was a toddler."  Whereas before I marked time with my own achivements - "when I started high school." or "that happened the first year of college."  He is my compass now - my own true north.

A New Normal

Ben turned three weeks old yesterday.  I think I am starting to adjust to parenthood.  I no longer feel a crush of anxiety when I hold him.  I basically know what we will do during the day.  I am able to marvel at him again.  I still have some flashbacks to the birth and some anxiety about it - but it is getting better every day.

I really regret every time I have yelled at or been impatient with Steve these past couple weeks.  But I guess with the hormones and sleep deprivation, some of that is inevitable.  I will just try - going forward - to be calmer and enjoy each moment.  We are starting to read his cues and the all night crying is not as frequent.  We know time spent in the Ergo carrier - pressed close to our bodies where he can feel our heartbeats, our breath, and our movements will calm him. 

We plan to take him to the pool today and put his toes in the baby pool.  I hope he loves the water as much as I did when I was pregnant.  It is a bit sad to me that it is labor day weekend and the pool will close soon - marking a clear end to the time I spent pregnant.  I've already forgotten the aches and pains.  Intellectually, I know it was uncomfortable at the end, but I can't really make myself feel it as I used to.  Karina told me it will all fade - the aches and pains of pregnancy, the discomfort of birth, and the early anxiety and sleep deprivation of his first weeks.  If it didn't, we would all be only children.

I am a mom now.  I am part the same person I used to be and part someone completely different.  I am learning how to integrate the two parts - my past with my present.  I am Ben's mom.  And that is a gift.