Cognosco

So, I mentioned in my last Albie update that I like to drive. Actually, I love to drive. In fact, I’m not even sure that there is a strong enough word for how I feel about getting into a car and covering vast differences in short spans of time. I am the type of road tripper that many other people would hate because I don’t like to stop. I don’t want to savor each place. I just want to see as much stuff as possible. My husband is usually willing to humor me in this regard, and I do most of the driving on our trips because he knows it makes me happy. There is something immensely satisfying to me about looking at a map and tracing the roads that I have travelled. It is almost like a ritual cleansing for me because my mind can just go and go wherever it likes while my body covers these stretches. Some people have confession. Others have vision quests. There are cleansing teas and diets. I’ll take the road.

I have taken several road trips by myself, accompanied only by a dog. I remember the first time that I had a trip planned, my mom said she wished I was taking "someone" with me. Someone male, I’m sure. I felt perfectly safe in the company of an 80 lb malamute mix. A dog will reliably wake and raise hell when anyone approaches your car while sleeping. I cannot say the same for any human companion.

I have not taken one of these solitary trips in over three years. I have the itch. As soon as I can free the time and feel okay leaving dude for a few nights, I’m off again. It is an obsession. Maybe I’ll just take dude with me, but it is harder to just GO with a wee one. And I am admittedly selfish in that aspect. My current (favorite–don’t tell the other two) dog is a giant schnauzer-chow mix who is a simply amazing travel companion. He’s fine being left in the car as long as necessary. Or a hotel room. He will even stay in the car with the windows completely down. Never tears anything up (unlike the malamute who repeatedly destroyed seat belts…). And he is aging, so I want to make sure to get a few more adventures in with him. The nice thing about dogs is that after awhile, they are happy to shift in to travelcoma mode and just sleep a lot. At least the ones I have known. Babies don’t seem to be made that way, and I realize it’s not really good for them to be stuck in seats too much anyway.

I came across this Sam Shepard quote a few years ago that sums it up for me:

"I love long-distance driving. The farther the better. I love covering immense stretches in one leap:  Memphis to New York City; Galu pto L.A.; Saint Paul to Richmond; Lexington to Baton Rouge; Bismarck to Cody. Leaps like these. Without a partner. Completely along. Relentless driving. Driving until the body disappears, the legs fall off, the eyes bleed, the hands go numb, the mind shuts down, and then, suddenly, something new begins to appear."

I can almost taste those words when I read them. 

 

 

 

Dear Albie,

I was mistaken. You  were 17 pounds, 3 ounces at your four month check-up. Which means that you have gained 1 pound, 8 ounces in the last month, and that your weight gain has not slowed in the slightest. My mistake. And here I thought momentarily that you weren’t’ getting enough to eat. Silly me. My little hammy.

Love, 

me 

 

 

My Dearest Little Albie,

Okay, so six days late on your update…not so bad…

This last month has been a blast and you have made so many leaps forward. We went to the Four Corners area and visited Monument Valley, Valley of the Gods, Goosenecks Park, the actual “Four Corners” and stayed in Mexican Hat. I am a total junkie for road trips and long car rides. We drove a total of 1300 miles in 3 days. You were a total trooper.

I really hope that you love road trips as you continue to grow. Otherwise, we will have to drug you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

While we were away on vacation, you and I actually got to take a bath together. We don’t have an actual bath tub in our home, so this was a first. It was a lot of fun, and you seemed to really enjoy the buoyancy of the water. Once we got home, I found a baby bath tub at Ikea for $7 that is actually big enough for you to get some serious splashing done. I can sit you in it width-wise, with your back propped on one side and your feet up against the other and you are relatively stable. We’ve also taken you in the shower, which was intimidating to you at first, but then you loved it. You also had your first swimming pool experiences this month—first with your daddy just holding you in the water, and then the next time in a little floatie ring that has a chair contraption inside of it that your legs fit through. It was totally stable and you absolutely loved it. You are living up to your water bearer sun sign indeed.

 

With regards to your vocal skills, when we last left off in the saga that is you, you were fascinated with “bbbbb” sounds. They were rather tight-lipped “b” sounds. Then you had a two week squealing and screeching period where it was like living with a teeny tiny banshee. On crack. Everything you responded to deserved a high-pitched response. Whether you were happy or sad about it was only a secondary consideration. I will say, however, that when those squeals take on a peculiar cat-like quality to them, it means that you are tired. And by god, we had better get you settled in for a nap soon, or all hell will break loose. Since you have completely outgrown your makeshift swaddler, the only solution at that point is to hold you really tight while you literally fight sleep until you exhaust yourself and pass out. Now, you’re really getting too big for that too. Which means we are doomed. But back to the vocal stuff…so, you went to sleep one night, woke up the next morning, and returned to the “b” sounds, this time with looser lips. This progressed to actual raspberry sounds with your tongue out. Which results in A LOT of drool. I dare say that in the past month you’ve pretty much become the poster child for what I used to find disgusting about babies. But you’re mine, and so it’s adorable.

 

The first time you really rolled over on your own was on Father’s Day at your grandparents’ house. However, it was still quite the struggle for you. I recently got my hands on a copy of The Wonder Weeks, an amazing book about the sudden leaps that little minds make. Basically, there’s a big fussy period, and then a sudden leap resulting in tons of new skills. The weeks are fairly predictable, and one of them is at 19, and one at 26. One of the suggestions in the book was to let you roll around naked to get the hang of how your body works and make it easier for you to master skills. Boy, did that ever work. From one session, you suddenly mastered rolling over. This was just about a week ago. Now, there’s no stopping you. Since then, you have also finally gotten the hang of grabbing your feet, like the “happy baby” yoga pose. In fact, you try to do it while nursing, which is terribly amusing. And you can sit up pretty well on your own, with still an occasional topple. Now that you can decide these things for yourself, you prefer to sleep in a side/stomach pose, similar to the one recommended for pregnancy. And you now roll so quickly that there is no way we can leave you on the bed for more than a few seconds now. You, the boy who hated tummy time, now love it when you roll there yourself. You are such an independent little beast. I am terrified of the time when you actually become mobile. Although, you could probably just roll everywhere now…

You are still enthralled with your blue bear blankie thing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It is by far your most favorite toy, and now that you can pull stuff off of your face (!) and can roll easily, I let you sleep with it. It has worked wonders to soothe you. You are now also fascinated with many other toys, having figured out that the plastic things on some toys are for chewing (hooray!) and that many other toys make delightful noises when you bang them. Repeatedly. The general protocol for any new object is to grab it, study it, try to eat it, bang it. If you haven’t dropped it by then. We got you an exersaucer and you are usually enthralled with it for a good 20 minutes or so. Just long enough for a quick shower and a frozen waffle.

 

 

 

 

 

 

However, you have been lately frustrated that many of the toys can not be extended far enough to reach your mouth. Because everything should reach your mouth, by god. You also finally took my word for it that the very cold squishy teething ring was not scary and would actually make you feel better. At first, you would chomp into it, and then withdraw your head quickly and do a little shiver. Now you just chomp away. God bless the 97 cent teething ring that was made in China and will probably make you sprout a tail later in life. Also god bless Humphreys teething tablets with their chamomile goodness. In fact, god bless chamomile, period.
 

It is truly amazing to watch your mind in action and to live on such a small scale. You immediately recognize “Goodnight Moon” within the first few lines every night. You have finally really grown to understand what being put sideways across my lap means (MILK!!!) and proceed to make a long series of funny (ehh, ehh, ehh, ehh) sounds until your mouth is happily stuffed with titty. You sound sort of like a zombie. A milk zombie. You also do this in the morning when I pull you into bed for your first feeding of the day. It totally makes me giggle. You have already grown to notice when I walk out of the room and protest loudly. If I sneak away without you noticing, you still momentarily forget I exist so long as you are otherwise occupied.

In addition to wanting to put everything in your mouth (including my hands) you are also fascinated with other people’s mouths and touching them and putting your hands inside of their mouths. My friend Heathyr came to visit, and she has braces. You’d never seen those before so you took your time running your fingers over them to figure out what they were.

In the past month, singing and music has really become a way to soothe you. You are still a big Thom Yorke fan, and his solo album will reliably soothe you in the car unless you are seriously pissed off. I can often distract you from a tantrum with some really goofy song. Your favorites are those that sound like really cheesy Italian songs that are bellowed at the top of my lungs, or those sung as blues songs. I can’t blame you. I don’t trust people who don’t like the blues and old, breathy jazz songs.

As far as sleep goes, we are lucky. There have only been a few truly rough patches. When you were gearing up for your 19 week leap, you had previously been sleeping pretty reliably from 8ish to 5ish each night. Occasionally, you would fuss and I’d just give you your pacifier or pat your back and you’d go right back to sleep. Out of nowhere, you started waking again at 1 or 2 in the morning for a night feeding. Which was fine with me, I was just sort of shocked. And then it passed, and now you sleep past 6 pretty much every morning (knock on wood—quick!). Sometimes after I feed you you’ll go back to sleep for half an hour. Sometimes you’ll got back to sleep for 2 hours. I’m not big on forcing a rigid schedule, so we just go with the flow. You have a rough nap schedule—you go down two hours after you get up (which varies from 6:30 to 9) for anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour and a half, and then go down somewhere between 1 and 2 for a good two hour stretch. That took awhile to develop. I did, however, learn not to let you sleep past 8 though, or it messes everything up and there’s hell to pay. Occasionally, you’ll take a really short nap around 6 p.m. We were putting you down at 7 or so every night, but shifted back to 8 because it really seemed to work out better for you.

You now weigh 18 pounds, 11 ounces. Or so the scale on Wednesday said. You were 18 pounds, 3 ounces at your 4 month checkup. So your weight gain appears to be (finally) slowing. You are still a picturesque fat and happy baby. You smile with ease and can be made to giggle hysterically, laughing so hard that you spit up. Is that mean? I find it hilarious. My friend KC calls you hammy because you are so chubby. Then my friend Heathyr called you hammy because of your personality. I thought it was great that they both used the term to describe you, but that for one it was a physical description and for another it was a personality description. Either way, it fits. The only remnant of your newborn-ness other than your uber-rolls that remains is a shock of hair on the top of your head. All of your other hair has fallen out and regrown except for that little faux-hawk. I will be so sad when it goes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We bought you a little booster seat that you can strap to a real chair rather than a high chair. For awhile, we just had you sit in it and gave you toys while we ate. And then you became fascinated with what we ate. I was trying to delay solids until you were 6 months old, but on a lark, we gave you some avocado last Sunday. You went nuts for it. So, we went ahead and properly “introduced solids” this week. You’ve had avocado (mashed with breast milk) and apricot. We skipped cereal all together. We gave you a big chunk of apricot and you sucked on it like a pacifier. It was adorable. Then we bought one of those mesh safe feeder devices, and you were happy to work on your apricot through the mesh. And I was less panicked you would choke. We’ve had no problems spoon feeding you avocado, and you just keep opening up for more. I have to stop before you quit so that I make sure you still get plenty of breast milk in your diet. As much as I wanted to wait a little longer, you really seemed to be ready. That seems to be the story of your life thus far. From the time labor began, you have been in a hurry. My wise midwives were so right about that. In this way, you are like your grandpa Barry.

Oh, and I feel that I have to mention that I injured you twice in the last month. The first time was when I forcefully lifted you up into the air, forcing your head to run into a spiky thing that’s part of the light fixture in the dining room. Scared the shit out of me. Then, I dropped you. I was trying to put you on my back using an Ergo baby carrier. I was even sitting on the bed to be safe. I was not prepared for you to launch over my shoulder. I tried to catch you, and only made you fall feet over head (so you landed on your back). You landed in the cosleeper next to the bed, but not before getting a black eye on the plastic corner. So, you were actually dropped on your head (or your face) as a baby. Sorry about that.

Things I have learned in the past month:

• Nursing is way more fun when the baby is an active participant. And just because you no longer feel a (mildly painful) letdown accompanied by gagging sounds by the baby due to your (previous) oversupply doesn’t mean that the baby is no longer getting enough to eat. Remember the wet diaper rule. Or squeeze your nipple to see if milk still sprays across the room.

• Breastfed babies can go several days between poops because breast milk is A PERFECT FOOD. But this may initially scare the hell out of you. 

• Baby toots are still funny

• It is not necessary to reserve a favorite toy to use as a distraction when “necessary”. It doesn’t work that way. Apparently, babies don’t tire of their special cuddly toys. I can relate. I do not tire of my ipod.

• Every baby develops differently.

• Every baby focuses on different aspects of development at different times.

• It really is important to get not only yourself, but also the baby, out of the house every day. It helps everyone’s mood.

• Phoenix sucks. Period. The prime time for a walk in the life of a 5 month old (at least this one) is at noon. Which is not an option in July. Unless you want to deal with the car and go to the mall. Because really, the mall is just as good as the park, right?

• It is Murphy’s Law that the baby will fall asleep in the car seat as you are pulling onto your street. No matter how fast or slow you drive. Only to wake once inside. Then not want to go back to sleep. Then start to make cat noises…

• It’s Murphy’s Law that the baby will wait to spit up until you have put on clean clothes and have yet to grab a bib.

• It’s Murphy’s Law that the buttsplosion you have been waiting for over a period of several days that cannot help but explode out of the diaper will occur when the baby is just far enough away from you so that you don’t hear it. And thus, you spend the next 20 minutes wondering why the baby is fussy. And then, you find out…

• It is so easy to say to your mother, “really, that’s so interesting” even if it’s something you already know. And it will make her feel good.

• “Baby food” that comes in jars is so not necessary.

• Every day is an adventure.

• I am so lucky to have the husband that I do. And Albie, you are so lucky to have him as a father.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Love, Mama

I’ve been musing over my birth story, and have realized that there are some things that I left out that should be part of the story. They are the kinds of things that aren’t just about the birth story, but are about the home birth story. Like how M asked me the next day if I had any questions about anything that had happened during the birth. I was actually debriefed about my birth experience.

 Like how the midwives gave me a Wonder Woman mug the day after the birth with tea inside that was for boosting my milk supply. And how receiving that mug helped to eliminate any residual feelings I had that I had done something to cause my labor to be long and hard.

 Like how when M came by on the third day, she noticed Albert doing something with his tongue that I didn’t realize was a problem that could have really fucked up the breastfeeding. She said, “babies are smart”. This was not the first time I’d heard her say that. She said, “if he starts that, it’ll be a hard habit to break.” He was sucking his tongue and I had to actually reach in and pull his tongue out when he did it. He didn’t do it any more after two days of that. Despite the many, many people I would have been forced to contend with in a hospital, I have a feeling none of them would have bothered to notice this problem. Furthermore, if I’d been allowed a vaginal birth in the hospital (not likely), then I would have already been home with no one to notice even if they were observant.

 Any time I had any tests done the midwives explained to me exactly what was being tested as well as the risks and benefits of the testing itself and the risks and benefits of doing nothing regardless of test results. I knew what my urinalysis results were because I was holding the pee stick and reading it myself. This was an improvement over watching blood and urine disappear from my sight with no idea where it was going, and facing tones of annoyance if I dared to ask.

 When I switched to midwifery care at 34 weeks, my doctor had not palpated my stomach at all yet. It was one of the first things the midwife did. It was as if she was getting to know the baby.

 I was asked permission to do vaginal exams. Rather than being told it was time for one. Not just exams during actual labor, but even exams to check my status prior to going into labor. It was my decision whether or not I wanted someone’s hands inside of me. I don’t have a problem with vaginal exams, but it was nice to know that it was always my decision and there was no pressure to do otherwise.

 Even though I took several hours to push Dude out, no one ever mentioned I had failed in any way. As in “failure to progress”. You know, that phrase that is justification for a whole cascade of interventions. No one said anything had stalled, like a temperamental car. No one mentioned anything about intervening in any way. They just suggested different positions. And M did do some things with her hands—but for the most part they were gentle, and she had my permission to do them.

 I have a friend who said the other day that she wondered “what her water would do” during her next birth. Apparently, she’s had her water broken in both previous births. The first time by a midwife (shall I say medwife) because labor had stalled (damn car!) at 9 cm. I am curious what definition of stalled they were using. Because really, it seems to me that 9cm is far enough along that maybe the body is like, “ok, everything is good, let’s take a teensy break before we push on to phase two”. My labor slowed down right after transition. The total break wasn’t that long. But then I had quite a period of time when I was pushy, but not intensely pushy. If I was in the hospital, the more I think about it, they would have totally said I had “stalled”. I didn’t feel like I had stalled. I was working hard. I worked much harder after that little slowing period, but it doesn’t mean that I wasn’t an active working participant in the period where little “progress” was made.

 Furthermore, during her last birth, when the doctor came in with his glove with a needle at the end of it to break her water, her guy had just left to get some soup. Nothing had been happening except, you know, contractions, and so she said sure, go ahead, go get some soup. I find it appalling that the doctor was not willing to wait 15 or 20 minutes for her guy to get back to break her water, knowing that breaking the water will cause contractions to intensify. Because, I’m sure that waiting 15 minutes would have made all the difference to the baby’s health, right?

 She came away from both experiences feeling like something was wrong with the way she labored because her water didn’t break at the very beginning. Rather than realizing her body was working just fine, great even, because it was retaining a cushion for the baby’s head and for her as well.

 The women that attended my birth didn’t treat me as an inferior—they treated me as an equal. They helped me, comforted me, supported me, nourished me, and cheered me on. The did not “manage” me. They were kind, gentle, and respectful at all times. I do not hear those words used for hospital births. Ever. It is a feat if the doctor even shows his or her face for more than 5 minutes prior to the baby crowning. These women held my hand, let me push against them, put cool cloths on my neck, and brushed the hair back from my face. They were with me in labor, not waiting for me to finish my labor.

 I know plenty of women who get weepy and sentimental about the birth of their baby. But they are referring to just the actual moment of birth. I am overcome with emotion about the entire experience, especially the difficult times.

 And there have been times since the day Albert was born that I felt insecure about something or needed a little courage. And it’s true that thinking of that day makes other challenges pale in comparison.

 And that, my friends, as Paul Harvey would say, is the rest of the story.