El Manana

Driving home from a little Christmas shopping on Sunday, I was listening to a program on NPR. I tend not to think a lot about listening to news shows in front of my kids. I grew up watching the news. Walter Cronkite and John Chancellor were my first heroes. I knew more about world politics and current events when I was four than most adults do now. As a result, I've always been a news junkie and that has only lessened since I've had children and don't enjoy the luxury of watching news programs obsessively, reading several newspapers and magazines each day, and talking politics and/or current events with everyone I know. Since I don't often get to watch the news at home, I listen in the car whenever I can.

Anyway, I'm driving along with Brendan in the backseat, listening to All Things Considered and they're talking about Ingrid Betancourt, a hostage held by Marxist geurillas in Colombia since 2002. The first thing Brendan hears is guerillas, only to him it's gorillas. Now, it is important to note at this point that Brendan mispronounces gorilla so that it comes out as badrilla.Badrillas!, he exclaims. Badrillas kidnap humans! AAAAAHHHHHHH!

I control my laughter so I can actually hear the rest of the story and we continue on. A little way into the story, the reporter says that in a letter to her mother, Bettancourt said that the only people in the camp where she is being held beside herself are the male guerillas. The next thing I hear is What?! The mail man is a badrilla! I knew it!

I laughed so hard I a had to pull over for a second. I was just imagining a gorilla putting on a human mail carrier costume and stealthily sneaking around delivering mail, ripping open certain packages.

In other cuteness, Brendan told his dad the other day that all smart kids wear glasses which oddly coincides with his affection for Simon the Chipmunk and Brainy Smurf, although, he told me today that Smurfette is actually his favorite.

Beckett, too, is doing his best to be the cutest baby ever. He's walking and actually trying to run in order to keep up with big brother. He has five teeth now and loves to bite me wherever he can. Shoulder. Thigh. A couple of nights ago while I was kneeling on the floor looking for some shoes under the bed, he came up behind me and bit me on the bottom. Of course, when I jump and say No biting! he bursts into tears. He's also gotten very clingy and is in the separation anxiety phase. But he's just so cute. My goodness. He said bye-bye for the first time yesterday and is trying to say his own name, I think, and our Cooper's name, too, it sounds like.

It's all so sweet and I'm glad. Especially since I'm a little under the weather. It makes it all easier when they're being cute.

Better by the Pound

One of the most fascinating things about being a parent is the manner in which you quickly become an expert on things you only need to know about for a relatively brief period.

For four years now, I've been relatively obsessed and opinionated about diapers and pull ups. I know more about the subject than I ever cared to know or imagined I would. It began when Scott and I were debating the pros and cons of disposables vs. cloth diapers. We came down on the side of disposables because I, ultimately, decided I didn't want to be chained to the washing machine and because the jury's still out on which has a worse environmental impact. And, of course, now in Georgia with the water crisis we're facing, disposables make a lot of sense.

Ever since making that decision, I have tried every diaper on the market. Okay. Not every diaper. But certainly all of the major brands and most store brands. When Brendan was a newborn, I started going through all the diapers we received at showers. First, I tried the Pampers. Hated them. They had a really overpowering perfumey smell that made me sick, especially when mixed with other smelly things.

Next, I tried Luvs. Too leaky. Finally, I tried Huggies and had a winner. I stuck with that brand for a while, but then got lured into trying store brands to save money, but I couldn't stand the chemical smell and plastic feel of the store brands. I figured if it was uncomfortable for me to touch them just to put one on, it had to be misery-making for a baby. I went back to the Huggies brand and stuck with it until Brendan was potty-trained.

Of course, every baby's different and I've found that what worked on Brendan hasn't necessarily worked for Beckett. Huggies have been the leakiest on Beckett by far. I've found myself almost exclusively using Pampers which no longer have that disgusting perfumey fragrance. Unfortunately, I didn't even give Luvs a chance this time. That is until I got an unsolicited sample pack in the mail a couple of weeks ago.

I say sample pack, but it was actually a full-size 42-diaper pack of Luvs new Bear Hug Stretch diapers. And I have to say, I was pleasantly surprised. Both to receive free diapers in the mail (because, really, as a mom to a baby is there anything more exciting than free diapers?) and by how great they were for my baby.

As I said, every baby's different and these diapers really seemed to fit Beckett well. He has chunky legs and I've heard that he looks like the Michelin Man on more than one occasion. I had been buying diapers one size above his weight range just to get them to fit around his thighs without cutting into his sweet legs. The Luvs Bear Hug Stretch, though, have some extra give and stretch in the legs and provided what seemed to be a much more comfortable fit (hence the name, I suppose). And, because they were the right size, there was no bunching in the bottom or around the waist.

I didn't have any leaking problems with them. No weird smell. The only thing I didn't like was that sometimes the tabs tore off when I was trying to fasten the diaper. That was frustrating, but overall I was really pleased and decided I should give these diapers a chance. We'll have to see how it pans out in the long run...If Luvs can go the distance with my chunky boy.

All this said, I would like to give one piece of advice to the Luvs ad agency and/or marketing department. Your commercial with the little boy humping his teddy bear is awful. It creeps me out.

Other than that, I've turned the corner on your product and will definitely be buying Luvs in the future. Good work on the changes.

Crazy Love

I've never been one to come to the aid of friends who were throwing up. I've always been a bit weak of the stomach when it comes to bodily functions. In college, I never held anyone's hair out of her face while she hurled and I never expected anyone to do that for me. Although, I don't think it was necessary more than once or twice anyway.

Blood doesn't bother me in the least. But I don't do vomit very well. I got my fill taking care of my mom and grandmother. It seems like my mom was constantly getting sick because of some diabetic complication or the other and my grandmother died of stomach cancer so she was sick a lot the last few months of her life. I took a several week leave from high school to help care for her because we couldn't afford a nurse. I've dealt with blood, vomit, bloody vomit, poop, feeding tubes, and all kinds of crazy sick-room gross-outs.

Still, I've found myself getting furious with people for vomiting near me and found myself embarrassed by getting sick near others.

Yet, I've discovered, as I'm sure any of you who are parents have, that the nature of vomit totally changes when the person getting sick is your child. I never, in a million years, would have imagined that someone could not only get sick near me, but ON me and I wouldn't want to throw them through a window. But it has happened.

Friends, on Saturday night my darling baby boy was sick. Friday night, he developed a high fever, but had no other symptoms. On Saturday, he still seemed like he felt a little puny, but was otherwise fine and the fever was gone. Unfortunately, it all went down hill after he went to bed on Saturday night.

About 10 p.m., he woke up crying. When I went into his room, I knew instantly that he had thrown up because the lovely aroma hit me in the face as soon as I opened his door. Poor little guy.

So, I took him out of his crib, got a tub of water, and gave him a sponge bath on his changing table. Then, as I was carrying him over to his dresser to get some fresh jammies, he threw up all over the front of my sweater. I was calm. No problem. It's all part of being a mommy, I told myself. I hugged him and told him it was okay and he'd be fine.

After getting the jammies out, I took him back to the changing table to start again. I decided to take off my yucky, soaking wet sweater and t-shirt and finish the job in my bra and jeans. Everything's going fine and I've got him clean and ready to go. Then, just as I lift him up so I can get his pjs on him, the poor little dude hurls on me again. This time directly onto flesh and straight down into the waist of my jeans. I am, at this point, covered in hot, lumpy, orange baby vomit from my neck to my groin. Fun stuff on a Saturday night.

Somehow, Beckett managed not to get a drop on himself, so I carried him and his clean pjs downstairs to Scott and took a quick shower and put on my pjs. I was gone about 10 min. and in that time, Beckett managed not to throw up on his dad. So, I settle in on the couch with the sick groggy baby on my lap. I've never seen him so sad. He's always such a happy guy and usually so independent. It was unusual for him to want to fall asleep on me, but that's just what he was doing, when all of a sudden, he threw up again. On my nice, comfy, clean pajamas.

It's just strange and amazing to me, though, that my overriding emotions were sympathy and sadness. I just wanted to make him feel better and figure out why he was sick. When I've had to deal with sickies in the past, who weren't my children, even if I felt bad for them, I've always been kind of annoyed even if it wasn't their fault they were ill. Who knew a mother's love could abide such an abundance of gross?

I guess I do now.

Apron Strings

If you saw and loved the movie She's Having a Baby way back in the early '90s or late '80s when it was released, then you probably love the soundtrack as well.

After searching in vain for the out of print collection for a couple of years, I finally got a copy last night. Jeremy and his wife Teresa came to Scott's show with their little cutie Nathan last night and J. brought me a copy of the soundtrack plus a few covers/remixes of songs on the album. Very cool.

As always, one song stood out among the others and tugged at my heartstrings, bringing tears to my eyes. It's always the same one, although I realize that over the years the reasons the song touches me so deeply have changed.

Here are the lyrics:


Apron strings
Hanging empty
Crazy things
My body tells me
I want someone to tie to my lonely
Apron strings

Apron strings
Waiting for you
Pretty things
That i could call you
I want someone to tie to my lonely
Apron strings

He'd look just like me when I was young
And I wonder as the days unwind
Will he have your eyes or mine
Then i wake up to my
Apron strings
Cold and lonely
For time brings
Thoughts that only
Will be quiet when someone clings to my
Apron strings

And i'll be perfect in my own way
When you cry i'll be there
I'll sing to you and comb your hair
All your troubles i will share

For apron strings
Can be used for other things
Than what they're meant for
And you'd be happy wrapped in my
Apron strings

I don't want to talk about the reasons that song moved me when I was younger; they've passed away, changed, been forgotten about. Now, last night, as I played the song over and over again about four times on the drive home, always crying at the lines "and I'll be perfect in my own way/When you cry I'll be there/I'll sing to you and comb your hair/All your troubles I will share," all I can think about his how happy I am now to have someone, two someones, clinging to my apron strings, but how much happier I am to see my friends – many of them – who have struggled to get pregnant, stay pregnant, adopt, and become the parents they knew they were meant to be, finally hold their own children and have them cling not only to their apron strings, but to heartstrings as well.

Rufus Is a Tit Man

Beckett, however...not so much.

It's hard for me to believe that this is happening already, but sadly, my baby boy seems ready to wean. He'll be three months old in two days. It's too soon. I'm simply not ready. But he is, pulling away, struggling, getting angry and frustrated each time I put him to the breast. For the last three days, every time I've tried to nurse him he has given it a lame, half-hearted effort, nursing but a few minutes before patently rejecting me and the nourishment my body offers up.

Before having a baby, I never realized what a complex, challenging, and emotional act breastfeeding could be. I had never known anyone who breastfed their babies or if I did, I never paid much attention. When I got pregnant, I read copious volumes on breastfeeding. I received instruction from our doula who even brought a doll for me to practice with. I thought nothing could be more natural than a mama nurturing her tiny babe with her own mother's milk. And, of course, I believed that breastfeeding was the right and only way...everything I read said so. Everything I read said what a terrible mother I'd be if I gave my child formula.

Of course, it probably goes without saying that I had trouble breastfeeding Brendan. He couldn't latch on, I wasn't producing milk. He became jaundiced and the pediatrician had him on formula before we even left the hospital. We struggled for 12 weeks of me feeling like total shit because I was a failure as a mother. At least that's how I felt because my body wouldn't do the one thing I thought should come so naturally. And the La Leche League told me so. Not in those exact words, of course. Actually, what the LLL representative told me when I called for advice was You're poisoning your baby by giving him formula. The alternative? Not give him anything other than the tiny bit of milk I was producing and eventually my milk would come in.

Finally, on the day he was baptised, the day he turned 12 weeks old, Brendan flat out refused to take the breast again. I was a little sad as it was a bit of a surprise. I was committed to continuing to try. But, after the long struggle, it was also a bit of a relief. I still felt like an abject failure at mothering, but at least it was over.

This time the breastfeeding has gone smoothly and been a joy despite the fact that I have had to supplement. This time the problem wasn't that my body didn't cooperate, but rather that we just had a very hungry boy whose metabolism required more nourishment than I could provide. We made it for two full weeks before adding formula to our routine. Beckett has nursed well and seemed content up until this week. Now, here we are, right at 12 weeks, and the little man suddenly seems to look at me the way I look at Brussels sprouts.

I feel like I gave it my best try this time and unlike with Brendan, I am planning to try nursing him one last time, a chance to say goodbye to a ritual, a gift, that has meant everything to me. I no longer feel like a failure as a mother and I am grateful to God and my baby for giving me that.

Still, knowing he's my last, it would have been nice if he could be my baby just a little longer.

Welcome to the World!

Beckett Dylan surfed into the world at 2:18 p.m. on Wednesday, December 6. He weighed 7 lbs, 12 oz. (exactly the same size as his big brother) and was 20 inches long.

He's gorgeous, if I do say so myself, and amazing. He's a world of difference from his brother. He has slept a lot so far, although I haven't. I have a weird sort of insomnia where I can't relax when I should.

The labor and delivery were amazingly fast and trouble-free. I went in Wednesday morning for my weekly check and learned that I was leaking fluid and was already at 4 cm dilation. Next thing I know, it's "Go directly to the hospital, do not pass Go, do not collect $200."

I arrived at the hospital at 11:25, at 11:45 they had me hooked up to a Pitocin drip. At first the contractions were very mild, but with every incremental increase in the Pitocin, the contractions became much more intense and by 1:30 when Judith, my midwife, checked me, I was at 6 cm. She told me it would be about two hours until I was ready to deliver, one hour if were lucky.

Just then, the contractions really started to go into overdrive. I was beginning to freak out, but Judith and Scott and our nurse, Missy, just kept telling me how wonderful I was doing. Scott was sitting on the bed behind me, rubbing my shoulders and back while Judith massaged my legs. I kind of started to lose it and could tell I was entering transition when I suddenly felt like I might need to push. I told Judith and she checked me and I was 9 cm. Thirty minutes had passed since she last checked me and I was at 6 cm. They quickly broke the bed down and got me on my back and the fun began.

Roughly four pushes and Beckett came flying into the world. He immediately began grabbing everything he could get his hands on. It took forever for me to deliver the placenta and my midwife had just paged the OB when it decided to come out. So, it seemed like I couldn't hold my darling for an eternity, but it was very cool because they did all the baby exam stuff right in the room instead of taking him to the nursery.

He barely cried and still has only cried two or three times, once when he was hungry and once with a tummy ache.

I love him. Naturally, I do. But, I am just so happy about the way he came into the world and our first few days together. He's nursing like a champ and even though my milk isn't in fully, he's trying hard to help me get it in. It's so different than my first few with Brendan. I just feel far happier and more confident in my abilities.

Really, all I can say is that I'm relieved that he's finally here and happy he's such a wonderful baby two days into the journey.