Clever little babies

It has been too long since I've sat down to write.  This grey Saturday morning finds Thom and I sipping on coffee while Ethan demonstrates the new vocal sounds he's discovered in dreams through the night.  We are happy to hear him chatting again after a spell of tummy bug briefly robbed him of his typically playful personality.  We are going to more play groups and mingling with other children so little colds and germs are probably to be expected.

Play groups are great for Ethan to see other babies and children while all the mums natter and compare notes.  I watch the kids size each other up, the mums size each other up and the way everyone falls into a little social hierarchy.  The younger babies look with awe as the older ones crawl, scoot and dominate their environment in various ways.  Ethan watches - mouth open, drool trailing down the chin - as older babies grab and manipulate the toys in ways he hasn't yet figured out.  Even older children, the toddlers, adopt a sort of sympathetic attitude towards the babies, like a memory of the frustrations endured in their own once small baby-bodies lingers.  Older ones will even protest at being treated like a baby.  How dare you treat me like a baby when I can do so much now!

Ethan being unwell this week reminded me of the wisdom of babies, something that is all to easily dismissed  in comparison to the ability-based scale generally used to measure the success of a person.  Ethan, in his week of illness, showed me his instinctual and wise way babies approach the world and how this gets forgotten.  Later, when we can get around, reach for what we want and communicate with others, we dismiss the immense wisdom of the baby.  A baby might be seen as an eating, sleeping, shitting machine who can do little more than cry and flail their little arms about.  But in Ethan and the other babies in the play group are certainly not that simple.

Babies have skills, just different ones.  Skills that would be incredibly useful if we could reclaim them in some way.  When Ethan started to come down with his tummy bug, before Thom and I knew he was unwell, he started letting us know to pay attention, something was up!  First just a little less smiley.  Then, later, unhappy at feeds, grabbing at me but unwilling to drink more than a few mouthfuls of milk.  Smart little guy was expressing what any of us would feel as a tummy bug was coming on.  Hungry but not.  Tender tummy.  A little off colour.  His instinctual baby-brain responded pretty well by telling him he needed more sleep and snuggles.  And less milk and over-energetic playtime.  He didn't have the words to speak it or the ability to take himself to the pharmacy for some Pepto, but he did do what becomes harder somehow as we get older and supposedly smarter.  I'm not near as good as listening to some of my body's signals.  Simply changing a routine or stopping something we want but we feel is bad can be the difficulties of a lifetime.

We forget the gift of instinct.  Forget the value of listening to the pull of something unexplainable.  That same instinct-driven little man also listens when he senses that someone is nice, something is fun or the most everyday and mundane to us, is fascinating to him.  Without that, any child would be uninspired to grow and develop into someone that is big enough and able enough to become a participant in the world.  If only we could hang onto a it of that baby-style approach as we do.

No time like the present

Ethan has been napping for 30 minutes.  I've had a cup of coffee, googled teething, then googled my dry cleaners, then played DrawSome on my iPhone with strangers.  Meanwhile, I have a psychology magazine open to an article about willpower resting on my lap.  Where is my willpower? Am I wasting time?  I have things I want to do.  Plant lettuce in the back yard.  Write a the next chapter in something that might one day be a book.  Read this article.  But then Jeremy Kyle is doing lie detector results right after this break, so....

The days fly by when they are divided into 3-4 hourly baby-segments of eating, playing and napping.  After the washing-up and a load of baby laundry, I can tell myself that an hour's TV watching is much deserved relaxation or that facebook is keeping in touch with friends, but we all know it's not.

As the days fly by, time marches ever forward.  Too quickly.  Some days I look at Ethan and almost don't recognise the emerging little person in front of me.  He changes so fast.  When he was small, Thom and I used to love a little squeeky sound he made, like a baby squirrel calling for its mother.  We would call back to him in little squeeks.  I loved that sound.  He's bigger now.  His vocal cords are bigger, too, and the squirrel sound is no more.  Replaced with coos and gurgles and grizzles that communicate so much more.  Wonderful, but also ever changing.  It's clear that if I blink for a moment, if I fail to appreciate each day, they will be gone before I have had a chance to enjoy them.

So , yes, I am wasting a lot of time.  And it pisses me off to admit it.  The thought of wasting time has annoyed me since Noah's death when I swore, in honour of his very short life, that I never would waste the life I'd been given.  At first, other people who didn't value the precious short moments we call life annoyed me.  But then I realised that I was just as guilty.  The daily drudgery bogs me down and I fall into comfortable procrastination.  I don't take opportunities to really appreciate other people in my life.  I watch Jeremy Kyle instead of planting my lettuces.  I guess I feel like there is always time, when the truth is that time is always shorter than we'd like it to be.

Why would I waste time?  I don't actually care which chav fathered the baby of poor woman on the Jeremy Kyle stage.  Watching does nothing more than provide an easy distraction.  Passes the time and fills my mind with something simple.  Jeremy Kyle is an easy example for all the things I'm certain we all do that fill our time without bringing us any closer to what we really truly want.  If I can get closer to what I really want, what's to stop me?  Maybe it's a little frightening to try for what is real, to love deeply, to live fully because the risks are so much greater.  The loss, the inevitable endings or failings cut to the bone.

So I'm finding it difficult to keep my promise and live up to this ideal.  Truth is that living the way I'd like is a big change, and such big shifts rarely happen spontaneously or quickly.  Today is another day.  The sun is shinning and while Ethan naps I can clip on the baby monitor and plant those lettuces.  Tomorrow I will see if I can keep my promise again, and for every tomorrow I am gifted, I can try again.

New and improved baby, now with teeth

Conversation between Thom and a guy he works with:
Other guy: 'What did you name your baby?'
Thom: 'Ethan.'
Other guy: 'You named your baby Lethal?!'

Just when you thought it was safe, things change.  Ethan has developed the drooling ability of a bulldog and anything that dares enter the 3 inch danger zone in front of his mouth is going to get gnawed on.  A few weeks ago after some usually broken sleep at nap time, I wondered about teething.  Google came to the rescue once again and it turns out he has all the classic signs of a fresh new tooth on its way.  I can't wait for the little gnasher to poke through.  Then he really will be Lethal.

I've tried to recall how it felt to grow a tooth.  Apart from a vague memory of dull ache from wisdom teeth, I can't recall how bad it feels.  Good news, I suppose as this pain he's having will soon be beyond his memory and all that will be left is a beautiful new tooth.

I like to tell him this when he wakes up unhappy.  'Soon your lovely tooth will be here and all this will be over.'  He is such an easy going chap, that he generally smiles, even if just briefly before returning to his frustrated baby-grizzling.  It can affect how much he wants to eat and can wake him, but I am always surprised by what a trooper he is.

Teething at less than four months old seemed too early, until I learned that babies can be born with teeth.  They have all their teeth neatly hidden in their gums before birth.  As with everything baby-related, teething comes with old wives tales.  Such as babies born with teeth will be selfish.  And babies who teethe early are intelligent.  Also, perhaps to be expected, loads of conflicting advice on how to help baby transverse this stage.

'Let them use a dummy/pacifier.'  'Don't let them use a dummy, it'll mess up their teeth.'
'Use teething gel.'  'Don't use teething gel, it could kill them.'

In any case, I have bought  into some of the hype by getting Ethan an amber teething necklace.  Baltic amber is meant to offer pain relief when worn against the skin.  I' not convinced Ethan notices a difference, but I feel calmer after putting on the magical necklace.  And he responds well to mom being calm, plus looking cute in baby jewellery.

Thankfully, tooth pain isn't constant and L'Ethal (lil' Ethan) has blessed the household with 12 hours of sleep last night.  I should have been enjoying it, but I woke every half hour after midnight with a start and paranoid ideas about why he wasn't crying for milk.  How did a stress-ball like me end up with such an easy-going, lovely baby?

Learn like Kids Do

We are watching Ethan's every move.  Noting what makes him smile.  What makes him curious.  What makes him unhappy.  It brings new understanding to the way people interact with each other, how we weave into each other.  As we watch him, he watches us and together we figure out ways of being together, slowly sussing each other out day by day.

I also learn about myself, and maybe about people generally.  Watching Ethan, life is divided into simple needs.  Food.  Warmth.  Play.  Love.  Somewhere along the road, we might get all confused, knotted up and discouraged as the struggles in life seem more complex.  

I've been using baby nap time to read a book about Milton Erikson, a legendary hypnotherapist who used stories to help his clients overcome problems (My Voice Will Go With You, by Sidney Rosen).  Erikson encouraged people to not lose childlike curiosity and playfulness in the midst of frustration.  The first of his stories in the book is called 'Learning to Stand Up' and really captures the long-forgotten frustrations of getting balance coordinated between legs, feet and hips for a child learning to stand for the first time.  The tale is possibly intended to remind the listener that we have already overcome such great challenges.  The skill to overcome the greatest barriers is there, even if it is forgotten.  And we are encouoraged to maintain the fresh, creative perspective of a child, even in adversity.

I see Ethan, each day, making another small change in his movements and behaviour to accomplish his goals.  Getting food.  Reaching for something he likes.  Interacting in ways that invite as well as show love.  

And children love in a beautiful way.  Without concern for how they seem or what others will think of them.  I was out for coffee with friends the other week.  Ethan and my friend's child took to sizing each other up.  Staring un-ashamedly for ages before deciding 'I like you' and smiling without a care if the feeling was returned.  This is how all love should be, given without fear or demand that it be returned.  My friend's child, now almost 2, left the cafe crying to be leaving his new friends.  

These times are as beautiful as they are tough.  My mind goes to Noah and what he might be doing.  What he might be like.  In a quiet moment, during a peaceful baby nap, I was sitting in the springtime sunshine in the backyard looking at the cherry blossoms starting to bloom.  Baby monitor clipped to my belt loop, I thought of Ethan's lovely smile and how intensely wonderful he had made my life.  And as I looked at the delicate blossoms beginning to form I thought of how intensely painful life felt without Noah.  

Mind drifting to Noah's funeral, a line from the Lord's Prayer popped into my mind, 'Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.'  The day of the funeral I stood silent as the prayer was recited.  How could I ask for God's will when it was so wrong and painful?  Sitting watching the blossoms and listening to the silent baby monitor, I felt gratefulness that Ethan came to me.  I was suddenly struck by how much I wanted one part of God's will - or whatever brought Ethan to me - and not the other, the part that took Noah away.  And even still, that brief moment in time I had with Noah was a gift that I wouldn't trade away given the choice.  I could only hope that the same will that brought Ethan to be with me here on earth was looking after Noah somewhere in heaven.

  

I am sad.  And yet every time I think that I can't get through, I do.  Like the child in Erikson's story, like Ethan, I find ways to adjust.  Like every child, I always have done and always will.  Like that child standing for the first time, my balance can be off and I might fall.  But I can try to steady myself and start again, maybe getting a bit further next time.  Part of what can help when missing Noah is being immersed in the experience of love like a child would be. Without the demands that make love about satisfying my fears.  Is there love without pain?  Like the my friend's child, falling in love with a new friend, so unconcerned about the outcome, crying and sadness still follows when the one you love leaves, even if it's not forever.  That true and unselfish love is as wonderful as it is painful.  Then every moment with the ones you love feels like a wonderful gift, no matter how it turns out in the end. 

For Noah

For Noah

To me you were like the butterfly of a warm spring day

I dared not breathe lest you fly away

Gracing my anticipating skin on your way momentarily

For the brief and blessed time that you chose me

Young blossoms of spring can all testify

Of the beautiful things that too quickly die

For a short and glorious time here to bloom

All the more lovely for ending so soon

How many dark, cold winter nights I hoped to see your face

Bargains with malevolent gods as I prayed to take your place

I remember how delicate and perfect, the way you were made

Though 100 springs pass by, my memory of you will not fade

Post pregnancy body

Heard stories of women who are back in their pre-pregnancy jeans the day after delivery?  It's urban legend.  Always someone who knows someone who's cousin managed this impossible magic trick.

Here I am 2 months after birth and my body is still not my own.  Well, it is, but I just don't recognise it much.  My pre-pregnancy clothes remain tucked up in vacuum-sealed packs under the bed.  I survive in leggings and even still wear my maternity trousers.  The scale says I am about 15 pounds heavier than at the start of the pregnancy.  But the differences in my body are not accurately reflected in body weight alone.  My once firm leg muscles are all lazy and floppy.  So I imagine that even losing that extra 15 pounds wouldn't make me look and feel that same as before.  I am going to have to burn some fat as well as build up some muscle again.

couch potato times are not helping to shift the preggo pounds

While walking is ok in moderation, proper exercise isn't recommended for 6-8 weeks after delivery.  Longer for c-section mums like me, so I might be looking at 12 weeks before I can begin in earnest.  I am further set-back by an infection of my wound, and will have to be more cautious than I'm used to in my workouts.

out for a walk with the emerging daffodils

Post-pregnancy workouts have their own specific considerations.  Abdominals are still working their way back into alignment so any movements that use them have to be carefully selected.  Using the rectus abdominus (the muscles of the old 'six-pack') too soon can result in something called doming.  This is when the muscles do not realign, leaving a gap in the middle and a permanent disfigurement.  Also, workouts that are too intense or when calories are not replaced can negatively affect breastfeeding.

Then there are the things that only time can fix.  Swelling above the c-section incision site can take months to smooth out.  And even though it's thought that breastfeeding helps burn off fat accumulated during pregnancy, the hormones active during breastfeeding can also force the body to hold onto 5-10 pounds.  Not to mention that the average increase in breast size can account for about 2 pounds of the extra weight packed on in pregnancy.

Good news is, it's still winter.  Comfortable, baggy knitwear doesn't look out of place.  But even now the daffodils and crocus are bursting up form the soil.  Soon my snug-fitting summer wardrobe will be calling me.  I'm attempting an approach of amusement and amazement at my body.  Along with weaning myself off pregnant-lady portions of dinner and some exercise should see me right in time.

Besides, post-pregnancy body isn't just about weight and body-shape.  There's so much more going on.  I find it fascinating, a little frightening at times and all very interesting.  Hope you do, too.

1. Hair
     All the good things that happened to my hair during pregnancy are still here.  It's thicker and grew long over the 9 months.  It's a great comfort to be happy at least with my hair if nothing else.  A wonderful treat for me was to get my hair dyed, finally, after 9 long months of unsightly roots.  Before becoming pregnant, I regularly dyed my hair jet black. After 9 months of no dying, I had a good 5 inches of natural hair.  I found a colourist who embarked on the process of getting the black out of the ends with me.  After some hours of lifting, bleaching and tinting my hair is back to a natural shade, slightly umph-ed up with a few cleverly placed highlights.  So my ass is fat.  But my hair looks great.

2. Under-eye bags?  That's just an excuse for some fun eye makeup!
    It hardly bears writing about sleep-deprivation.  It is a guaranteed given for the first few months, or if my mother is right, the next 30 years.  After a night of mere minutes sleep, I remind myself of the days when sleep was happily sacrificed for fun.  Thom and I would go out, dance up a storm and waking up tired the next day just meant that it was a good night.  My eyes show the signs, though.  Puffy with dark circles.  I considered using the fab hair to hide them, but I need to see to avoid tripping over the various baby things that now litter the floors.  Next best option - eye treats.  Little potions that come as roll-ons or moisturising creams that smell nice or a new mascara all help hide those sleepy peepers.  As soon as Ethan goes down for his first nap of the day, I grab myself a few minutes of face-time to treat those tired eyes to something nice.  It's what baby naps were invented for!

3.  How little other people care
     Makes me wonder what I ever worried about.  No, I'm not the fit little chickie I was.  But who even notices?  And of those who notice, who of them care?  The answer to both is pretty much none.  Friends still have compliments for me, despite my feeling so different and out of place in my own skin.  As for Thom, I can truly say that he has seen my body at the absolute worst.  Following the c-section, and all the trauma surrounding us during that time he's had a front row seat for the horror show that was my cut-up franken-belly.  He was the one who helped me into the first shower after the operation.  He fetched the big, old lady panties for me from the store.  He has become accustomed to the sight of me attached un-glamorously to the end of an electric breast pump.  And he still says he I look nice (maybe more after my eye-treatment routine) and gives my butt a little naughty pat when the opportunity presents itself.  Getting back into shape is still the goal, but there's a little lesson to be learned here about the validity of self-obsessed body hang ups that might grab hold of me at this point.  They will only make this time of life stressful and make me dismissive of all the positive feedback about my slightly chubby frame.  Maybe those that mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.

Before and After: Discovering parenthood

Where does the time go?  Somehow, now that days are divided into 3-4 hourly feeds, interspersed with naps, snuggles and various incidents in the diaper region, days fly by and I suddenly realise how very long its been since my last post.  How very long its been since a lot of things, actually.  Long showers, painting fingernails, drinking a cup of tea when it's hot.  Surprisingly to me - someone who loves hot showers, nice nails and loathes cold tea - these differences only occur to me as I sit here now and purposefully reflect on the the before-and-after of my life.

Before, I might have imagined these changes as a problem.  I know that friends and readers without children could find it hard to believe that the ways you change as a parent provide reasons for joy, laughter and general amazement that life could have ever been any other way.

For instance, this morning, I attempted to give Thom a hair cut.  Before, a quick mohawk shave for Thom was part of the weekend routine, situated in between pieces of toast or croissants and strong, Sunday morning coffees.  Today, we had to employ precision timing to get this simple, everyday task done-and-dusted between Wriggly Man's feeds and naps.  After 10 minutes of silence through the baby monitor, we thought it a safe window to get the clippers out.  But Wriggly, who must be a little psychic, woke up screaming just as Thom's head was half shaved.  We hurried through (and I'm afraid this week's mohawk might be a little crooked) so I could quickly get to Ethan and comfort him.  Covered in hair clippings is no way to snuggle a baby, so I stripped down and legged it up to little man in the old birthday suit.  Ah, the big adventures that come with such a little person.

Here's a few other odd things I've noticed in parenthood:
1. Fascination with Faeces
      Baby poo is gross.  Unless it's your baby's poo, and then it's an event.  We look to it like tea leaves, saying to each other, So that's why he's been so fussy, look at that poo! It's a suitable conversation topic at any time of the day.  It's colour, consistency, timing, smell are all very, VERY interesting.  It's difficult to say what changes as a parent.  The poo still stinks.  It's still poo, and we still recoil and wash it off clothes and hands with appropriate disgust.  But it also like a little window into baby's world.  A small way we begin to understand and identify with him.  By analysing his poo, we can say to him and each other, Yes, I would also feel happy/upset/content after a poo like that.

2. Sleep is optional
      Everyone asks, Are you sleeping?  I would say, yes, except that what counts as sleep now is totally different than before.  A few stolen moments of closed eyes, when you fall instantly into a dream about doing the thing you are about to do in a minute when you wake - that counts as sleep.  So when I get an hour between 2 and 3 am, I feel practically refreshed.  Thom said to me last night that he noticed a new forehead wrinkle on his face.  I'm hardly surprised.  We look really old as we get up in the morning.  Pre-coffee, bed-head, under-eye-baggage zombie-looking people.  It would be easy for us at this point to snap and snarl at each other's ugly faces.  But once Ethan is fed and playing on his sheepskin in the morning light, we are again restored and ready to face the day on mere minutes of sleep.

3. Enjoying giving up things you enjoy
     Before you have a baby, people say to you that you'll never have a hot meal/night out/a cent to your name again.  All of this is true.  And so many more minor things go out the window as baby enters the front door.  What these negative-ninnies don't mention is that you won't mind.  Baby's happiness and calm means more than all these worldly treasures and you'll find that you'll willingly sacrifice most things in exchange for a peaceful little person.  Just the other day I found myself pillaging AAA batteries from all available devices to get Ethan's Slumber Buddy working again.  This frog-shaped nightlight, complete with lullabies and heart-beat sounds is intended to send baby off to dreamland.  And for that I thought we could survive without a TV remote, wireless mouse or any other gizmo that previously would have been sorely missed.

4. You go a little bit insane, but it's all good
      For one thing, we have become obsessive.  I wonder what Thom and I ever talked about before Wriggly Man.  Whether we are debating the meaning of a particular tone of cry, laughing a his funny little ways or day-dreaming about his future all we seem to talk about is Ethan.  Even when we aren't talking about him, the subject matter is tangentially related to him.  What's for dinner?  Well, what can be cooked in time before he wakes up for a feed?
     We have lost our minds in other ways, too.  The things that seem normal, or even desirable now would be inconceivable to a person in their right mind.  Basic baby-tending behaviour sounds insane sometimes and even more so for the fact that these crazy things we do for baby feel ok.  If baby's nose is stuffed up, sucking the snot out of it seems like the best thing to do.  Sucking the snot out of somebody else's nose is normal.  Who'd have imagined? If baby is gnawing and pulling at my breast, I wonder if he doesn't like the taste today.  Sounds crazy.   There is no doubt that we have lost our minds, but it feels alright.

5. Baby crying is less annoying than you might imagine
      It's not annoying at all.  It is, however, heart-breaking.  Before baby, when you hear a baby cry in on an airplane or in the supermarket it is a difficult sound to tolerate.  But since Ethan, the crying is nothing like those times.  If we can divine what the crying might  be about - hungry, sleepy, cold - it isn't so bad because we can do something.  We spring into action with the calm assurance that crying will soon be comforted with whatever it is he needs.  But Ethan has no other way of communicating with us and sometimes we don't get it.  The sound of him crying is utterly tragic to us when we can't fix it.  Minutes feel like hours when he cries, but not because of annoyance.  It's because we want to cry with him.  I take it as all part of us gelling as a little emerging family.  When one cries, we are all sad.  But also when one is happy, we all smile.