Last night, I rocked my son to sleep. It's taboo and frowned upon and probably one of the worst mistakes you can make during your child's first years, but it had been so long since we rocked together in the big blue chair in the corner of my son's room that I can't even pretend to regret it now.
I used to rock my son to sleep every night. He would nurse or have a bottle and we'd rock and rock until he fell completely asleep, cuddled in the crook of my arm. It became a serious sleep association for him, one that proved hard to break months later. So one might ask, why would I choose to reopen that can of worms? Why would I rock him again?
Well, it happened at about 10 p.m. I had only just fallen asleep, suffering from a stuffy head and throat that felt like I was swallowing sandpaper, when I heard his sad little cry vibrating through the monitor. This wasn't his little whimper he makes when turning over; it was a full-out cry. And it didn't stop. He sat up and rolled around and his crying just got sadder and louder. It broke my heart, and I knew I had to go to him. It's a funny thing when you're a mother how in tune you become with your child. I knew, after just a couple of groggy seconds, that his cry meant he needed me, that he was in pain, not that he woke up and just wanted to see if I would come.
So I hurried out of our bedroom. My husband questioned my decision to go to him so quickly (as he often cries for a few seconds in his sleep and then simply puts himself back to bed. In fact, going in there usually disrupts him more than the momentary bad dream or uncomfortable postion that originally woke him). But I knew. And when I picked him up, he was so stuffy he could barely breathe through his nose at all and tears were streaming down his hot face. So I rocked him in that blue chair for 30 minutes. He fell asleep, scrunched in my arms because that's the only way he'll fit anymore, and snored lightly into my side.
I finally laid him back down when we were both ready, but it was funny how much I didn't mind waking up. I was so tired and sick myself, but I didn't even care that I had to wake up. I missed the days I used to rock him to sleep. And I understand why I can't do it every night, why it's bad for him to have that sleep association, but it was nice. We used the stuffy nose.. whether it was teething or sickness I'm still not sure... as an excuse to pretend he was 6 months old again. And I'm not sure who loved it more, though it was probably me.
It's impressive the instinct that mothers have about their children. It doesn't work with other children - I don't hear a baby crying in a store and know exactly what ails them - but I know when my son cries exactly what he needs me to do. Scientists talk about this biological connection that exists between a mother and her child, this innate ability to do the right thing at the right time. I don't think it's actually biological. I believe mothers who adopt their children or have them via surrogate experience this same sychronization. Either way, it's the best super power we as mothers could ask for.
So, last night I rocked my child to sleep for the first time in months. Because now that he knows how to put himself to sleep, he doesn't need me to rock him at night. In fact, he often won't allow it; he just doesn't want to sit still. It was the highlight of my night though, those 30 minutes we rocked. In a way, I wish we could have more nights and I'd like to believe it isn't the last time he'll need me to rock him to sleep. Even though I obviously prefer him to be healthy and not need me, it's still nice to be needed.
- N.
Slightly Crunchy: giving in to some
of the earth-preserving, "granola-esque" qualities that are often
associated with mothers such as cloth diapering, breastfeeding and
organic baby food-making, but without fully embracing the
"make-your-own-clothes-wear-organic-deodorant-all-natural-everything"
lifestyle.
Friday, January 30, 2015
Thursday, January 29, 2015
Routine is just another word for slump.
Whenever I feel like we've settled into a routine, my son throws me a curve ball. Whether he stops eating cheese (after he wanted nothing but cheese for a week) or decides that golf no longer interests him (after I couldn't separate him from his golf club just the day before) it's always something new. Whoever coined the phrase "The only constant in life is change" must have been a parent.
Nothing throws a bigger wrench into our day-to-day activities than when my son changes his sleep pattern on a whim. We will have just got him into a good groove, napping at the same time everyday, when he starts cutting a new tooth (which results in shorter naps) or insists on sleeping with a binky in his mouth and spares to grab in case he throws one out of the crib or loses it under his blanket (which is a welcome change from darting into his room and removing the binky that fell out of his mouth earlier in the night because if he rolls on it, he'll wake up).
Our current problem is hard to complain about.
First, some background. Hunter hasn't always slept through the night. At about 1 month old, he slept eight solid hours (to which I responded by waking in a panic and immediately checking to make sure he was breathing before insisting he eat the second he wake up. I also called the pediatrician - obviously). This continued until the dreaded, "four month sleep regression," which hit us hard. I did as much research as possible to learn all of the tricks for combating sleep regression as well as educate myself about the scientific background for why all four month olds seem to give up sleep. It lasted probably six weeks -- during which I googled "sleep regression" more times than I can count -- before we fell into a new routine of waking up 1-2 times per night for feedings. I never wanted to sleep train my son and he was only waking me up once (since if he woke up twice the first time was before I'd gone to bed). Plus, he was breastfed and I didn't supplement with formula so I operated under the assumption that he really, truly might be hungry at 2 a.m.
This lasted until right before his first birthday. Trading off wakings every other night with my husband had made those months bearable. More than bearable really. We were all doing just fine. I still didn't want to sleep train. The thought of him crying in his crib by himself broke my heart. After all, he wasn't even a year old yet! And then, the week of his first birthday, Hunter got sick for the first time. We'd been so lucky that he remained healthy for his first year of life (an accomplishment I attributed to frequent breastfeeding and no day care) but when it finally happened, it threw us off.
Of course Hunter had really good timing. He waited for my husband to be on a business trip, during a week that I had limited help from grandparents and aunts do to their own schedules. By day three I was so desperate for sleep that when he woke up for the third or fourth time around 3 a.m., I plopped him right into bed with me and clocked a few more hours. It was the best either of us had slept in days and so I let it continue while my husband was out of town.
We had never really co-slept. In the mornings when my husband would leave for work, I would put newborn Hunter in his snuggle nest in bed with me to catch a few more hours, but he was so little it never affected his sleep patterns. I was dead set on not having a child glued to my bed, and his father was a horrendous sleeper so I always feared for his safety if he were to sleep in bed with both of us. Despite the nights I sometimes wanted to cuddle him in bed, I didn't give in unless there was a reason for his discomfort. I remained firm. And in that one week that Hunter and I were alone, I gave in. I wasn't strong enough on my own. And I was f***ing tired.
From there it spiraled out of control. He slept in bed with me more than not, and when he wasn't in bed with me, he was in my husband's arms, sitting in the rocker in his room (thank God that thing is comfy!). He awoke every hour after his first wake-up of the night and would immediately fall asleep next to either of us but cry the second we tried to lay him back down.
He was sick, we went on vacation, he got a couple teeth and he was sick again. All excuses we used to assure ourselves this wasn't permanent. But after one full month of very little sleep and a fairly complete breakdown that left me begging for answers, I gave in. I finally said "ok, we will sleep train." And the horrific, awful thing I never could condone other mothers doing finally made sense. My son had never slept poorly enough for it to be necessary. But now it was.
The first night was the worst. He cried for an hour. 45 minutes in, I cried, too. My husband had to go in his room every 10 minutes to lay him back down and tell him goodnight. I literally couldn't do it. I knew if I went in there and saw him, reaching up to me and sobbing "mama" I would give in (even as I write this I'm tearing up). But after that hour, the strangest thing happened: he laid down, and fell asleep. He woke up once in the middle of the night, around 3 a.m., cried for 15-minutes and put himself back to bed. And after that night, it was done. He was sleep trained and the world was right again. But that brings us to our next problem:
Now that he sleeps through the night, he pees through his diaper. Every. Single. Night.
We used to always change him when he'd wake up around 2 a.m., but now that he wasn't waking up, we weren't changing him. I've tried SO many diapers, and so far - nothing has worked for more than two days. So while it is, in some ways, a good problem to have, it's still a problem. I'm too afraid to change him once in the middle of the night because - despite my efforts - he is a creature of habit, and as soon as we start waking him up at 10 p.m. for a diaper change, I'm sure he'll wake up every single night at 10 p.m. on his own for the rest of our lives. So, we don't.
But now, he wakes up TOO early. I have been spoiled with sleep and anything before 6 a.m. I have deemed unacceptable. But when he's crying, wet and cold at 5:30 a.m., I can hardly ignore him. So we get up, change every piece of clothing he's wearing, replace all of the bedding and throw his lovey (that he undoubtedly managed to pee on) in the wash. It's a process, a process much too in depth for 5:30 a.m.
I'd love to close this post with a happy little ending about how we found the perfect solution and all is right in the world again. But alas, we haven't. I've tried a couple of tricks - limiting late night water, sizing up in nighttime diapers - to push him back as far as possible, but he's still not making it more than 11 hours. An appropriate amount of sleep at least, but it's not consistent. I hope we find a solution soon. And when we do, I hope to share it with every other mother who has this problem. But for now, I'm just thanking my lucky stars that he's sleeping through the night. I mean, if he's doing that, what right do I have to complain about 5:30 a.m.?
-N
Slightly Crunchy: giving in to some of the earth-preserving, "granola-esque" qualities that are often associated with mothers such as cloth diapering, breastfeeding and organic baby food-making, but without fully embracing the "make-your-own-clothes-wear-organic-deodorant-all-natural-everything" lifestyle.
Nothing throws a bigger wrench into our day-to-day activities than when my son changes his sleep pattern on a whim. We will have just got him into a good groove, napping at the same time everyday, when he starts cutting a new tooth (which results in shorter naps) or insists on sleeping with a binky in his mouth and spares to grab in case he throws one out of the crib or loses it under his blanket (which is a welcome change from darting into his room and removing the binky that fell out of his mouth earlier in the night because if he rolls on it, he'll wake up).
Our current problem is hard to complain about.
First, some background. Hunter hasn't always slept through the night. At about 1 month old, he slept eight solid hours (to which I responded by waking in a panic and immediately checking to make sure he was breathing before insisting he eat the second he wake up. I also called the pediatrician - obviously). This continued until the dreaded, "four month sleep regression," which hit us hard. I did as much research as possible to learn all of the tricks for combating sleep regression as well as educate myself about the scientific background for why all four month olds seem to give up sleep. It lasted probably six weeks -- during which I googled "sleep regression" more times than I can count -- before we fell into a new routine of waking up 1-2 times per night for feedings. I never wanted to sleep train my son and he was only waking me up once (since if he woke up twice the first time was before I'd gone to bed). Plus, he was breastfed and I didn't supplement with formula so I operated under the assumption that he really, truly might be hungry at 2 a.m.
This lasted until right before his first birthday. Trading off wakings every other night with my husband had made those months bearable. More than bearable really. We were all doing just fine. I still didn't want to sleep train. The thought of him crying in his crib by himself broke my heart. After all, he wasn't even a year old yet! And then, the week of his first birthday, Hunter got sick for the first time. We'd been so lucky that he remained healthy for his first year of life (an accomplishment I attributed to frequent breastfeeding and no day care) but when it finally happened, it threw us off.
Of course Hunter had really good timing. He waited for my husband to be on a business trip, during a week that I had limited help from grandparents and aunts do to their own schedules. By day three I was so desperate for sleep that when he woke up for the third or fourth time around 3 a.m., I plopped him right into bed with me and clocked a few more hours. It was the best either of us had slept in days and so I let it continue while my husband was out of town.
We had never really co-slept. In the mornings when my husband would leave for work, I would put newborn Hunter in his snuggle nest in bed with me to catch a few more hours, but he was so little it never affected his sleep patterns. I was dead set on not having a child glued to my bed, and his father was a horrendous sleeper so I always feared for his safety if he were to sleep in bed with both of us. Despite the nights I sometimes wanted to cuddle him in bed, I didn't give in unless there was a reason for his discomfort. I remained firm. And in that one week that Hunter and I were alone, I gave in. I wasn't strong enough on my own. And I was f***ing tired.
From there it spiraled out of control. He slept in bed with me more than not, and when he wasn't in bed with me, he was in my husband's arms, sitting in the rocker in his room (thank God that thing is comfy!). He awoke every hour after his first wake-up of the night and would immediately fall asleep next to either of us but cry the second we tried to lay him back down.
He was sick, we went on vacation, he got a couple teeth and he was sick again. All excuses we used to assure ourselves this wasn't permanent. But after one full month of very little sleep and a fairly complete breakdown that left me begging for answers, I gave in. I finally said "ok, we will sleep train." And the horrific, awful thing I never could condone other mothers doing finally made sense. My son had never slept poorly enough for it to be necessary. But now it was.
The first night was the worst. He cried for an hour. 45 minutes in, I cried, too. My husband had to go in his room every 10 minutes to lay him back down and tell him goodnight. I literally couldn't do it. I knew if I went in there and saw him, reaching up to me and sobbing "mama" I would give in (even as I write this I'm tearing up). But after that hour, the strangest thing happened: he laid down, and fell asleep. He woke up once in the middle of the night, around 3 a.m., cried for 15-minutes and put himself back to bed. And after that night, it was done. He was sleep trained and the world was right again. But that brings us to our next problem:
Now that he sleeps through the night, he pees through his diaper. Every. Single. Night.
We used to always change him when he'd wake up around 2 a.m., but now that he wasn't waking up, we weren't changing him. I've tried SO many diapers, and so far - nothing has worked for more than two days. So while it is, in some ways, a good problem to have, it's still a problem. I'm too afraid to change him once in the middle of the night because - despite my efforts - he is a creature of habit, and as soon as we start waking him up at 10 p.m. for a diaper change, I'm sure he'll wake up every single night at 10 p.m. on his own for the rest of our lives. So, we don't.
But now, he wakes up TOO early. I have been spoiled with sleep and anything before 6 a.m. I have deemed unacceptable. But when he's crying, wet and cold at 5:30 a.m., I can hardly ignore him. So we get up, change every piece of clothing he's wearing, replace all of the bedding and throw his lovey (that he undoubtedly managed to pee on) in the wash. It's a process, a process much too in depth for 5:30 a.m.
I'd love to close this post with a happy little ending about how we found the perfect solution and all is right in the world again. But alas, we haven't. I've tried a couple of tricks - limiting late night water, sizing up in nighttime diapers - to push him back as far as possible, but he's still not making it more than 11 hours. An appropriate amount of sleep at least, but it's not consistent. I hope we find a solution soon. And when we do, I hope to share it with every other mother who has this problem. But for now, I'm just thanking my lucky stars that he's sleeping through the night. I mean, if he's doing that, what right do I have to complain about 5:30 a.m.?
-N
Slightly Crunchy: giving in to some of the earth-preserving, "granola-esque" qualities that are often associated with mothers such as cloth diapering, breastfeeding and organic baby food-making, but without fully embracing the "make-your-own-clothes-wear-organic-deodorant-all-natural-everything" lifestyle.
Monday, January 26, 2015
It's been a while.
Well, at 8 weeks postpartum I vowed to start a mommy blog, a special place I could share all of the exciting, and sometimes awful, moments I experienced as a first-time mom. After two posts, I got distracted. This happens a lot. I'll be texting one of my friends and all of the sudden, my son wakes up from a nap or falls down and I stop what I'm doing to tend to him - only to forget to text my friend back for two days. That's kind of what happened here; my son learned to crawl, then walk, then he fell over a few (hundred) times, woke up from God knows how many naps and interrupted everything I've attempted to do since he was born. So my apologies friends, I got distracted.
But now I'm ready. I'm ready to share mine and my son's life with the world. I'm ready to talk about my experiences as a first time mom, and I'm ready to write for myself again.
Since the last time I wrote, I have (semi-) "gone" back to work (I work from home, part time and I honestly still mostly identify as a SAHM), I have cried on the floor because I was so sleep-deprived and I just couldn't get my child to sleep, I have called the advice nurse at my pediatrician's office probably more times than necessary AND I have lost all of my baby weight - and then some (a rather large accomplishment considering I gained 54 pounds while pregnant, and I'm only 5'5").
My son was an early walker, so at 14 months he has now pretty much perfected the art. After a particularly nasty fall, I remember calling the pediatrician's office. He falls quite a bit, as babies do, so I don't usually bother, but this time he had hit the tile floor, face first and experienced (what I would later find out was just reflux) "spitting up" after. So I called. I remember the pediatrician telling me very sternly what my son could and couldn't do. It's actually funny to me, though I admit slightly frustrating in the moment when I was trying to make sure a trip to the ER wasn't necessary (it was too late to see his doctor.)
Pediatrician (on-call, not ours): Well he couldn't have hit his head that hard because he wasn't running.
Me: No he was running.
P: But he's 14 months. They don't run at that age.
M: Well, maybe not exactly like full out sprinting, but he was definitely running.
P: No, they don't. Which means unless he hit a corner, he wasn't going fast enough to really get hurt.
M: Um, ok.
I am not writing this to shame Western medicine. Overall, I would say I support Western medicine. Though the slightly crunchy tag does still apply. I'm writing it because it's funny. It's funny how different kids are and how much people want to press them into a little tiny "this is how kids are" mold. My son started walking at 10.5 months (and I DID NOT push him to do it. In fact, I secretly hoped he'd wait a little longer.) So by 13.5 months when this occurred, he was most definitely running. A skill I attribute to having a dog. Since he was 8 months old it has been his sole purpose to get that dog - and at 10.5 months he took two wobbly steps from the couch to the pen and finally achieved the most terrifying day of our poor dogs life. Now, he chases him relentlessly, pulls his hair our and takes his toys (though I promise we really, really are trying to break these habits). Mostly, our dog - a 4-year old Black Mouth Cur (read 90 lbs.) - loves him, and they play. Occasionally, our dog runs to the garage door and begs to be given a break from his energetic little brother.
I'm looking forward to keeping this up more and sharing my experiences with a toddler. Hopefully he doesn't fall down and distract me for an entire year again.
- N.
P.S. It's probably worth mentioning the following:
I breastfed my son for 13 months, our last session was Christmas Day, and I stopped pumping 1-2 weeks later. The transition was easier (for him) that I expected.
We cloth-diapered for one year, until my son gave up breastfeeding, started eating full blown meals and his digestive system started acting more like a full-grown man's. I mostly attribute this change to the weaning.
I made his own baby food the entire time he ate pureed baby foods, and occasionally do still make purees to spread on his toast or mix into his cereal.
He is vaccinated.
Slightly Crunchy: giving in to some of the earth-preserving, "granola-esque" qualities that are often associated with mothers such as cloth diapering, breastfeeding and organic baby food-making, but without fully embracing the "make-your-own-clothes-wear-organic-deodorant-all-natural-everything" lifestyle.
But now I'm ready. I'm ready to share mine and my son's life with the world. I'm ready to talk about my experiences as a first time mom, and I'm ready to write for myself again.
Since the last time I wrote, I have (semi-) "gone" back to work (I work from home, part time and I honestly still mostly identify as a SAHM), I have cried on the floor because I was so sleep-deprived and I just couldn't get my child to sleep, I have called the advice nurse at my pediatrician's office probably more times than necessary AND I have lost all of my baby weight - and then some (a rather large accomplishment considering I gained 54 pounds while pregnant, and I'm only 5'5").
My son was an early walker, so at 14 months he has now pretty much perfected the art. After a particularly nasty fall, I remember calling the pediatrician's office. He falls quite a bit, as babies do, so I don't usually bother, but this time he had hit the tile floor, face first and experienced (what I would later find out was just reflux) "spitting up" after. So I called. I remember the pediatrician telling me very sternly what my son could and couldn't do. It's actually funny to me, though I admit slightly frustrating in the moment when I was trying to make sure a trip to the ER wasn't necessary (it was too late to see his doctor.)
Pediatrician (on-call, not ours): Well he couldn't have hit his head that hard because he wasn't running.
Me: No he was running.
P: But he's 14 months. They don't run at that age.
M: Well, maybe not exactly like full out sprinting, but he was definitely running.
P: No, they don't. Which means unless he hit a corner, he wasn't going fast enough to really get hurt.
M: Um, ok.
I am not writing this to shame Western medicine. Overall, I would say I support Western medicine. Though the slightly crunchy tag does still apply. I'm writing it because it's funny. It's funny how different kids are and how much people want to press them into a little tiny "this is how kids are" mold. My son started walking at 10.5 months (and I DID NOT push him to do it. In fact, I secretly hoped he'd wait a little longer.) So by 13.5 months when this occurred, he was most definitely running. A skill I attribute to having a dog. Since he was 8 months old it has been his sole purpose to get that dog - and at 10.5 months he took two wobbly steps from the couch to the pen and finally achieved the most terrifying day of our poor dogs life. Now, he chases him relentlessly, pulls his hair our and takes his toys (though I promise we really, really are trying to break these habits). Mostly, our dog - a 4-year old Black Mouth Cur (read 90 lbs.) - loves him, and they play. Occasionally, our dog runs to the garage door and begs to be given a break from his energetic little brother.
I'm looking forward to keeping this up more and sharing my experiences with a toddler. Hopefully he doesn't fall down and distract me for an entire year again.
- N.
P.S. It's probably worth mentioning the following:
I breastfed my son for 13 months, our last session was Christmas Day, and I stopped pumping 1-2 weeks later. The transition was easier (for him) that I expected.
We cloth-diapered for one year, until my son gave up breastfeeding, started eating full blown meals and his digestive system started acting more like a full-grown man's. I mostly attribute this change to the weaning.
I made his own baby food the entire time he ate pureed baby foods, and occasionally do still make purees to spread on his toast or mix into his cereal.
He is vaccinated.
Slightly Crunchy: giving in to some of the earth-preserving, "granola-esque" qualities that are often associated with mothers such as cloth diapering, breastfeeding and organic baby food-making, but without fully embracing the "make-your-own-clothes-wear-organic-deodorant-all-natural-everything" lifestyle.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
New moms are a crazy breed.
I don't post anything opinionated on my social media pages because people are crazy. I'm careful not to post anything that could even sound like a personal opinion because clearly someone would be offended. I could post that I like blue socks more than green socks and I'm sure it would somehow offend someone. It's ridiculous.
I'll never forget when my aunt told me she doesn't comment on anybody's posts about parenting because she's afraid of the backlash she will receive. It boggles my mind how every new mother is an expert on parenting. I get it. We all probably read the same books, blogs and studies. We all know mold can grow in the boogie bulbs we get from the hospital, which is why we should use nose frieda, or that vaccinations are good for you - no bad for you - no good for you again.. "back to sleep" is the most used phrase in the hospital and there is only one way to get your child, who is no doubt a carbon-copy of every other child, to sleep. And you know how because it worked for you so it will work for me, too. It's exhausting.
I accept that everyone has their own opinions when it comes to parenting, but they are just that. No matter how rooted in scientific fact they are, what you decide to do for and with your child is a personal preference.
I can't understand how moms get so up in arms about how other people decide to parent their children. I will be chastised for giving my baby a binky (and he just might be one of those kids who still has it as a toddler). I'm sure I will hear words about how I vaccinate my child and on what schedule. I have already been judged for letting my baby sleep through the night (shouldn't you wake them?!). And perhaps the biggest issue of all - I will be criticized not only for how, why, when, where and who (ok maybe not who) I breastfeed by those who do, and don't.
I'm a proponent of breastfeeding. I personally think it's important (add this to my list of crunchy mother characteristics). But it's just that. I think it's important, therefore I do it.
I've found that society likes to make those who breastfeed feel awful. (However I will add that it seems society also likes to make those who formula feed feel awful, I just have less personal experience with this). Like it should be a secret. I speak openly about breastfeeding. I'll even breastfeed in front of you (with a cover, of course). Yet I still am unsure of breastfeeding in public because I hate the judgement I get from the people who have decided it's not okay to breastfeed your child. That it is somehow dirty or inappropriate or wrong, when it is the most natural thing you can do for your child. I'll never understand how society has morphed my child's food source into some terrible taboo thing that should not be seen. It's gross.
As if that isn't enough, sharing the fact that I breastfeed in a public forum is also apparently taboo. I actually had a mother tell me that posting an article about the positive side effects of breastfeeding was offensive to her because she chose not to breastfeed. What?!
And not only am I judged by those who don't breastfeed.. but then there's the judgement from those who do breastfeed, yet do it differently. Those who think you should do it in public vs. those who think you shouldn't. Those who nurse exclusively vs. those who pump and bottle feed as well or ven exclusively. The truth is, these people's opinions shouldn't make me feel bad. They shouldn't even matter. But sometimes I catch myself questioning my own parenting - am I doing something wrong? Could I be doing better for my son? And it sucks. Why do us mothers, who should be sticking together, judge each other so harshly? We don't all do everything else the same, so why would we parent the same? And why is it not okay that we don't?
It's okay to have your own opinions about parenting, no one can take that away from you, but it's also okay for the mother next to you to do it totally different. So this is what I propose - why don't we all stop publicly shaming each other for our parenting decisions. Let's stop posting passive aggressive comments on our fellow parent's FB walls. If you have an opinion, keep it to yourself. Your fellow mothers should be your allies, especially all of us new moms that are just trying to figure this whole parenting thing out, not your enemies.
Part of the reason I have this blog is to talk about my pregnancy and parenting experiences. I can't do it on social media platforms because it will no doubt cause a huge uproar every time I make a post. I just wish I lived in a world where we could talk openly about these things without feeling the need to put down anyone who does it differently.
ok. #rantover.
- N.
Slightly Crunchy: giving in to some of the earth-preserving, "granola-esque" qualities that are often associated with mothers such as cloth diapering, breastfeeding and organic baby food-making, but without fully embracing the "make-your-own-clothes-wear-organic-deodorant-all-natural-everything" lifestyle.
I'll never forget when my aunt told me she doesn't comment on anybody's posts about parenting because she's afraid of the backlash she will receive. It boggles my mind how every new mother is an expert on parenting. I get it. We all probably read the same books, blogs and studies. We all know mold can grow in the boogie bulbs we get from the hospital, which is why we should use nose frieda, or that vaccinations are good for you - no bad for you - no good for you again.. "back to sleep" is the most used phrase in the hospital and there is only one way to get your child, who is no doubt a carbon-copy of every other child, to sleep. And you know how because it worked for you so it will work for me, too. It's exhausting.
I accept that everyone has their own opinions when it comes to parenting, but they are just that. No matter how rooted in scientific fact they are, what you decide to do for and with your child is a personal preference.
I can't understand how moms get so up in arms about how other people decide to parent their children. I will be chastised for giving my baby a binky (and he just might be one of those kids who still has it as a toddler). I'm sure I will hear words about how I vaccinate my child and on what schedule. I have already been judged for letting my baby sleep through the night (shouldn't you wake them?!). And perhaps the biggest issue of all - I will be criticized not only for how, why, when, where and who (ok maybe not who) I breastfeed by those who do, and don't.
I'm a proponent of breastfeeding. I personally think it's important (add this to my list of crunchy mother characteristics). But it's just that. I think it's important, therefore I do it.
I've found that society likes to make those who breastfeed feel awful. (However I will add that it seems society also likes to make those who formula feed feel awful, I just have less personal experience with this). Like it should be a secret. I speak openly about breastfeeding. I'll even breastfeed in front of you (with a cover, of course). Yet I still am unsure of breastfeeding in public because I hate the judgement I get from the people who have decided it's not okay to breastfeed your child. That it is somehow dirty or inappropriate or wrong, when it is the most natural thing you can do for your child. I'll never understand how society has morphed my child's food source into some terrible taboo thing that should not be seen. It's gross.
As if that isn't enough, sharing the fact that I breastfeed in a public forum is also apparently taboo. I actually had a mother tell me that posting an article about the positive side effects of breastfeeding was offensive to her because she chose not to breastfeed. What?!
And not only am I judged by those who don't breastfeed.. but then there's the judgement from those who do breastfeed, yet do it differently. Those who think you should do it in public vs. those who think you shouldn't. Those who nurse exclusively vs. those who pump and bottle feed as well or ven exclusively. The truth is, these people's opinions shouldn't make me feel bad. They shouldn't even matter. But sometimes I catch myself questioning my own parenting - am I doing something wrong? Could I be doing better for my son? And it sucks. Why do us mothers, who should be sticking together, judge each other so harshly? We don't all do everything else the same, so why would we parent the same? And why is it not okay that we don't?
It's okay to have your own opinions about parenting, no one can take that away from you, but it's also okay for the mother next to you to do it totally different. So this is what I propose - why don't we all stop publicly shaming each other for our parenting decisions. Let's stop posting passive aggressive comments on our fellow parent's FB walls. If you have an opinion, keep it to yourself. Your fellow mothers should be your allies, especially all of us new moms that are just trying to figure this whole parenting thing out, not your enemies.
Part of the reason I have this blog is to talk about my pregnancy and parenting experiences. I can't do it on social media platforms because it will no doubt cause a huge uproar every time I make a post. I just wish I lived in a world where we could talk openly about these things without feeling the need to put down anyone who does it differently.
ok. #rantover.
- N.
Slightly Crunchy: giving in to some of the earth-preserving, "granola-esque" qualities that are often associated with mothers such as cloth diapering, breastfeeding and organic baby food-making, but without fully embracing the "make-your-own-clothes-wear-organic-deodorant-all-natural-everything" lifestyle.
Friday, January 10, 2014
My first post
After I became pregnant I started reading a lot of mom blogs. They helped me get through a lot of the ups and downs of pregnancy as well as the hardships of the birth aftermath. The words other mothers wrote about their experiences helped me feel like I wasn't alone in my thoughts and experiences. Because of this, I decided to start my own mommy blog. A place I can be completely honest about my pregnancy, labor and venture into parenthood.
Being someone's mom has changed my life immensely. I used to think people who said having their child was their greatest accomplishment were, well, simple. But it turns out I just couldn't understand it. It's impossible to fathom just how motherhood (or fatherhood) will affect you until you're actually there. You could be the president of the United States and your greatest accomplishment would probably still be your children (or at least it should be).
One of the things I noticed first after I gave birth to my son (about 8 weeks ago) was how much I wasn't myself when I was pregnant. I knew that I was different. I was sick. I had no energy. The things that interested me before were less interesting to me now. It was strange. But I didn't realize how much I truly wasn't myself until I wasn't pregnant anymore. Like I was literally a different person.
My pregnancy was rough. I was sick for 9 months with "what Duchess Kate had" (or what is less commonly referred to as hyperemesis) so I puked most of the time, spent some time in the hospital being rehydrated and experienced lovely pre-labor contractions at just 32 weeks. It was hard and I swore up and down every day that I wouldn't do it again. I stopped going to the gym (I was a self-proclaimed gym rat in my previous life), gave up most of my favorite TV shows (watching TV made me nauseous) and generally stopped going out (we lived in Nevada for most of my pregnancy so even when I wasn't spending quality time with my toilet, going to concerts or out to nice dinners was still often off limits to me because all of the downtown casinos where these events were held allowed smoking inside).
After birth I slowly became myself again. As my stitches healed (yes, I had stitches) and the nausea (finally) subsided, I started feeling like me again. My energy returned, which was weird considering how tired I always was, I started being able to walk around and go places again (baby in tow) and I immediately became happier. I embraced motherhood and I loved it (despite the moments it felt impossible). It's been 8 weeks and I'm not there yet, I'm not fully 100% me. But I'm getting there, and it feels good. I feel like the person my husband fell in love with, which was an emotional struggle for me while I was pregnant and bawling my eyes out exclaiming to my husband that he would never love me the same because I was "fat" and "miserable" and "mean" all the time (oh yes, the joys of crazy hormones).
Despite the fact that I feel I'm becoming me again, I also feel like I'm becoming this better version of me. I'm less selfish. It's not like I was a horrible, self-centered human being to begin with, but I've started to put others needs before my own. Clearly I put my son's needs first, but it's not just him. I cook more for my husband (despite having less time to do so) and I try to find time to make his life easier by packing his lunches, folding his laundry or never telling him he can't golf even if I need some me time, too. Being a mother has made me more than a mother; it's made me a better person, a better friend and a better wife.
Perhaps one of my biggest epiphanies about motherhood and the after-effects of pregnancy came today. I was at the gym (round 3 this week, which I feel pretty good about) and I was about 40 minutes into a cardio session, closing in on 500 calories burned on the treadmill when I realized.. accomplishing an hour of cardio at a 10-18 incline would have been a struggle for me before I ever got pregnant. I was undoubtedly stronger and in way better shape (not to mention a good deal lighter) beforehand, but somehow I could do more today than I could then. I can't lift as heavy of weights and I'm not as flexible, but I was mentally stronger. I could push through the pain and the mental "this-is-too-much" feeling. At the end of the hour I felt like I could keep going. I could do more. (I didn't because I missed my baby and wanted to get home, but knowing I could have felt empowering). Pregnancy, childbirth and motherhood had made me strong, not weak. My muscles ripped and pulled and dissipated and I am still experiencing the after pains that linger longer than the rumored "6 weeks," but I was strong. Who would have thought?
I hope you'll join me as I continue my journey through motherhood. We can have our revelations together, overcome our inevitable and unwarranted body hate (yes, it's real) and discuss all of the embarrassing, taboo topics that no one thinks women should discuss (when really, we should be discussing them at length to help combat those silly insecurities and the feeling that we are alone in our journeys to become the best mothers we can be).
- N.
Slightly Crunchy: giving in to some of the earth-preserving, "granola-esque" qualities that are often associated with mothers such as cloth diapering, breastfeeding and organic baby food-making, but without fully embracing the "make-your-own-clothes-wear-organic-deodorant-all-natural-everything" lifestyle.
Being someone's mom has changed my life immensely. I used to think people who said having their child was their greatest accomplishment were, well, simple. But it turns out I just couldn't understand it. It's impossible to fathom just how motherhood (or fatherhood) will affect you until you're actually there. You could be the president of the United States and your greatest accomplishment would probably still be your children (or at least it should be).
One of the things I noticed first after I gave birth to my son (about 8 weeks ago) was how much I wasn't myself when I was pregnant. I knew that I was different. I was sick. I had no energy. The things that interested me before were less interesting to me now. It was strange. But I didn't realize how much I truly wasn't myself until I wasn't pregnant anymore. Like I was literally a different person.
My pregnancy was rough. I was sick for 9 months with "what Duchess Kate had" (or what is less commonly referred to as hyperemesis) so I puked most of the time, spent some time in the hospital being rehydrated and experienced lovely pre-labor contractions at just 32 weeks. It was hard and I swore up and down every day that I wouldn't do it again. I stopped going to the gym (I was a self-proclaimed gym rat in my previous life), gave up most of my favorite TV shows (watching TV made me nauseous) and generally stopped going out (we lived in Nevada for most of my pregnancy so even when I wasn't spending quality time with my toilet, going to concerts or out to nice dinners was still often off limits to me because all of the downtown casinos where these events were held allowed smoking inside).
After birth I slowly became myself again. As my stitches healed (yes, I had stitches) and the nausea (finally) subsided, I started feeling like me again. My energy returned, which was weird considering how tired I always was, I started being able to walk around and go places again (baby in tow) and I immediately became happier. I embraced motherhood and I loved it (despite the moments it felt impossible). It's been 8 weeks and I'm not there yet, I'm not fully 100% me. But I'm getting there, and it feels good. I feel like the person my husband fell in love with, which was an emotional struggle for me while I was pregnant and bawling my eyes out exclaiming to my husband that he would never love me the same because I was "fat" and "miserable" and "mean" all the time (oh yes, the joys of crazy hormones).
Despite the fact that I feel I'm becoming me again, I also feel like I'm becoming this better version of me. I'm less selfish. It's not like I was a horrible, self-centered human being to begin with, but I've started to put others needs before my own. Clearly I put my son's needs first, but it's not just him. I cook more for my husband (despite having less time to do so) and I try to find time to make his life easier by packing his lunches, folding his laundry or never telling him he can't golf even if I need some me time, too. Being a mother has made me more than a mother; it's made me a better person, a better friend and a better wife.
Perhaps one of my biggest epiphanies about motherhood and the after-effects of pregnancy came today. I was at the gym (round 3 this week, which I feel pretty good about) and I was about 40 minutes into a cardio session, closing in on 500 calories burned on the treadmill when I realized.. accomplishing an hour of cardio at a 10-18 incline would have been a struggle for me before I ever got pregnant. I was undoubtedly stronger and in way better shape (not to mention a good deal lighter) beforehand, but somehow I could do more today than I could then. I can't lift as heavy of weights and I'm not as flexible, but I was mentally stronger. I could push through the pain and the mental "this-is-too-much" feeling. At the end of the hour I felt like I could keep going. I could do more. (I didn't because I missed my baby and wanted to get home, but knowing I could have felt empowering). Pregnancy, childbirth and motherhood had made me strong, not weak. My muscles ripped and pulled and dissipated and I am still experiencing the after pains that linger longer than the rumored "6 weeks," but I was strong. Who would have thought?
I hope you'll join me as I continue my journey through motherhood. We can have our revelations together, overcome our inevitable and unwarranted body hate (yes, it's real) and discuss all of the embarrassing, taboo topics that no one thinks women should discuss (when really, we should be discussing them at length to help combat those silly insecurities and the feeling that we are alone in our journeys to become the best mothers we can be).
- N.
Slightly Crunchy: giving in to some of the earth-preserving, "granola-esque" qualities that are often associated with mothers such as cloth diapering, breastfeeding and organic baby food-making, but without fully embracing the "make-your-own-clothes-wear-organic-deodorant-all-natural-everything" lifestyle.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)