momtourage

What Happens When You Listen To Your Newborn

The baby and I'd had a rough day.  I mean a long one. 

We drove into Manhattan to first visit another baby friend in Harlem, then go to my last midwife appointment downtown.  My plan to just scoot down Fifth Avenue was foiled by an NFL kickoff party on 59th street that turned the usual "just scooting"  into very slow traffic.  Trucker slept for most of the ride downtown, waking a mere ten blocks from the midwives' office.  But then I couldn't park.  So I drove around and around in circles looking for a spot with a screaming baby in the back seat.  Then I found a street spot after resigning to pay for a lot.  Then the parking munimeter machine thingee was broken.  I needed to walk a block and pay for my parking there.  But in these meters you must pay an entire $2.00 in quarters.  I had $1.75.  So then I begged a street vendor to give me an extra quarter in exchange for fifteen cents and an entire dollar after my midwife's appointment.  By the time I got into her office a half an hour late I was a wreck.

We went shopping afterward.  Later, I ate my first meal of the day at 4:30, half a falafel sandwich.  I only ate half because the baby woke up.  And I thought I ought to get going before he got too upset.  Of course, he got too upset anyway.  That's because, I didn't realize until I was half-way over the Brooklyn Bridge, he was hungry.  He hadn't eaten since the midwives' office.  I had a choice.  I could continue to drive with the screaming baby in the back seat and get home faster, though I could see the traffic on the BQE from the bridge and it was not pretty, or I could pull over and nurse.

I decided to listen to my newborn.

I pulled over after getting off the bridge, before getting on the BQE.  I realized I was very close to the river.  So I put money in the meter (in Brooklyn, you can still get away with two quarters.) And took the baby down to the water, right near the bottom of the Brooklyn Bridge, about two hundred feet from the waterfall.  We nursed there with the water lapping on the shore and my favorite bridge right in front of me and the sun heating our skin.  We were happy.

When I got back to the car, I was trying to figure out how to get back to the highway, when I noticed a lot of cars making a particular left turn.  I decided to follow them.  It was a street under the highway with only one traffic light.  We were getting home much faster than the schmoes up above us on the highway.  I took back roads all the way home and I swear I had almost all green lights.

Now I'm not going to say that my baby has magical powers, though the thought did cross my mind.  He did have a good idea.  I'm going to listen to him more often.

Thanks, my baby.

Good Intentions/Bad Timing

As I tend to do at the beginning of a new school year, I started off vowing to become supermom. So when I discovered that none of the children from my son Sam's pre-K class would be in his new Kindergarten class, (It's a huge, urban school.) I networked to find at least one child who would, then promptly arranged a playdate with him. And it was wonderful. They played for hours. The year was off to a great start.

And then two days later the little boy's mom told me that he had head lice.

Now, I am no stranger to lice scares. Last year there must have been at least 5 between my two boys' classes. The fact that they had not, as yet, contracted lice only made me more nervous. What were the odds? And right before the all-important first week of Kindergarten! I was convinced that our get out of jail free pass had fully expired. Nervously, I went through both boys' hair, using a bamboo skewer to expose the scalp. No eggs, no nits. I breathed a sigh of relief. So far so good. But just in case, I gave them a treatment anyway.

Things sure have come a long way since I had lice back in 2nd grade. I had long, long hair, which my mother refused to cut. And of course the only available treatment at the time was Qwell, which is rumoured to cause seizures if left in too long (and I know my mom left it in extra 'just to be sure.') A quick trip to the local health food store revealed many less-toxic options. I settled with two and used one, Licefreee! (Yes, it really does have the extra e and the exclamation point.) Unlike Qwell, it did not burn my sons' scalps and even smelled okay. It had kind of a strong liquorice scent but a subsequent tea tree oil shampoo did a pretty good job of masking it.

Sam's first few days of school have passed reassuringly uneventfully. He loves his teacher and has made friends with a little girl. They even played wedding in the pretend area! I am still checking his scalp once a day but the danger seems to have passed. That is, until the next lice scare. I give it about 3 weeks.

breastfeeding styles

Not surprisingly, some moms are more modest than others.

I have noticed many moms in Austin tying an apron around their necks to give themselves privacy in a public place.

When my second child was still a babe, I sometimes nursed him while he was in the sling, while strolling(!) around the neighborhood in Brooklyn.

During our summer travels, I was shocked when I spied several mothers with their blouses down, breast exposed, feeding the child in a very busy, crowded place such as the airport or the piazza in Milan...

Final Installment: Summer Knits

I think it's the least I've knit in any given summer in the past 10 years. But here it is, my second (and last) knit of the summer - an alpaca blanket for a friend who just adopted a 2 year old girl. (That's why I made it so large - Sam is modelling it.) I didn't follow any patern, just felt compelled to do a wide garter stitch border and a lighter pink stockinette interior with garter stitch 'stripes.'

Now to get started on some fall knits. I hope to be a little more productive this season.

You've come a long way, baby

Remember when?

My friend Brent sent me this image and it make me laugh out loud (after I remembered what it actually was). We were no strangers to the sugariest cereals on the planet in those days, Fruit Loops being my personal favorite. I was also a habitual contest enterer, so I probably sent away for this.

This image did lead me to do a side by side comparison of the nutritional information for the Koala Crisp I serve my kids vs the Cocoa Pebbles my mom served me.

Hmmm... Maybe I haven't come such a long way after all. Anyone up for a game of Donkey Kong?

Anatomy of a Beer Can

Right after placing the Sugar Smacks on the table, I turn on the cartoons, throw a flannel shirt on over my long johns, and quietly slip outside, away from the usual morning hubbub. A beer can, only slightly crumpled, rests beside the road, emptied during the night's revelry. Inspired, I set down my cigarette and fill it with blossoms culled from the weeds across the street. When I can't possibly stuff any more into the opening, I run back inside and place this rustic bouquet on the cluttered table. Alas, the cries of a burgeoning fight over the remote control have shattered the peace of this otherwise perfect summer day.

Call me a sourpuss, but I just couldn't help writing a parody of this entry from a blog that is actually much loved by us over here at momtourage. It's just that, that, that - sometimes it makes me feel so inadequate. And what to do in that case but to self medicate with humor. Also, you know what? I sometimes DO find beer cans on my front lawn and I kind of like this gussied up version. A second life before it hits the recycling bin. I just hope I didn't come into contact with any poison ivy while I was picking.

This goes out to every mom who's having a really bad day.

And no, I don't actually smoke. The cigarette butt just happened to be on the ground beside the can and I couldn't resist.

To g or Not To g?

In another reality, I might very well be the kind of mom who uses cloth diapers.  In this one, I don't have my own washer-dryer, my partner is totally not into using cloth, and I'm just a little on the lazy side.

But I have a lot of disposable diaper guilt.  Mostly because I think I probably could/would use cloth if I were just slightly more inclined.  It isn't going to happen, though.

I was excited to find a hybrid.  The Prius of the diaper world: gDiapers.

They consist of a completely adorable "Little g Pant" cloth diaper cover, a inner water-proof liner, and completely biodegradable plastic-free inserts. The inserts are flushable, but not in my apartment, they aren't!  I was sold on the cuteness of the g pants alone.  So I tried them. Many people claim that they leak, but I was convinced that I could ride it out and get them to work well.  And I did.  For the two weeks that those size small g pants fit my humongous baby, I was able to eventually figure out how they work best and have a mostly leak-free experience with them.  When they did leak, it didn't even seem like that much of a hassle because of that release of guilt I was feeling.  (Of course I put him in disposables at night.  Remember, I err on the side of lazy.) I even asked a friend who works in the community garden if he could get permission for me to compost the pee diapers there.  I was feeling as green as Kermit thee Frog.

Then Trucker's legs got big.  Big huge chunkalunka legs.  And his belly?  Did you ever dissect a frog in high school? Remember how wide the frog's belly was? Unusually wide?  That's my boy.  At six weeks old, he's wearing size 2 disposable diapers.  He grew out of those adorable size small little g pants.

Now I have a predicament.  Do I shell out the money for the next size up? I'd need to buy another starter kit at around 22 bucks at the coop.  The inserts come out to cost around 41 cents a piece if I buy a case of four.  My evil disposables?  Around 22 cents each if I get the super-humongous box online.  Cheaper, if I just get the generic Costco kind. (Of course, I did have to give half of my huge box of size 1-2 diapers away, since Trucker grew out of them so quickly. So technically, they cost twice as much.) I can get free gDiaper inserts online if I keep posting that I'm looking for them when other folks give up, or grow out of them.  I got almost 80 free small inserts from a neighborhood listserve.  Which I guess I will also give away on the list.

At what environmental cost do I try to save money?  Should I just keep posting to the listserves that I'm looking for freebies, pay for new ones, or give up on the whole shebang?  What would you do?

dont ya think?

a little ironic... synchronicity? coincidence? juxtaposition?

a quick post just to share my joy and pride in my son for starting "big kid" school this week! he had a great first 2 days, i think he's really happy. but also wanted to give a shout out to me for paying off my student loans today! as i wrote the last check, i beamed in my making my monthly responsibility for the past 18 years and came to almost $40k dollars! so my education is ending is a sense as sam's begins. and ironically, just as my payments end, sam's school's begins! isn't it ironic? i see the humor here.

Meet Your Little Brother

Seven weeks ago, I gave birth to our second son. Being pregnant with the second child carries an entirely different set of emotions than those we had when my partner was pregnant with our first son.  I was surprised to find that, although I was extremely happy about being pregnant, the pregnancy brought with it a world of neuroses and laughable, yet very real-feeling worries. I worried for my future child.  How will he ever be able to follow an act such as my clever, handsome, charming son, Cakie? There is no possible way he can ever be as smart or well-behaved.  He's doomed. Doomed, and not even born yet. I worried about Cakie. How will he adjust to not being king of the castle?  Will he love his brother?  Will he hate his moms?  Will all of our potty training efforts have been in vain?  What if he tries to kill the baby, you know, by accident?

We did our best to prepare him we read him some really great books. Our neighbor, whose son is one of Cakie's close friends, conveniently had twin girls a few months before the little brother was due to arrive.  Having a sibling became en vogue.  Cakie was ready.

When we arrived home from the hospital with baby Trucker, I foolishly expected Cakie to run to us yelling, "Mommy!  Mama!" Instead he ran to his new brother yelling his brother's name.  His uncle took a video of the moment, which I got to watch later.  My son is leaning in to his baby brother, singing a song to the tune of that big purple dinosaur's "I Love You" song.  His version consisted entirely of the baby's name, I love yous, and it ended with a rousing "dancing on the Trucker!"  It went a little something like this:  Trucker, Tru-cker Truck-er Truckeeeeeer.  I love you my little Trucker. With a Trucker Trucker, dancing on the Trucker Trucker er er er er eeeeeeeerrrr! 

Here are some other sound bites from my son's first week as a big brother:

I really like Trucker.  I really like he.

He's so sweet. (Pause.) He's YUMMY!

He wants to drink mommy.  Mommy, he wants to drink you.

This one happens when someone else tries to pick up the baby:
Hey!  Dat my baby bwother!  Dat my bwother!

He was sitting next to my honey and he wanted to hold the baby.  Then he didn't want to hold the baby.  Ann said, "Are you nervous that the baby will cry?  Because babies cry a lot.  It's ok." He just looked at her and said, "I don't want to be nervous," shook his head and made it very clear that he was not going to hold the baby just yet.

He likes me!  He really likes me!

No teeth!  No teeth!  Babies have no teeth!  Just a mouth and a tongue.

We only had one moment so far in which he said, "I don't want he."  But that moment passed and has yet to return.

It is almost too cute to stand, really.  What I didn't expect is that we prepared him emotionally, but we didn't really prepare him technically.  It is a whole new world of "no" at chez oneofhismoms. With the second child, you can't leave that newborn baby stuff that you really really need, just laying around.Your nursing pads are quickly transformed in the hands of a three-year-old into "pretend pizzas" and tossed around the room by the aspiring chef.  You turn you back for one second, and your breast pump shield becomes a megaphone: "Ladies and gentlemen! Presenting ... Trucker drinking Mommy!!!!"   And that $300 breast pump?  Mission control.  It just hasn't worked the same since Cakie tried to "fix" the pump.  I feel like we've always given him pretty firm boundaries, but there are just so many new rules now.  I didn't expect that.  He's had a bit of a hard time with it.  Of course I feel guilty for turning his world upside down. Luckily, he has not connected the arrival of Trucker with the arrival of all the new rules. 

As for the baby... he's pretty darn cute.  I have a feeling he'll be smart and charming, too.  Whew.

Like Money in the Bank

Last summer I went a little jam crazy, but friends and relatives sure benefited from my sudden zeal for gathering and preserving. With Sam 4 and Hank 3, it was finally possible for them to obey a verbal warning to 'stay away from the stove!' (ie pot full of boiling jam and gigantic hot water bath pot). Plus they were at an age where they could help pick, mash, and proudly gift (and eat) 'our jam.'

All winter I gazed at the jewel-toned jars, carefully spacing them out to get the most bang for the buck. A spate of cold, gray days? Blueberry jam brought with it the memory of a sunny berry patch, and lazy pick-and-eat sessions. First snow melting after a few, too brief, hours? Dark, delicious blackberry jam spread on an English muffin made the disappointment lessen just a bit. Even the cloying peach, made with Sure-Jell and way too sweet, brought a bit of golden summer back to a cold winter day.

(And now for a brief plug: I have since discovered Pomona's Pectin, a natural gelling agent that allows you to really taste the fruit in the jam. For example, I use 1 1/2 cups of sugar to make 10 jars of blueberry jam now, as opposed to 7 cups with regular Sure-Jell. The minus is that it doesn't keep forever once the jar is opened.)

This summer I branched out a bit, being in a more practical frame of mind. It also helped that my step-mom went on vacation at harvest time and gave me full access to her vegetable garden. I stuck with my first loves - blueberry and blackberry jams from foraged fruits, but I also branched out and experimented with corn relish, bread and butter pickles, and dilly beans. (If anyone has a tip on how to successfully pack those beans into the jar it would be much appreciated. Mine look a little sloppy.) Yet already the harvest is slowing. (Everyone in the area's garden has suffered from excessive rain this year.) My only other canning plan involves using all those stubbornly green tomatoes in an apple chutney recipe from my favorite book on the subject, Preserving the Fruits of the Earth. This out-of-print book from 1973 is a gold mine of useful information not only on canning but on dehydrating, smoking, and even capturing and keeping (in food form) everything from alewives to snapping turtles. I feel more confident in my daily life knowing that I have this useful back-to-the-land artifact to refer to in a pinch. (Only half-kidding...)

And here is a representative picture of my harvest, kindly and adeptly taken by my step-dad, who is a fantastic amateur photographer. It will probably find its way to screen saver status sometime around February. Ka-ching.

time, a marker

On this day exactly one year ago, a friend lost her 3 year old son in a terrible accident. He was a beautiful, intelligent, kind, and imaginative child, a boy who is very much loved and very much missed. My heart goes out to his family and friends.

Dear Trucker

Dear Trucker,

My baby.  You are six weeks old.  When you were just a week old, your Grandma asked me,  "Are you totally in love with him?"  I answered honestly, "I feel like we're just dating."  You must know this about your Mommy, though.  I fall fast and I fall hard.  I love you, my boy.  Like a big old sappy 70's love song that you skate couples to.  With a disco ball and everything.

I tried so hard to make you exist.  Sometimes I feel like I'm still trying.  But you are here.  I look at you and I squish your chubby baby fat rolls to make sure you are real.  I feel you. I see you. Yet sometimes I still don't really believe you are here.

Though I'm in love, I'm still getting to know you.  Here are a few things I do know:

• When you wake in the night, sometimes you sound just like a horse.

• If I were to give you a name according to your characteristics, it would be Quivering Lip. (Mommy's name is Big Thirst.)
• You have a heart-shaped birthmark on your back, just below your left shoulder blade.
• Sometimes you look to me like a college student.  Then you make a goofy newborn face and I snap back to reality.
• You love your brother.  And your brother loves you.  I think he loves you more than he loves me, actually.
• You have a very powerful and productive suck.  Enough said.  See above baby fat rolls.
• You look a little like Mommy and I little like Rufio from the movie Hook.
• You have a glorious head of hair.  It is fun!  Mommy likes to comb it neat and nerdy-like, then mess it all up and let you look like a rock star after a stadium show.
• You are an easy-going guy.  You don't let things get you upset.  Unless those things are gas bubbles making you hurt, or stuff in your diaper that you didn't expect.
• Someone keeps hitting you in the face.  Someone keeps pulling your hair.  That someone, my love, is you.  I can't wait for you to get a little more control over your movements, for fear you'll give yourself a black eye, or pull out a big wad of that lovely hair.
• You have smiled and laughed since the day you were born.  Nobody can convince me that it is gas.  You are a happy kid and you let the world know it.
• Your Mama loves you.  No matter how hard a day she has had, when she picks you up, her face melts into adoration.  The two of you have a special connection.  I think you really get each other.
• When I give you a bath, sometimes you kick your leg like a dog does when it dreams.
• You love the sound of the water from the faucet. 
• You are unaware of your cat, Domingo, but he is very jealous of you.  Look out, kid. 
• You like to look at trees.  They like to look at you.
• I've kissed you a million times right below your left arm.  That's where my mouth is right after I burp you over my shoulder.
• One of the very first things I said about you is, "He's a chunkalunka!"  That was before they weighed you and my theory was confirmed, Mr. 9lbs, 3oz.

Mommy is so tired that she had to write this letter as a bulleted list.  But she knows you'll forgive her.You are just that kind of guy.

Love,
Mommy