In the age of Facebook, I think we all know what it's like to reunite with an old friend who pulled your pigtails a time or two over the years. It's happened to me a couple of times, and we have seemed to have easily glossed over the ugliness and moved to a place where we can laugh at old times and comment benignly on new times. Your friendship will never be the same, but that's okay. Sometimes it feels good to talk to someone who knows what your old bedroom used to look like, or remembers your parents' names.
Last Friday night I reunited with the most volatile of my old friends. Its name is Running and we have quite a history. We got off to a rocky start in high school, but throughout college and beyond, I ran for weight loss, for mental health, because I had too much caffeine, because I was mad, because someone told me I couldn't, and so on. Then came 2008. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. I started training for a half-marathon, and running became so challenging, so painful, so exhilarating, and so rewarding. Being able to complete 8- and 10-mile runs was an amazing feeling. Completing the half-marathon itself was amazing. So much pain. So much pride. I decided to go on to train for a full marathon.
This is where things got ugly. I think I actually made it to 14 miles before my beloved hobby turned into a death march. It became a toxic friendship. The one that everyone in the world can see is bad for you, but you persevere for reasons unknown. I often wondered what would be worse: a marathon or labor. Marathon, hands down. Maybe that's because I had some strong drugs during labor, but flaw #1 of marathoning, if you ask me, is that you are not given the option to take a very strong painkiller.
After I finished the marathon, puffy (yes, I gained 20 lbs and no, it was not all muscle no matter how often I tried to sell myself that line) and miserable, I tried to go back to my previous, pre-half-marathon relationship with running, but it was just not the same.
Being pregnant and having a newborn was just the hiatus I needed. On Friday, I was ready for a little me time so off I went. It felt so fantastic.
My brother (hi!) has teased me once or twice that there is nobody chasing me, so I don't need to run. Wrong - there is always something chasing me. It could be a bad day or that stupid thing I said when I had too much wine in 2005 or the jeans that won't button or an unfavorable election result. And it is really pretty rare that I don't outrun these foes.
Sometimes my head gets all cluttered like that one closet we all have. Things keep piling on and piling in and the next thing I know, I am opening that door and being hit with my 6-year-old winter coat (or that stupid thing I said when I had too much wine in 2005). Running, to me, is like cleaning out that closet several times a week.
We're taking it slow, and we're not going to be as intimate as we were in 2008, but I think running and I are going to be pretty good friends again.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Unsolicited Advice
Nobody likes unsolicited advice, right? I think I hate it more than most. The woman who came up to me in the park and told me that Reid might be more comfortable with a diaper rolled up behind his head in the baby swing almost got a diaper rolled up in her mouth. The woman who gave me a lecture on how formula is so much better for babies, while noting that breastfeeding mothers are smug and often give unsolicited advice...well, I almost went white-rage on that one.
But listen up. I am going to give you some unsolicited advice here. It is really in your best interest that you follow it and not question me. I have been in the trenches, my friends, and this is the hard-won wisdom I bring to you:
1. If you are holding your baby and you hear, smell, and SEE the telltale rumble...do not finish composing that text message. Stand up and go upstairs to the changing table.
A couple of things to note: now is a good time to stop believing those people who told you that breastfed babies' poo doesn't smell. Also, yes, I did say "see" the telltale rumble. The jamjams were flapping in the breeze, okay?
2. Once you get upstairs and remove the offending - offensive? - diaper, do not plop it down on the changing table in disgust. Wrap it up in a tidy parcel just as you do with the rest of the diapers. I promise you, this extra few seconds is well worth it. But just in case you do not heed this warning...
3. Once you have pulled off the slightly soiled jamjams, do not plop them down on the changing table in disgust. Because they will land in the pile of offensiveness that is the diaper, and what do you know. Your jamjams are no longer "slightly" soiled.
4. Moms: seriously consider not eating whatever it is that you ate in the past 24 hours.
5. All of this goes double if you and your child are wearing cream-colored clothing.
If I can save just one outfit by writing this post, my harrowing experience will have been worth it.
But listen up. I am going to give you some unsolicited advice here. It is really in your best interest that you follow it and not question me. I have been in the trenches, my friends, and this is the hard-won wisdom I bring to you:
1. If you are holding your baby and you hear, smell, and SEE the telltale rumble...do not finish composing that text message. Stand up and go upstairs to the changing table.
A couple of things to note: now is a good time to stop believing those people who told you that breastfed babies' poo doesn't smell. Also, yes, I did say "see" the telltale rumble. The jamjams were flapping in the breeze, okay?
2. Once you get upstairs and remove the offending - offensive? - diaper, do not plop it down on the changing table in disgust. Wrap it up in a tidy parcel just as you do with the rest of the diapers. I promise you, this extra few seconds is well worth it. But just in case you do not heed this warning...
3. Once you have pulled off the slightly soiled jamjams, do not plop them down on the changing table in disgust. Because they will land in the pile of offensiveness that is the diaper, and what do you know. Your jamjams are no longer "slightly" soiled.
4. Moms: seriously consider not eating whatever it is that you ate in the past 24 hours.
5. All of this goes double if you and your child are wearing cream-colored clothing.
If I can save just one outfit by writing this post, my harrowing experience will have been worth it.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Confessions of an Eco-Diaper Dropout
From cloth to Seventh Generation to Huggies Naturals to whatever is on sale, landfills be damned, I have one thing to say:
You know Pampers? They're amazing.
No longer does the telltale undercarriage rumble cause me to race up the stairs with the baby at arm's length.
My makeshift stain treater of detergent + water in an old Dawn bottle has been sitting lonely and unused in the bathroom.
Reid has been waking up in dry pajamas, on dry sheets.
He even smells good.
God bless all the hardworking engineers at Pampers who made this post, and the wonders herein, possible.
You know Pampers? They're amazing.
No longer does the telltale undercarriage rumble cause me to race up the stairs with the baby at arm's length.
My makeshift stain treater of detergent + water in an old Dawn bottle has been sitting lonely and unused in the bathroom.
Reid has been waking up in dry pajamas, on dry sheets.
He even smells good.
God bless all the hardworking engineers at Pampers who made this post, and the wonders herein, possible.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
...and on a lighter note
2 funny things:
The other night, Joel came to put Reid down while I was sleeping. I asked Joel, not politely, just what he thought he was doing, since I was trying to sleep. I was trying to be very still in case the baby rolled off. I mentioned, not politely, that I didn't think this was fair at all since I was trying to sleep. Couldn't Joel just put him in his crib?! Joel was as confused as you guys are when I finally realized: "Oh. That's Mackenzie on me, isn't it." In my sleepy state, I thought Joel had put the baby on me while he went to brush his teeth. It was the cat.
Last night, Joel woke me up to watch the baby while he went to the bathroom. Amused, I asked him what he was talking about. He caught on much more quickly than I had and said, "I think I have a cat on me." Well-played. I wish I could think to write down all the weird stuff I say in the middle of the night.
***************************************************************************************
In my last post, I mentioned "Monkey Love." One of our friends got us a rather large blanket with a monkey head attached to it, with Reid's name embroidered on it. It is super cool, and I have decided it's going to be his blankie (Yes, I can control this one. Reid does not have to know we have 60 other blankies. OK? Give me this). It's still really big for him to grasp, but in a moment of sheer serendipity, I found a miniature that someone had given us for a shower gift. Seriously, it is the same brand, same monkey face, except it is little. Awesome. I said the other day that I didn't want Reid to run around asking for his "blankie." I wanted him to call it something original. Unfortunately the only thing I could think of was "Monkey Love." And unfortunately, it has stuck. And even more unfortunately, the larger of the two is "Big Monkey Love."
Why is this unfortunate? Because my child is going to go to preschool and he's going to leave it in the sandbox, and he's going to run around the classroom (most likely at pickup when all the other parents are watching) sobbing, "I need Monkey Love! I neeeeeed Big Monkey Love!!!!"
That's why.
The other night, Joel came to put Reid down while I was sleeping. I asked Joel, not politely, just what he thought he was doing, since I was trying to sleep. I was trying to be very still in case the baby rolled off. I mentioned, not politely, that I didn't think this was fair at all since I was trying to sleep. Couldn't Joel just put him in his crib?! Joel was as confused as you guys are when I finally realized: "Oh. That's Mackenzie on me, isn't it." In my sleepy state, I thought Joel had put the baby on me while he went to brush his teeth. It was the cat.
Last night, Joel woke me up to watch the baby while he went to the bathroom. Amused, I asked him what he was talking about. He caught on much more quickly than I had and said, "I think I have a cat on me." Well-played. I wish I could think to write down all the weird stuff I say in the middle of the night.
***************************************************************************************
In my last post, I mentioned "Monkey Love." One of our friends got us a rather large blanket with a monkey head attached to it, with Reid's name embroidered on it. It is super cool, and I have decided it's going to be his blankie (Yes, I can control this one. Reid does not have to know we have 60 other blankies. OK? Give me this). It's still really big for him to grasp, but in a moment of sheer serendipity, I found a miniature that someone had given us for a shower gift. Seriously, it is the same brand, same monkey face, except it is little. Awesome. I said the other day that I didn't want Reid to run around asking for his "blankie." I wanted him to call it something original. Unfortunately the only thing I could think of was "Monkey Love." And unfortunately, it has stuck. And even more unfortunately, the larger of the two is "Big Monkey Love."
Why is this unfortunate? Because my child is going to go to preschool and he's going to leave it in the sandbox, and he's going to run around the classroom (most likely at pickup when all the other parents are watching) sobbing, "I need Monkey Love! I neeeeeed Big Monkey Love!!!!"
That's why.
It's almost like he's a little person.
Last night's bedtime was a success. Then a fail. Then a success. Then a fail. Asleep, awake, asleep, awake, and finally, around 11:15, asleep. I knew he was tired, but it was as if every 5-10 minute "disco nap" just allowed him to gather strength and be up for a longer stretch. The last time he woke up was totally my fault. He'd fallen asleep with his Monkey Love (more on that later) and it was sort of covering his face, so I took it away when he was really asleep. Or maybe not so asleep. PING! Hi Mama! I'm awake! Where ya goin' with my Monkey?
At this point we'd been doing bedtime for 2 hours. I was tired. Bouncing him to sleep on a yoga ball is effective, yet painful after the first 20 minutes. At least my back is getting strong, in case I need to haul firewood for winter. I called on Joel to take over, and I flounced off to bed in a huff. Where had I gone wrong? He'd had 3 okay naps that day. Nothing great, but all told he slept about 3 hours.
He slept well once he did finally go down: up at 3 and then for good at 6:30. I tried to handle the 3a feeding myself since Joel had stayed up until 11:15 with him, but he needed a diaper and I needed to use the ladies', turn on the heat, and get a snack all fairly desperately, so I enlisted some Daddy Help (or as Dr. Sears says, I "honored my parnter" by asking him for help. Seriously, God bless Dr. Sears).
At this point, I was really feeling like a jerk. I couldn't do a 3a feeding by myself and let Joel sleep, and again - where had I gone wrong yesterday?! I kept going over and over everything in my mind trying to pinpoint the moment where I'd messed up and triggered this unusual wakefulness.
This morning, after a decent few hours of sleep, I saw it in a new light. Yeah, I know you are probably all reading this and yelling at me the way you yell at a horror movie heroine not to go in the basement. OK, stop smacking your forehead. I get it now. He's a human being. He's an individual. He's got his own ideas about things, and if he wants to be awake from 9-11, there's not a whole lot I can do about it aside from creating a comfortable environment for sleep. He's not an automaton. I can't program him.
Why am I not getting this? Why am I taking every single bump in the road as a personal affront to my mothering? Furthermore, why am I calling this a bump in the road? He was awake. He wasn't screaming. He wasn't crying. For the most part, he wasn't even fussing. In fact, he was giggling. Probably at me for thinking, yet again, that I have some sort of control over this situation.
This morning after a good breakfast (well, good-ish. No cookie bar, yet) and a good workout, I sat and took inventory: I have a happy, healthy baby. When he is overtired, he is punch-drunk and giggly as opposed to fussy and whiny. I have a husband who wants to help out in the middle of the night. Our baby is seriously agreeable and comfortable. No colic, no reflux, not even a sniffle. He naps well when he needs to. Sometimes when he's crying, he stops to giggle. For real.
Seriously, people, stop smacking your foreheads. I know. I know. I need to chill the heck out, and now. The only "problem" in this situation is my attitude!
At this point we'd been doing bedtime for 2 hours. I was tired. Bouncing him to sleep on a yoga ball is effective, yet painful after the first 20 minutes. At least my back is getting strong, in case I need to haul firewood for winter. I called on Joel to take over, and I flounced off to bed in a huff. Where had I gone wrong? He'd had 3 okay naps that day. Nothing great, but all told he slept about 3 hours.
He slept well once he did finally go down: up at 3 and then for good at 6:30. I tried to handle the 3a feeding myself since Joel had stayed up until 11:15 with him, but he needed a diaper and I needed to use the ladies', turn on the heat, and get a snack all fairly desperately, so I enlisted some Daddy Help (or as Dr. Sears says, I "honored my parnter" by asking him for help. Seriously, God bless Dr. Sears).
At this point, I was really feeling like a jerk. I couldn't do a 3a feeding by myself and let Joel sleep, and again - where had I gone wrong yesterday?! I kept going over and over everything in my mind trying to pinpoint the moment where I'd messed up and triggered this unusual wakefulness.
This morning, after a decent few hours of sleep, I saw it in a new light. Yeah, I know you are probably all reading this and yelling at me the way you yell at a horror movie heroine not to go in the basement. OK, stop smacking your forehead. I get it now. He's a human being. He's an individual. He's got his own ideas about things, and if he wants to be awake from 9-11, there's not a whole lot I can do about it aside from creating a comfortable environment for sleep. He's not an automaton. I can't program him.
Why am I not getting this? Why am I taking every single bump in the road as a personal affront to my mothering? Furthermore, why am I calling this a bump in the road? He was awake. He wasn't screaming. He wasn't crying. For the most part, he wasn't even fussing. In fact, he was giggling. Probably at me for thinking, yet again, that I have some sort of control over this situation.
This morning after a good breakfast (well, good-ish. No cookie bar, yet) and a good workout, I sat and took inventory: I have a happy, healthy baby. When he is overtired, he is punch-drunk and giggly as opposed to fussy and whiny. I have a husband who wants to help out in the middle of the night. Our baby is seriously agreeable and comfortable. No colic, no reflux, not even a sniffle. He naps well when he needs to. Sometimes when he's crying, he stops to giggle. For real.
Seriously, people, stop smacking your foreheads. I know. I know. I need to chill the heck out, and now. The only "problem" in this situation is my attitude!
Monday, October 4, 2010
I did it. Three times. And I'll do it again.
I have so far put Reid down for 2 successful naps and 1 successful nighttime sleep in his crib. As a bonus, the number of times I have run upstairs to check on him has surely burned off the cookie bar I ate as "breakfast dessert."
Friday, October 1, 2010
Sleeps
Since Reid came home, he's mostly been falling asleep in our arms or in the carseat. Having him fall asleep on me is my favorite time, aside from nursing, playtime, and all the other times of the day when he exists.
I think it's fine to have him fall asleep on us. I know people who rock their toddlers to sleep. If that is wrong, I don't want to be right. It is such a special time (gah! I've become a person who says things like "special time!"). There is time later to worry about habits, but in the grand scheme of things, rocking a baby or a toddler to sleep is not going to make the world stop turning.
However. It is time for us to start putting Reid down in his crib once he is asleep. I have been thinking this for a while, but I wasn't ready to let go. Suddenly the lightbulb went on last night, when my head was cocked at a really uncomfortable angle in order to accommodate the 12-week-old [heavy] head taking up most of my shoulder and all of my neck: rocking him and having him fall asleep on us means we still get that sweet, "special time." Putting him in his crib after that means not waking up with a crick in my neck, possibly finishing an episode of Mad Men in one go, and not having to call Supernanny 3 years down the road because I just don't understand why my kid won't sleep in his own bed.
Sounds like a win to me. So today was the first try. First I nursed him and rocked him until he fell asleep. Then I put him in his crib and waited for the inevitable **PING! Eyes open!** I don't know why he wakes up as soon as I put him down. I suspect it is a separation thing, and I have prepared accordingly: for the past 2 nights, I've been sleeping with a lullaby-singing frog and a monkey-headed blanket so they would smell like me.
Once his eyes opened, I tried a couple rounds of "let him cry for a minute, then soothe, and repeat." I know that this is not "crying it out" and it's not cruel, but I don't want him to go to sleep just because he has tired himself out from crying. I'd like for the crib to be a comfortable, secure place for him that is not associated with being sad or lonely.
My next approach was to stand there and shh him and rub his belly until he fell asleep. This worked, but it took for-ev-er. At some point I covered him with the monkey-headed blanket, which I think helped. Since putting a blanket on a baby goes against every SIDS recommendation out there, I stayed closeby and watched to make sure it didn't suddenly float up over his mouth and nose.
The nap only lasted 25 minutes or so, but it was progress. He is a crabby apple for sure right now, but it's going to take a little bit to get into this groove. Just like everything else so far, it will take patience and persistence, and it will likely be harder on me than it is on him.
Speaking of hard on me...when my little boy is tired and I am rocking him, bouncing him, or rubbing his belly...right before he starts to drift off, he stares deeply into my face and he smiles. A lot. It is heart-melting and it takes every fiber in my body not to pick him up, squeeze him, and say "forget the nap, let's go get you a pony!"
I think it's fine to have him fall asleep on us. I know people who rock their toddlers to sleep. If that is wrong, I don't want to be right. It is such a special time (gah! I've become a person who says things like "special time!"). There is time later to worry about habits, but in the grand scheme of things, rocking a baby or a toddler to sleep is not going to make the world stop turning.
However. It is time for us to start putting Reid down in his crib once he is asleep. I have been thinking this for a while, but I wasn't ready to let go. Suddenly the lightbulb went on last night, when my head was cocked at a really uncomfortable angle in order to accommodate the 12-week-old [heavy] head taking up most of my shoulder and all of my neck: rocking him and having him fall asleep on us means we still get that sweet, "special time." Putting him in his crib after that means not waking up with a crick in my neck, possibly finishing an episode of Mad Men in one go, and not having to call Supernanny 3 years down the road because I just don't understand why my kid won't sleep in his own bed.
Sounds like a win to me. So today was the first try. First I nursed him and rocked him until he fell asleep. Then I put him in his crib and waited for the inevitable **PING! Eyes open!** I don't know why he wakes up as soon as I put him down. I suspect it is a separation thing, and I have prepared accordingly: for the past 2 nights, I've been sleeping with a lullaby-singing frog and a monkey-headed blanket so they would smell like me.
Once his eyes opened, I tried a couple rounds of "let him cry for a minute, then soothe, and repeat." I know that this is not "crying it out" and it's not cruel, but I don't want him to go to sleep just because he has tired himself out from crying. I'd like for the crib to be a comfortable, secure place for him that is not associated with being sad or lonely.
My next approach was to stand there and shh him and rub his belly until he fell asleep. This worked, but it took for-ev-er. At some point I covered him with the monkey-headed blanket, which I think helped. Since putting a blanket on a baby goes against every SIDS recommendation out there, I stayed closeby and watched to make sure it didn't suddenly float up over his mouth and nose.
The nap only lasted 25 minutes or so, but it was progress. He is a crabby apple for sure right now, but it's going to take a little bit to get into this groove. Just like everything else so far, it will take patience and persistence, and it will likely be harder on me than it is on him.
Speaking of hard on me...when my little boy is tired and I am rocking him, bouncing him, or rubbing his belly...right before he starts to drift off, he stares deeply into my face and he smiles. A lot. It is heart-melting and it takes every fiber in my body not to pick him up, squeeze him, and say "forget the nap, let's go get you a pony!"
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