I had all these great posts planned for last week, and then I got my ass behind handed to me by the stomach flu. So now I'm writing about that instead! I swear I've never been sick like that before. It was wretched. My husband, who bore helpless witness to the whole 8 hour projectile ordeal, even said it was like watching me go through labor again. He actually insisted that if I didn't stop throwing up by X time he'd be taking me to the ER. I'll admit, I felt like I was in labor, except there was no cute, squishy newborn at the end of it. (On second thought, maybe I'm ok with that.) The worst of it happened overnight and was quelled by the next morning, but it's taken an entire week for me to feel back to (basically) normal again. It was one of those instances that had me marvelling at the super-human powers of single moms and people who don't have family nearby. I honestly can't imagine having to go through that all on my own, let alone having to take care of Scoops on my own while feeling that way.
I was so terrified my husband was going to catch it and I'd have to take care of him before I felt fully recovered, or, worse, that Scoops would catch it. She still hasn't really been sick yet, and I just don't think I'm prepared to see her caught in the throes of uncontrolled vomiting. Obviously it's probably going to happen at some point, but I'm hoping we can hold off on it until she's older and can support herself over a puke-vessel. Fortunately, I was the only person in my household to contract this round of the heinous virus (or whatever it was). And despite my avid fears of passing my germs to Scoops, I insisted on feeding her myself as soon as the puking had stopped (so that time she woke up around 3 a.m. just as I was getting ready to hurl meant Daddy had bottle duty so I could yak into the trash can in peace). Feeding her, germs and all, turned out to be a great decision, both for the antibodies she received and for the maintenance of my dwindling milk supply.
Bear in mind, my supply has never been remarkable. I know I produce enough to feed Scoops at the tap, because she always behaves full and satisfied, she produces an appropriate amount of wet and dirty diapers, and she's hitting all her developmental milestones on time. But when I pump, I don't get impressive amounts. Sometimes it takes me a few sessions just to get a full bottle's worth of milk. Since I am lucky enough to be home with Scoops full time, this doesn't bother me. I just breastfeed when she's hungry, and try not to worry about the freezer stash. But aside from a direct response to demand, anyone with basic knowledge of the science of breastfeeding will tell you that your supply is dependent upon what goes into your body. In other words, if you're not eating enough healthy calories and drinking enough healthy liquids, your supply will likely not be as robust as it could be. So it stands to reason that an all-nighter spent yaking your guts out and voiding your bowels would not only deplete your body of what it needs to basically function (hence the shakes and an inability to walk to the bathroom unassisted), it'll also cause your milk supply to drop. This was the first time, in over 7 months of breastfeeding, that I experienced a blatantly noticeable decrease in supply, and, boy, did it ever suck.
I have never felt so depressed, defeated, and humiliated by something that was largely out of my control. For the first time, I saw Scoops trying to eat and clearly not getting enough, visibly frustrated by the lack of milk in my never-before soft and droopy breasts. It was heartbreaking. I cried. And then I stopped, because I didn't have the energy to cry. Since I couldn't cry anymore, I had to be logical. We had enough milk in the freezer for Daddy to bottle feed Scoops and keep her tummy full. I resolved to try to nurse each time Scoops was hungry, and let Daddy top her off with a bottle if she needed more. In order to minimize germ contact, Daddy brought Scoops to me for every feeding, and took her away as soon as she was done. Having to repeatedly wave good-bye to my sweet baby all day was hard on my psyche, but Scoops seemed to handle it fine since she had Daddy to distract her. The first day I couldn't keep down plain water, so I hydrated with frequent small sips of coconut water. I kept increasing my liquids as much as I could, I added in food slowly the next day (starting with broth and working up to solid food), I forced myself to sleep or at least rest in bed when I wasn't trying to eat or drink, and within a couple of days I noticed my breasts filling up again. It was pretty miraculous actually, to see how quickly they started to fill again after how flat and droopy they'd been. Essentially, I focused all my energy and efforts on getting well again, and it worked. I started feeling better, and my breasts filled back up.
I love feeding Scoops; breastfeeding is a sweet, special bond we have, and I hope and plan to continue feeding her this way for a long time. To have that sweetness interrupted by sickness was a heartbreaking moment in time, and gave me great sympathy for moms who have to permanently stop breastfeeding because of issues outside their control. I can't imagine having the gift of breastfeeding taken away from me. For now, though, my supply has returned and we are back on track with our normal breastfeeding routine. So here's to lots of water, rest, Vitamin C, and staying healthy and milky!
Yesterday, Scoops turned 7 months old. It's amazing to me how much she's changed in such a short time. She's barely been on the planet for half a year and I'm already missing her newborn cry and that silly falling reflex. Here's what she's been up to recently:
Sitting up is a piece of cake now, and Scoops will stay seated for many minutes at a time, until she feels like being mobile. She's not quite crawling yet, but she's so darn close, and keeps practicing with lots of scooting, wriggling, spinning on her belly, and grabbing and pulling herself around her crib or the floor (if she can find something sturdy to grab onto). She loves making noise by banging her hands on just about anything, and is very fond of high-fiving mommy's chest while nursing. She's babbling away and has lots to say. She's got "boob" and "mama" down, so we're just working on "daddy" now to make sure all the essentials are covered. Also, mommy swears she hears "I love you" once in a while, but that remains debatable for now. We've started incorporating some French into our vocabulary, particularly when we read Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See? Unfortunately, mommy's French sucks, so Scoops will have to make up for that later when she knows what's what. She's getting stronger, and can pull herself up to sitting from a reclined position (not from lying flat on her back, thank goodness, because mommy's not ready to lower the crib yet). From sitting, she can actually pull herself up to standing sometimes. The walker she got for Easter several weeks ago has made her fearless, and she loves to practice taking steps when holding onto someone's hands. We're certainly not trying to encourage her to become an early walker, but we may not have a choice in the matter. Except for one morning when she woke up about 40 minutes early, she slept through the night (10-12 hours) 21 days in a row! Unfortunately, the past 3 nights she has been waking 1, then 2, then 3 times. So tragic. We're blaming it on that elusive first tooth, and hoping it will make its dreaded appearance soon so we can be over it.
We're excited to see what the coming weeks will bring, and look forward to sharing Scoops' development with you!
What are some of your favorite 7 month happenings? Has your baby passed this age? What are some fond memories? If your baby hasn't reached this age yet, what are you looking forward to or worried about?
Happy Hump Day! I hope you're having a lovely week, had a lovely weekend, and to all the mothers I wish a belated happy Mother's Day. To those of you who, like me, celebrated your very first Mother's Day, I'm sending a special hug and happy smiles. This Sunday was certainly a joyous occasion, and although nothing incredibly exciting was planned, I thoroughly enjoyed the relaxing, calm day I spent with my little family. We got to visit my own mother, spent several hours at home just enjoying the company of each other on our new deck, and ended the day with a special surprise visit from my mother-in-law. It was really a perfect day, full of love and free of expectations.
Before I celebrated this milestone Mother's Day, though, I celebrated another milestone: my 30th birthday. Up until this point, for the past several years, I have kept my age a closely guarded secret. I didn't do it because I was ashamed of my age, but because I didn't like the idea that people who asked to know it were trying to use that information as a gauge for my status and accomplishments in life. For example, sometimes you'll hear people talk about some prodigy like, "He's only 20 and he's already bought his first house!" Or you'll hear the opposite, as in, "She's already 27 and she hasn't settled down yet." I just didn't like the idea that my age had to define me in any way, so when people asked, I politely declined to answer by smiling and replying, "I'm old enough." (That phrase evolved as the years went on, I should confess, from "old enough to know better.") Sometimes I would get a little ballsy and reply, "I'm almost 30," but I used that phrase long before it was really accurate. In the months leading up to my 30th birthday, however, I began to feel excited as I wondered how I would respond to this question going forward. And I realized something: I was looking forward to turning 30, and I had no problem sharing that information.
A Little Thirty Never Hurt Anybody
In the days just before my birthday, as I was running last minute errands and preparing for a birthday bash, I told every stranger who opened up a conversation about my weekend plans that I would be celebrating my first Mother's Day and turning 30. Everyone seemed duly excited for me, and I basked in the warmth I received. The night before my birthday, I had some friends and family over for a celebration, and had more fun than I've had in a while. (More on that spectacular party later.) So many people congratulated me on turning 30, and for me it really felt appropriate to be congratulated. My family knows I went through some dark times in my 20s, and those who are closest to me know a secret: I never wanted to make it to 30. Before the party started, I sat on the couch with my mom, reflecting on how different my life is now, how truly amazing it is that I'm here, alive, and happy. We shared some tears and some laughs, cuddling the sweet Scoops in my lap and marvelling that there had been a time when I was so incredibly dissatisfied with my life that I wanted it to be over. I feel like a completely different person now. I'm so in love with life, my husband, and my sweet baby. I'm in love with myself. I like who I see when I look in the mirror. I know I'm a good person, and I strive to be good to others. This desire for goodness perpetuates itself, so that the more I want it, the better I become, and the better person I become, the more I want to be a better person.
So this is how I entered my 30s. Rather than feeling terrified of getting older, or lamenting the crinkles forming around my eyes, or mourning the loss of my youth, I felt like I was approaching a rite of passage into adulthood. Probably the fact that my first Mother's Day came along with this milestone birthday helped cement that feeling, but I think I would have felt the same even if they were on separate weekends. The party was a chance for me to dance and be loud and sip champagne, and generally party like a 20-something would. I reveled in the fun and attention from friends and family, and had an appropriately great time. My actual birthday, the following day, was a time of quiet reflection on the strides I've taken towards creating the best life for myself; to calmly enjoy the company of my husband and daughter in the present moment; and to eagerly look forward to the years ahead, which I'm sure will only get better with the unique challenges and rewards they bring. I anticipated my birthday by saying "a little thirty never hurt anybody," and I still feel that way. We can't slow down time, we can't go backwards, and we can't fast forward. We can only be in the present moment. And the present moment is turning out to be exactly where I'm supposed to be, and I love it. My aunt told me that my Terrible Twenties are now behind me, and she's right. I feel like I've really come into myself, full of love and acceptance, and completely comfortable with who and where I am in life.
My 1st Mother's Day
After a full 24+ hours of birthday celebrations, I was ready to celebrate my new status as a mommy. Spending time with my own mom was a great time to hear her recount her experiences raising me, and to celebrate all the joys I encounter daily while raising my own daughter. I felt more firmly on this special day what I felt as soon as Scoops was born, what I knew while I was pregnant with her, and what I sensed even as a child: motherhood is my calling. I was always meant to be a mommy. It seems so cliche, but it's 100% true. Even while I denied it for many years and at one point swore I'd never have kids, a part of me has always known that I was destined to be a mom. Not until my daughter was born did I fully understand that truth. Everything I've read or been told about parenthood is true: it is hard, it is work, and it is by far the most enjoyable job on the planet. I wouldn't trade this for the world. I never thought I'd be so content to be woken at ungodly hours, to listen to annoying cries, or to clean up so many scoops of poops. This little girl means everything to me, and I can't imagine life without her.
A few months before I got pregnant, a colleague did a card reading for me, just for fun, and the cards she pulled, from two different decks, both indicated major change was just around the corner. They both discussed a coming of age event, a rite of passage, a transition to full adulthood. I cried as she read the cards to me, because I had been struggling with knowing whether it was the right time for my husband and I to start to grow our family. I wasn't sure I was ready to really grow up, become responsible for another person, and leave my adolescence decidedly behind me. This felt like a solid omen, and about a month later I had a very clear experience telling me to start trying in January. We did, and the rest is history. Ironically, I ran into that colleague this Mother's Day while I was out with my husband and daughter. She was delighted to meet Scoops, we briefly caught up, and then she was on her way. I find it incredibly poignant that I saw her on my first Mother's Day, when I haven't seen her in several months. It's almost like the universe was confirming that everything is going exactly according to the master plan.
As a kid, I always found it annoying that my birthday fell on or around Mother's Day. I didn't like having to share my birthday with another holiday (or my mom), and my friends often couldn't attend my parties if they were spending the weekend away with their mothers. When I realized my 30th birthday would fall adjacent to my first Mother's Day, though, it seemed fitting. Turning 30 and becoming a mother are both excellent times to make the transition to full adulthood. And of course I was born around Mother's Day. I was always meant to be a mother.
Last week I shared that we were putting in a deck made of pallet boards to fill in a dirt patch in our backyard. You may recall the "before" image:
This week I am thrilled to share that the pallet deck is finished! It took about 2 weeks and many hours of manpower, but it is finally built, sealed, and ready to party. Observe:
I keep looking out at it and smiling. I'm just so pleased with the way my yard looks now! I can't wait to have friends over to help christen the deck, and I'm looking forward to hosting many parties this summer in our newly decked out space (pun intended).
The building process, as I mentioned last week, was a learning experience for everyone involved. Once the boards were all laid though, I have to say I got a little misty eyed when I looked out back this past weekend to see two neighbors and a close friend joking, laughing, and working alongside my husband to seal the deck and our patio furniture. I remember reading when I was a kid about barn raising, and how all the neighbors would come together to help one family build their new barn. It felt like that. These are the people we share a driveway with, and it was great to realize just how much we've built up our friendships with them since we moved into this place almost 2 years ago. I don't think in my adult life I've ever become friends with my neighbors. At best I've counted them as acquaintances, and at worst I've found them annoying or intrusive and done my best to avoid them. This small-town style community we've become a part of feels like such a rare treasure, especially in an area that's not actually a small town, and I'm so grateful we found this place and have made it our home.
Now, when I say we're friends with our neighbors, I don't mean we're BFF's with all of them, and I don't mean that we moved in and had instant friends the next day. I can't pinpoint exactly when the friendships began to blossom, but I know it was a process. The best thing I did, personally, was open myself up to the possibility of friendship with the people around me. I think of the two kinds of neighbors I mentioned above, I've become most accustomed to the latter, and therefore had a bad taste in my mouth for forging friendly relations with the people who were geographically closest to me (I mean, hey, if they're crazy and suddenly think you're friends, it's kinda hard to steer clear of them when they know where you live). I know I've had a reputation in this neighborhood for being rather anti-social. Actually, I still have a reputation for being somewhat of a party pooper, but I also have the youngest child in the neighborhood, so I'm not feeling real apologetic for asking people to be quiet when they're having a block party under the nursery window. (You know who you are. ;-) The point is, I created that reputation for myself, and then I had to challenge it myself. I had to decide I wasn't going to be anti-social, that I was going to assume my neighbors weren't obnoxious psychopaths and actually give us an opportunity to become not just pleasant acquaintances, but friends. Once I was willing to challenge the negative lessons of my past experiences, I found I had several friends waiting for me.
So challenging myself and my paradigms turned out to be a very good thing in this case. And now, I challenge you to challenge yourself. Reach out to a neighbor and just be open to possibility. See what happens. I'm not saying force a friendship with someone who doesn't want it, and if you get a bad vibe from the person you probably want to listen to your instinct. But if there's someone nearby you've been thinking seems like a decent human being, maybe strike up an actual conversation with them, you know, beyond the usual mindless BS about the weather and whatnot. Who knows? You may get a new friend out of the deal.
