Connections

Two weeks ago as Ian and I were in the bathroom getting ready for bed, he told me how proud he was of me in the last month. I asked him why. After all, if I'm getting a compliment, I like to know (and milk it for all it's worth!). He very sweetly told me how great it was to see me so happy, determined, and focused, that it felt like I had a direction and was working towards my goals. And it was all true!

The next day, as I was out walking with a good friend, and she was complimenting me on my organization (!)* and drive, I mentioned how great I'd been feeling. Hardly a bad mood, feeling over-all more energized, and just... happy. I mentioned how I finally felt like I was 'me', again, how I hadn't felt this good since before I got pregnant, two years ago. As I was saying goodbye to her, it hit me - at I'd been done breastfeeding for a month.

This is in contrast to where I was March 2012 - which I can say with complete confidence (now) was the land of postpartum depression. I was a Gloomy Gus. I was sad and angry, generally felt too tired to do much, and was constantly overwhelmed.

I'm glad that I breastfed Felicity for fifteen months, don't get me wrong. But that isn't to say that we didn't have many difficulties along the way, or that I loved it all (or most) of the time. We were both ready to be done.

* While we have a good calendar system and Ian and I are able to keep to our rigorous budget and keep up most of the time with our to-do list, I don't know if I have been used in the same sentence with 'organized' ever, unless it was to say, "Gee, I wish Rachel was more organized," or, "Rachel is so disorganized." This was, like, a major compliment. I'm pretty sure I blushed.

Writing, Writing, and More Writing

While I'm not technically enrolled in classes right now, I've been loosely working on my thesis for over a year. And by loosely working, I mean that I was very occasionally reading and taking notes until I changed my topic over the summer. Then I was working about once or twice a week here and there, until I finally kicked into high gear in November. Not a coincidence that this is when we were able to get a babysitter to hang with Felicity a few mornings a week, and I got more serious about carving out specific times when I get to leave the house and work.

I've been focusing my attention on an independent study that I never completed before we moved to New York. My professor was very gracious about the whole thing (I was pregnant and working and sick, so she just said to finish it whenever). I had a draft done in early January, waited over a month for the professor to look at it, and then basically rewrote almost all of it in the last 10 days. It's 28 pages long. I'm immensely proud of myself. I'm not going to claim it's the most polished thing I've produced, but it's a good solid paper with original theory.

And, the really great part is, after I get this thing in tomorrow (I have four hours of childcare in the
morning so I can put my finishing touches on it and get my annotated bibliography done), I get to focus on my thesis.

The background research is already done and I'm going to challenge myself to write for one hour every day, even on the days few days a week where I there isn't carved out time for me to work.

What is my thesis about, you ask?

Empowerment in mothering. I'm reading through mothering memoirs and looking at themes of empowerment, guilt, desire, and identity. After just writing almost thirty pages about empowerment and guilt in the second and third waves of feminism, I've feel like I have a running start. I originally was going to conduct a qualitative studies about feeding decisions of new mothers (in relation to guilt), but given that a) I want to finish my degree this summer at the latest, and b) once I am finished with my degree I can either start writing for money or find a job, a lady has to do what a lady has to do.

And, if current trends continue, I'll have a thesis that is 120 pages long instead of 80 pages. And my adviser will kill me. 

Felicity's First Boyfriend

Names have been changed for privacy.

"...And Felicity's boyfriend will be here tomorrow night for dinner," my mom said with a smile as she folded a towel. I paused what I was doing and looked at her.

I was visiting my family for two weeks over Christmas, and my mom had invited her close friend Georgia, along with her husband and one-year-old son, Julian, over for dinner on New Year's Eve.

I was really excited to see Georgia; she's been a sort of surrogate big-sister/mentor for me since my teen years. I cried when she miscarried her first pregnancy, and was thrilled to find out she was expecting again, a few days after I found out I was pregnant with Felicity. Julian is about three months older than my small offspring, and, apparently, is Felicity's intended.

"Mom," I said softly, "Julian isn't Felicity's boyfriend." I paused. "Felicity can only have a boyfriend if she can consent to have a boyfriend, and she hasn't yet, she's much too little to make a choice like that."

We turned back to the still-warm towels and continued folding, moving on to conversation about what we would serve for dinner, and my plans to bake that evening.

The next afternoon, while Felicity took her afternoon nap, my older sister and I sorted through a large tub of pink baby clothes passed down by one of my aunts. My mom was straightening the kitchen and living room, a seemingly endless task with two toddler grandchildren hell-bent on spreading duplos and board-back books to every possible corner. She stopped by the table to check our progress with the clothes.

"Felicity's boyfriend will be here in about an hour," she said, encouraging us to finish our project and clean up the aftermath as swiftly as possible before the company arrived.

"Mom!" I snapped, more harshly than I intended, "Julian is not Felicity's boyfriend!" I furiously picked up a pink sweater and folded it quickly, messily. "She isn't old enough to speak for herself. She isn't old enough to choose to date someone and to say if she'll even like boys. She may decide she wants to date girls!"

I couldn't look up to meet my mother's eyes. My sweet and loving Christian mother holds very different views on sexuality and morality and I'm sure I offended her on many levels. I felt bad that I reacted so hotly and that I had most likely caused pain, but I also didn't regret my words.

"But in as much as Julian is a boy, and in as much as he is her baby friend, then yes, he is Felicity's boy friend, a friend that is a boy," I conceded.

"Yes," she said quietly, "That's what I mean."

I know she meant well, but I also know it isn't what she meant. I know because it's what I grew up in, the endless matching of this person to that person, always female and male. It's odd that I basically wasn't allowed to date at all throughout high school (yet did, on the sly, once or twice), but I was often verbally paired with someone from church that met with my parents' approval.

This is part of the problem though, isn't it? It seems so innocent and sweet, to tease about babies dating, or even to tease your teenage daughter about which boy in her youth group is cute (although only boys who get good grades, are "serious about the Lord," and intend to go to very good Christian colleges are presented as options). And haven't I been tempted to do the same thing with some of the New York mamas with some seriously sweet and adorable baby boys?

But I abstain, because what I said to my mom is absolutely true: I don't know if Felicity will be interested in men or women when she grows up. I don't know if she'll decide she wants to identify as a female. For all I know, she may resent the fact that she has such a feminine name and go by Brian instead (her middle name, which I'm suddenly convinced we wrote out as 'Brain' on her birth certificate), and decide to have her breasts removed. I do know that whoever and whatever she chooses to identify as, I want to support her completely. I never want her to feel any shame about who she is, what she feels, or what she wants. I don't want to assume anything about her that will cause her harm, or the harm of others.

And that's really what this is about. Statistically, my daughter will choose to identify as a female and will be attracted to men. But by assuming that this is the case and joking about it, we reinforce that heterosexuality is expected, that it is what is normal and right. This belief is why homosexual and queer kids are bullied in school, why adults find it difficult to find work if they dress or act outside of the binary of male/masculine and female/feminine, why our country is having such a difficult time accepting the possibility of gay marriage.

For now my daughter's bangs are swept to the side with a little bow as they grow out, but she also listens to stories about how a baby bird has two mommy birds, or two daddy birds, and all of the dinosaurs in her books are strong, decisive lady dinosaurs.

This is feminist parenting

I wrote the following in the middle of a three-hour flight from Washington D.C. to Minneapolis on Thursday, December 20th. I would like to report that Felicity was a complete angel for Ian their entire time together.

This morning, I stepped onto a plane, waving goodbye to my husband, who had our 12-month baby strapped to his chest. This was to be the longest separation yet between myself and the baby, a whole seven hours and a half hours. I felt guiltily liberated. 

Our small family is going to Minnesota for the holidays. My husband has a conference in Atlanta immediately after Christmas, and I’m staying a week longer with my family before joining him back in New York City. We scheduled our flights separately, finding that the best price for my round-trip was to fly an hour to Washington D.C., enjoy a two and a half hour layover, and then sit on a three hour flight to Minneapolis. I booked my ticket with a lap infant, planning to have Felicity fly with me.

Ian, on the other hand, was able to purchase all direct flights. So despite lifting off thirty minutes before he would, I would arrive three and half hours later.

Two mornings ago, talking about our trip and upcoming flights as we prepared for the day, we realized how crazy it was for me to have two flights with the baby and an overall longer time waiting in airports and in the air. Ian suggested taking her. I readily agreed, knowing that I would have her on my lonesome on the journey from Minneapolis to New York City after the New Year. I recalled flying alone with her when she was a sleepy three months old and how challenging that seemed at the time. I felt happy to share the burden of parenting with my spouse.

Last night, thinking about the logistics, I started to panic. The maximum Ian and the baby have spent alone (without me easily accessible) is about four and half hours. It isn’t that he is never home or isn’t a good caretaker; he does much of the parenting when he is home, sharing in the diaper changes, feedings, baths, is in charge of bedtime, and is a really excellent and involved father. It is more the case that I am still breastfeeding. So even if I have appointments, am working, or am ill, I pop in every two to three hours, check on everyone, see if the baby needs to nurse, and generally offer an over-abundance of unnecessary ‘advice’ to my husband about baby-related things he already accomplishes with finesse.

I am in the process of weaning the baby down to one or two nursing sessions a day, and so was not so worried about an extended amount of time without breastfeeding her. Instead, I had a serious case of the maternal “what ifs”: what if her ears bother her on the flight and she screams for hours, and I’m not there to comfort her? What if she desperately decides she must nurse, adamantly giving my husband her nursing sign, refusing the soy milk, peanut butter, and fruit packets we carefully tucked into her diaper bag, and then refuses to be comforted? (This is her latest – and quite effective – tactic to get middle of the night feedings). 

As I write this, I realize our division of labor is good. This is feminist parenting. To say, I desperately would love some time to myself and would like to enjoy (as much as one can enjoy) my day in airports and in the air in solitude, with my book and my writing and my research project. To say, it makes more logistical sense for the baby to be in airports and in planes for less time, and to only have one descent, which can be so painful for little ears. To you, now that we are down to fewer nursing sessions, there is no reason why my very capable and nurturing husband can’t be the sole caretaker for the great challenge of taking a very active, newly willful, almost-toddler across the country. To say that he can handle it, no matter what the day brings. To say that even if she does get upset and cries for their entire three hour flight, it will not permanently damage her and she will be fine, and he will be fine as well. 

They were supposed to be landing about the same time my last flight was taking off. I kept my phone on as long as possible, holding it nervously in my hand, desperately wanting to know how everything went. Alas, I had to turn it off before he texted to say that they’d landed. 

Although it has been nice to be able to think about other things besides the baby, to read and not be juggling a baby on my lap, and work on editing my current research project instead of singing endless renditions of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, the desire to know what is happening is overwhelming. I am accustomed to being in control (or at least feeling that I am in control). 

I find myself counting down the minutes until I see them: ninety minutes left in the air, another thirty or so until I can hug the baby, kiss my husband, and know that being a mother doesn’t always equate to sacrificing what I need and want.

The Baby is One

Two days ago, Felicity turned one. I loved it, I hated it.

I adore birthdays. I will even try to celebrate your half-birthday, if you let me (with a half of a cake, naturally!). I want Flick's birthdays to be special, full of tradition, and memorable, even if she isn't the one keeping the memories at first.

I made lots of trial cupcakes, and settled on two recipes for her party. I took time thoughtfully selecting gifts that her little baby self would love, bought a bouquet of flowers for her (mixed in variety and color, because I don't know her favorite flower or color(s) yet), and found a very sweet card for her. She even got a balloon, though she's not really into balloons yet, we found out. My mom and I made a birthday banner for her during Hurricane Sandy, which Ian and I hung with great care, using a ruler and everything.

We went out for breakfast on her birthday. I took a picture and avoided crying. Then Ian left for an all-day conference an hour and half out of the city, and Felicity's babysitter came and took her for five hours so I could clean the house for her party the next day.

I tried really hard not to feel guilty about this (like I try really hard not to feel guilty about so many things): Ian had had a crazy week at work and did not have time to contribute to the housework during that week, I have been prioritizing my own research and writing (yay), and the party was scheduled for the next day, and the apartment needed a little TLC. Plus I had to buy groceries and start cooking. Also, Felicity is too young to understand the concept of a birthday, and what the day is.

I was able to accomplish an amazing lot in the five hours, and Felicity loves E., her sitter. Afterwards, I took her on a long walk, and ate bits of dried fruit and animal crackers with her at the cafe in Whole Foods. She napped in her stroller, and we did an extra-long story time before bed, with lots of cuddles and kisses. She fell into a really good, deep sleep. The sleep of a baby that has been active, laughing, reading, and interacting with someone else almost the whole day, the restful sleep of a baby that has a relaxed mother, a happy mother.

I am increasingly aware of my need to be accepted and to live up to the expectations I perceive others have for me. This whole birthday experience further highlighted this. Maybe it's because birthdays were treated a certain way in our household, with a certain sort of reverence and tradition, and that is what I want to pass on. Maybe it is because I feel the "perfect mother" would have had the house clean in the first place and would be able to handle getting ready for a party while taking care of and pleasing a baby, and that this wouldn't upset her child and exhaust her beyond her limits. I'm not sure who this perfect mother is, but she sure isn't me.

So I didn't let myself feel guilty. At the end of the day, the baby was happy, and I was happy, and she had a really lovely party yesterday afternoon.

I do believe I achieved some sort of balance. A feat, ladies and gentlemen, a feat!

Now I just have to come to grips with my baby not really being a baby anymore. 

Why I Need to Take Pictures with the Baby Too

This is a stunning article by Allison Tate on Huffington Post, give it a read.

...we really need to make an effort to get in the picture. Our sons need to see how young and beautiful and human their mamas were. Our daughters need to see us vulnerable and open and just being ourselves -- women, mamas, people living lives. Avoiding the camera because we don't like to see our own pictures? How can that be okay?

Someday, I want them to see me, documented, sitting right there beside them: me, the woman who gave birth to them, whom they can thank for their ample thighs and their pretty hair; me, the woman who nursed them all for the first years of their lives, enduring porn star-sized boobs and leaking through her shirts for months on end; me, who ran around gathering snacks to be the week's parent reader or planning the class Valentine's Day party; me, who cried when I dropped them off at preschool, breathed in the smell of their post-bath hair when I read them bedtime stories, and defied speeding laws when I had to rush them to the pediatric ER in the middle of the night for fill-in-the-blank (ear infections, croup, rotavirus).

BOOKS!

I know I've been quiet lately. I've been busy changing what seems like millions of sticky, poopy diapers, cooking, and reading.

I haven't officially written about my updated thesis topic, but here's what's on my reading list right now:

Is Breast Best?: Taking on the Breastfeeding Experts and the New High Stakes of Motherhood by Joan B. Wolf









The Time Use of Mothers in the United States at the Beginning of the 21st Century by Rachel Connelly and Jean Kimmel

Feminist Mothering edited by Andrea O'Reilly

Motherhood and Feminism by Amber E. Kinser

The Paradox of Natural Mothering by Chris Bobel








Anyone want to guess at what I'm writing about and what my hypothesis might be? I'll mail you cookies if you're right!

Reflections on Breastfeeding

[I want to be very clear that while I am a strong proponent of breastfeeding, I understand that some women are not able to breastfeed for one reason or another. As I've stated in the past, I think that all new moms should really do their very best to make it work. I do take issues with moms that don't even want to try and don't have a really good reason.]

Felicity is almost eight months old, and as I was feeding her this afternoon, I couldn't help but think about all of the very pleasant memories. I say this now as a woman who was very seriously considering stopping nursing when Felicity was two months old in favor of pumping; the first few months were so very painful and hard. But, after the baby was diagnosed with acid reflux when she was three months old (and successfully treated), and we saw a lactation consultant to work on her latch, and I was able to heal a little... nursing became a much more pleasant experience. It took months and months, but I now enjoy it the process, when I used to dread it. Maybe it's because Felicity is becoming increasingly interested in food, I'm slowly realizing that these small moments throughout the day, where the baby is still and laying in my arms, are coming to a close. And really, it is nice to just sit with her and have her calm and relax; you never quite realize how much and how fast a baby will move about once they've figured out how to crawl. Or do the worm, in Felicity's case.

Meeting Felicity, December 1st, 2012

But really, even though Flick and I struggled through some of the beginning, some of the nicest memories come from this period. I don't have very clear memories about the first few hours after Felicity's birth, but I do remember Ian placing the baby on my chest for the first time, as I was laying down, unable to move after the cesarean. My mom helped her latch on for the first time (it's amazing how many of your boundaries completely disappear when you're pregnant, and then even more so during birth and immediately afterwards!). I remember holding her small body, very awkwardly as I could barely move, my mom saying, "Just let her smell you." And that little mouth, always sucking on her hand; I do believe she was pulled out of me making her small sucking movements, like a little bird.

I also recall with fondness our weeks of poetry. There were several weeks through March and April, where we had figured out the latch a bit and I could have a hand free, and before Felicity realized she could stretch an arm back and smack anything I might be holding, where I would read poetry aloud as the she ate. The poetry seemed to relax her little body, and she'd often stay still and happy in my lap after she was done eating, cooing, often drifting into a nap.

Snack at The High Line, May 2012

More recently, I've been enjoying just... nursing! And not just at home or in a small room, but wherever we are, whatever we're doing. At the park, at the museum, in a cafe or restaurant. At one point I almost felt shame for needing to feed Felicity publicly. Maybe it was because I had so many negative sensations and emotions, or maybe I just needed a little exposure (pun intended! so sorry, I know it's dreadful).

Breastfeeding is one of those things that people often don't talk very honestly about.
I read and heard over and over again how easy and natural it was, what a smooth transition it would be for mother and child. It wasn't natural or easy. As I mentioned, we had a three-month adjustment period, and I thought about quitting many times. It can hurt like the dickens (the first two weeks the most), let-down can feel like fire burning down your breasts, engorgement feels terrible, and blocked ducts are more frequent and painful than you often hear about. I never developed mastitis, and for that, I'm really grateful.

Yet breastfeeding is a very special bond. I remember, as we were feeding Felicity her first solids on her half birthday, how my body had completely sustained her body for six whole months, in which time she'd learned to smile and laugh, had somehow doubled her birth weight and then some, and developed rolls tires deep on her bitty thighs. And how proud I felt.

Our bodies do some amazing things. Pregnancy and birth are remarkable, and how interesting that breast milk has so many benefits for baby and mother. And did you know that breast milk has cannabinoids in it? Neat.

Interesting Article by the Harvard Business Review: Are Women Held Back by Colleagues' Wives?

I read a very interesting article by Lauren Stiller Rikleen in Harvard Business Review today that I want to discuss. Titled "Are Women Held Back by Colleagues' Wives?, this article discusses a recent study on how men's perceptions of women and women's roles correlate with whether their own wives work outside the home, and if so, the extent to which they do.

A group of researchers from several universities recently published a report on the attitudes and beliefs of employed men, which shows that those with wives who did not work outside the home or who worked part-time were more likely than those with wives who worked to: (1) have an unfavorable view about women in the workplace; (2)think workplaces run less smoothly with more women; (3) view workplaces with female leaders as less desirable; and (4) consider female candidates for promotion to be less qualified than comparable male colleagues.

What immediately sprang to my mind was this: What type of men and women enter into a marriage where partners play to traditional segregation of business and home? While Ian's and my marriage is evidence that even feminists can end up in a relationship where the female (mom) ends up staying home for some amount of time for one reason or another (though technically I'm working on my thesis... ), it is my feeling that many women who end up staying home with children, or work part time, do so because they hold more traditional views on gender roles within a marriage and family. Men that are looking for and marrying women who have expectations for staying at home with children (or not working as much as is expected of the man) more than likely have some gender stereotypes that hinder women from succeeding in a career environment.

I don't have access to the original study, so my thoughts may be repetitive of their conclusions and suggestions for further research, but I would like to see a follow up study that investigates the types of environments such men grow up in, in combination with what their do for a living, and how they view women in the workplace. My guess is such research would find that sexism in the workplace is more indicative of how men (and women) were raised and their general views of men's and women's roles, versus men's wives being the issue (as the title of the article might suggest).

Reclaim what now?

Bittylab, a new company just launched last year, is trying to get their BARE bottles off the ground. At first glance, everything seems great: the bottles are designed to mimic a woman's breast, they are free of so many of the nasty chemicals still found in many bottles and baby things, the company seems to be pro-breastfeeding, and they won a 2012 Eco Excellence Award.

Enter their marketing campaign this July on Twitter: "New Baby? Reclaim your wife. Meet BARE," and "Feeling like you're competing with your newborn for mommy's attention? Meet Bare."

While I give them (slight) props for marketing to men (whom most companies completely ignore when advertizing for baby, household, and cleaning products), Bittylab is suggesting that a wife is property to be reclaimed. As in, the wife, or her breasts, are the husband's property. Or, you know, a baby is competing for breast time because it needs to eat so it can grow and not die. Hopefully every new mom has heard by now: Breast is Best;* we should encourage as much nursing as possible!

And then let's look at the second ad for a moment. It either suggests that a) you feed your baby formula; or b) you pump and then bottle-feed your baby. The company's stance is pro-nursing, so the first is out, leaving the suggestion that a mother pump instead of nurse to save some time.

Speaking as *ahem* an experienced pumper, you would prefer that your partner stop everything, strip off her clothing, slather her nipples in lanisoh so they don't crack, connect her breasts to suction cups and a motor, and feel a little like a milking cow? While I appreciate that it's an option and enjoyed the opportunity and choice to pump when I need and wanted to, pumping is just not glamorous.** Pumps don't work as well or expediently as a baby's little bird mouth, and then you actually have to feed the baby the bottle later, not to mention wash and sanitize the bottles and pumping equipment. So it takes a lot longer, which doesn't really correspond with saving time using the bottle. Not to mention, a father really shouldn't be putting his own needs before his infant's needs. This seems to harken back to an era where the patriarch of the family was served their meal first, and makes all of the family decisions.

Oh Bittylab, why so sexist? Why such shameful advertising?

But it's okay everyone, they apologized on facebook!

Ladies, We're really sorry about the twitter campaign run last week. It was a huge miss understood and resulted in offensive messages. It was taken down yesterday. The messages had nothing to do with putting a husband needs before the baby's needs, it was more about having a little extra time for the rest of the family. Obviously the whole campaign was poorly executed. We apologize deeply for this miss understanding and assure you, from now on the campaigns will be closely monitored before they go out. Thank you for a second chance.

.... oh.... they didn't actually realize why the ads were offensive.

* While scientific studies do show that breastmilk is superior to formula for infant brain development, I fully understand that not all moms have success with breastfeeding. While I firmly believe that every mom should do their absolute best, even through the hellish acclimating period (the first 3-180 days), I do not judge those moms that are unable to continue. As long as they tried. Really hard.

** Notice how awkward our friend from 90's is here? Even though she's decked out with her special pumping bra and a cardboard computer, one can immediately tell that pumping is a really strange activity. And this picture? This picture is to actual pumping as a fast food burger ad is to the actual "product" they've convinced you is edible.

Happy Shrieks and Sleep Training Attempt #2

Here again after an almost three-week silence, in which we relocated ourselves to Michigan for the summer, after a brief trip to California to visit family.

Remember that sleep training that was starting awhile back? You do? Great. My child doesn't!

The week in California really wasn't too bad for small Felicity, now six and half months old. She mostly fell asleep in her car seat driving home from various late dinners, and we'd quietly transition her to a make-shift baby bed: a large arm-chair pushed up against the bed. We did try the roll-away crib in the first hotel, but I'm so short I couldn't even lift my baby out if she was laying down. This leads me to believe I'm going to have to get a stool or step to place next to our crib at home once she's able to pull herself up and stand in the crib, and we have to lower the mattress. Just let me start browsing on amazon.com now to drive myself crazy....

Anyways, California wasn't an issue, and she did her very baby best for her plane rides. On our first plane ride, a direct flight from New York City to Los Angeles that was a 'short' five and half hours, Felicity re-discovered her the high range of her vocal cords. She spent the first hour or two at a high, happy shriek that would not be quelled with a pacifier or soft hushes from parents. (We've since started praising her "indoor," quieter shrieks when she makes them inside, and she actually has learned to moniter her volume depending on if she's outside or inside, clever child!).

On the two plane rides from California to Michigan, Felicity was all about the raspberrying, especially fun to do on mom's shoulder when mom is wearing a tank or tube top! I believe our fellow passengers found this not as annoying as the shieking, albeit a bit gross. One never minds the spit of their own baby though, does one?

It was after we arrived in Ann Arbor that things took a turn for the worse. Going West is no problem for sleep - put in an extra nap, and a baby adjusts just fine to the time zone. Going East? Not so much. The first night she took a nap from 11:15-12:00 am, then was awake until after 2:00 am. We moved it back a little the next night, and then the next, and slowly find ourselves with a bedtime between 8:00-10:00 pm, about two hours later than she was going to sleep in New York. She seemed to have a really hard time falling asleep in this house (as do I, I'm not sure why), most likely a combination of being in a room by herself, new sounds, smells, temperatures (central air, hello Gorgeous!), and sleeping in a Pack'n Play, which is not nearly as cushy or nice-smelling as her organic mattress at home. Nor are there floral birds on the wall to admire.

The first full week here, she would only fall asleep nursing, and then would wake up every 5-10 minutes for an hour or more (one night this went on for three hours!) crying. She would sleep a little better in our bed, but then wake up and go through the whole cycle again when we moved her to her bed in the next room.

You may recall our initial sleep-training guidelines involved picking the baby up to comfort her if she was crying, but not unless she was crying. As our pediatrician pointed out, this can be tricky, and it's almost impossible to be consistent with (if the baby is asleep for fifteen minutes and we leave the room, then hear whimpering or crying that is on-again-off-again, it's really difficult to say exactly when to wait it out or pick her up). It also sends the message If I cry loudly enough, Mom or Dad will hold me... which can lead to extra crying (though I don't believe a baby is old enough to be "manipulative" at this point, all babies are smart enough to learn such patterns, and their behaviors will adjust to what they're learning). This and, at least by the time we arrived in Ann Arbor, Felicity would scream every time we laid her back down again after comforting her in our arms.

So, the new method:

1. Full bedtime routine if we're home: baby has dinner with us, bath, lotion, bedtime nurse with dimmed lights, story with dad, and a duet of Go to Sleep Little Baby. (At least all of this has been consistent for a few weeks, save the eating dinner with us, which she is now old enough to do).
2.  Shortened bedime routine if we've been out (Ian and I are just not willing to compromise all socializing, especially as we are the only couple with a baby in our social circle): shortened storytime, bedtime nurse, and her song.
3. We hold/rock her until she's drowsy, then lay her in her bed, and don't pick her up again. All calming comes from small pats, a hand on the chest, soft words, and singing. If she's calm, hands off, but staying in the room if she's at all fussy.
4. Encouraging attachment to her blanket/lovey to find comfort in.

We've been using this method for a little over a week now (using the shortened method three nights when we had activities with friends, or a nice dinner out) and I am proud to report that Felicity is once again a fantastic little sleeper! She is able to fall asleep by herself, often without us even in the room. 

For those of you who have used sleep training methods, what has worked or not worked? Were you able to follow through with the sleep training?

Breastfeeding & Eliminating Foods/Dairy

As yet another mom bemoaned giving up dairy and "gassy foods" (broccoli, potatoes, etc.) in my mom's support group last week, I had to really bite my tongue to avoid blurting out, "It probably won't change anything!"

It's another of the many controversies surrounding breastfeeding: does what a mother eats and drinks cause gas and discomfort in her breastfed baby? I liked this post by Secrets of Baby Behavior, and Kelly Mom (always an excellent source of information) writes that if there is a problem, it's more than likely a food allergy, which are rare and almost always have accompanying symptoms.

I didn't change my diet at all for breastfeeding. I try to eat a balanced diet (which may involve slightly too much Thai takeout and ice cream, but we're doing our best), but I wasn't willing to give up anything because it didn't seem worth it. As much as I could tell, Felicity had some gassy days, and some non-gassy days. They didn't seem to be tied at all to what I was consuming, and we conquered all with cuddles, belly rubs, and gripe water (or the occasional dose of Mylicon). While she may not be as fussy or gassy as many babies, and may respond more positively to the interventions I named above, I simply cannot believe that over 50% of babies (as evidenced by the number of moms that I know that have eliminated dairy and/or other things from their diet) have food allergies or an intolerance for milk.

Sleep Training / Heartbreak in 7B

Somehow I thought our baby would be different. At four days old, she was already sleeping 3-4 hours at a stretch. She's been sleeping through the night since she was three months old, and sleeping for 10-11 hour stretches for the past month or so.

But getting this five and half month-old baby to sleep is a whole different matter. Yes it's great she stays asleep, but it is to the point where every nap and bedtime are a struggle, taking 90-120 minutes sometimes. A baby that refuses to nap, even a baby that sleeps well at night, is a cranky, unhappy baby, which makes for a cranky, unhappy mom (that's me!).

So Ian and I sat down today for an hour or two and talked through the various methods of sleep-training. There are so many approaches, most of which seem cruel. Letting your baby cry for hours on end? How terrible, even if you are in the room where they can see you, not comforting them or holding them seems so strict. They're so little, how are they to understand?

We made a detailed plan, with contingencies for excessively long crying jags and napping. While we cannot call ourselves attachment-style parents completely, we nurse on demand, hold the baby as much as possible, and co-slept with her for her first three months (now she just gets the late morning). Her primary transportation is the baby carrier, usually strapped onto Ian's chest. Our version of sleep training is the most 'relaxed' it can get - picking her up and soothing her whenever she starts to actually cry (more than a fuss or short protest), staying in the room with her, and keeping a hand or two on her chest and/or head if she's at all distressed.

We have been doing... whatever works. Usually this means over an hour of fussing and crying, me hoping she'll nurse to sleep, but most likely ending in a long walk down Broadway in the stroller, or Ian rocking her in the stroller, back and forth over the lip in our kitchen doorway. As I said, it was time consuming and frustrating, and our bedtime routine didn't seem to make any difference - if she knew it was time to sleep, tears, tears, tears. Poor thing.

Everything we read said to try to have the baby to sleep approximately twelve hours before they naturally wake up. Her normal wake-up time is between 5:30-6:30 AM, so we decided on a goal of getting her to sleep around 6:00 PM, which means starting her bedtime routine (bath, baby massage, last nurse/bottle, story, and bedtime song) around 5:15-5:30 PM. It seems insanely early. It is insanely early. Don't let the baby fall asleep while you're doing these things! Put her down drowsy!

As I was nursing her this evening and she started to drift off, I started to cry. I nudged her back awake, whispering, "Not yet, Felicity, stay awake for me please." I cried because my little baby is now a surprisingly large baby, who is expressive and opinionated, and I don't get to rock her to sleep anymore. I love rocking her to sleep, nursing her into oblivion. Granted these methods haven't been working that well, but they are still such rewarding moments. Everyone said how quickly these first months would go, and how right they were. I did my best to stay present in each day and treasure all of the small moments, but they still go by so fast, and I want my newborn back. I want to hold her, and have her fall asleep on my chest with her sweet little pre-vocal sigh,

It took about an hour tonight. Ian stayed in the bedroom with her the whole time, and when she would start to cry, one of us would pick her up, calm her down, and hold her. Then she would lay back in crib. She would give us looks of deep betrayal, whimper a little (we would put a hand on her chest, or on her head, give her kisses), and then the crying would start again. Eventually she was exhausted, and fell asleep.

I think about how I get when I don't feel well. I am a cuddly person, probably annoyingly so. Ian probably wishes I would peel myself off of him sometimes, and occasionally has to express this wish on particularly warm nights. When I'm not feeling well, I just want to be held. Migraine? Hold me now, rub my head. Bad day? Hold me, rub my back, glass of white wine please. Allergies? Hold me, please kiss my forehead. And, as Ian likes to remind me, I'm not a perfect picture of health; something always seems to be wrong with me. I strained my upper arm casing a pillow last night. All of this to say, it feels wrong to not soothe her until she's in a blissful, deep sleep.

This has been the most difficult emotional milestone of motherhood yet. But we're just starting, aren't we? This is the first step of her independence and separation from me, and I suppose I need to get used to the idea that she can't always fall asleep cuddled in my arms, wonderful as that may be.

I find it heartbreaking.

This.

In response to the Time's piece last week on attachment parenting, and the outcry afterwards:

"Yes, the tenets of attachment parenting are regressive, and even potentially anti-feminist. But it’s unlikely that the individual women who practice them are going to be feminism’s downfall. What might actually kill feminism is our preference for shaming and tearing down individual women rather than advocating overdue policy changes around child-rearing: Pushing for mandatory long-term maternity or paternity leave, or high-quality childcare for all children, or a new ethos of work that doesn’t penalize parents (usually mothers) for trying to maintain a healthy and flexible work-life balance."

From Attachment Parenting: Beyond the Backslash by  Sady Doyle

The Big, Bad World

This is what I am thinking tonight:
How do I raise this little girl to be fearless, when I am so often afraid of what people will think?
How do I raise this little girl to conquer, when I so often can't get started?
How do I raise this little girl to be confident, when I'm stuck second guessing myself?

Little Felicity, it won't be easy to be strong. Being a woman is hard work, the world around you makes it hard. People expect you to be whole and to be every stereotypical woman at once, but you can't. You can't be a whole human being and have all of these conflicting identities.

There is strength in saying "No." There is strength in choosing for yourself who you are and how you show the world who that person is. There is strength in abandoning what is expected of you, and even more strength in not caring.

Three hours later...

"Beware the easy bedtime."
Truer words ne'er were spake.

Excellent Article by The Nation

This is an excellent article on the high cost of motherhood by Bryce Covert for The Nation. It's definitely worth reading. In relation, Moms In Maine posted a piece on their blog this week that is well worth your time called "Wake Up Moms: You're Fighting the Wrong Fight!" (in response to the Time article I'm sure you're familiar with).

Babyproofing: Are we saving the apartment from her, or her from the apartment?

We're leaving for Ann Arbor, Michigan in a few weeks, and our subletters will move in. Their daughter is a few days older than Felicity. Felicity, we realize, will start crawling, probably a whole lot sooner than we're ready for. Sitting? Check. Scooting backwards while on tummy? Check. Tummy time and neck pro? Check.

Where has the time gone. No, seriously, someone place tell me where the time has gone!

While Felicity certainly won't be crawling before we're gone for the summer, her small friend will be here all summer, and will most likely start crawling while living in our apartment. So it's been a day to think about childproofing. You find me $150 poorer (just take my soul now, diapers.com), with no less than fifteen items being delivered so we can protect Felicity from our dangerous ways, and protect our dangerous ways from Felicity.

And there are so many interesting childproofing things to be had! I think we're all familiar with the soft edges for the coffee table, and the snappy thing-a-ma-bobbers (why yes, that is certainly their technical term) to make it more difficult to open cabinets and drawers, but now there are all of these other things I'll be a Bad Mother if I don't spend our hard earned money on:

• Toilet seat lock
• Foam padding to prevent doors from shutting
• Furniture locks for refrigerators and ovens
• Knob covers for the stove (this one really does make a lot of sense)
• A lock you put at the top of the door, presumably to lock a child in a room. 
• Door knob handle locks
• A rubber duck that turns red if the bathwater is too hot

Electrical outlet covers I can get down with, and we did invest in two security gates to keep our child corralled for peace of mind, but some of this is a bit much. Did I buy the blue whale that covers the bathtup faucet? Yes, but mostly because it's adorable. I think of what my parents had when I was a child, and then how my sister is raising her toddler (and the much-anticipated Baby #2) in Honduras, and I think we're all going to be okay.

Will I put safety snaps on the drawers to prevent Felicity from accessing knives and cutting off a finger? Yes, no doubt. Will I put foam pads on our doors so I can never have a moment of privacy again? Absolutely not. Child, I will pee in peace, knowing you are safely confined to one room with no hard edges or exposed outlets.

Where is the line between protecting a child from danger and being overly-protective and not allowing her to learn for herself?

Hormones

The post on "The Motherhood Penalty" raised questions about hormones in mothers and fathers. I started thinking about the hormones released after pregnancy, especially in a breastfeeding mother such as myself. I feel like I'm a different person after Felicity's birth five months ago. Why? And will I return to my formerly fabulous self, or is this new, kind of high-strung, super-sensitive 'me' here to stay?

It seems that the moms in my support group (who also mother infants) are a bit confused as well. We're told we have all of these hormones floating around, and that they cause any number of symptoms, but we seem to be reading different materials and hear different things. You heard breastfeeding made you lose weight faster? My doctor said that I'll hold on to an additional 10 pounds until I wean... etc.

I have to say, after spending a forty-five googling, I'm having difficulty finding any useful information that discusses the hormones present and what they do to the body.

Does anyone else feel uncomfortable just looking at this cow?

Kelly Mom (great website, by the by) cites scientific studies to show how prolactin peaks in a woman when she is full-term, then gradually declines after pregnancy. Prolactin is the hormone that tells a women's body to produce milk. Wikipedia (great scholarly resources, right everyone, right?) says that high estrogen and progesterone levels keep the body from lactating during pregnancy, and the sharp drops in these hormones after birth allows the body to go ahead and make milk. I hate even talking about what Wikipedia says, but I'm honestly having a hard time finding any good data that is informed by cited scientific backing.


But the internet is full of lots of uncited, where-the-hell-did-this-come-from information about the "hormones" that women produce following pregnancy. And according to the all-wise internet, these hormones do the following to a person:

• make you moody
• make you angry
• make you weepy (I would like to see a scientific study on weepiness, wouldn't you?)
• make you anxious
• make you an insomniac
• make you depressed
• make you hold on to weight
• make you have night sweats
• make you have hot flashes
• make you angry at your partner
• make you angry at your baby

It feels really unfeminist and somewhat dishonest to blame behavior on hormones, but sometimes I seriously feel like a crazy person. And, speaking as someone with / recovering from postpartum depression, these emotions which I'm told are a product of the hormones raging in my post-pregnancy body, can be incredibly difficult to control.
 

Questions: What symptoms (both on and off the list above) did you experience during pregnancy and after childbirth? Did you find that you 'stabilized' back to your former self after a time?