Cool Like That...

Cool Like That..

I remember when I was cool like that, lingering over cocktails and shaking my caboose under the strobe lights at the local hot spot. The better part of my energy was spent eyeing the newest fox in town. My wardrobe was bursting at its designer seams. full of hip huggers and size 2 slinky numbers. The top on my ride was usually down, highlighted hair in the wind. “Catch me if you can, cowboy,” followed by a wink and a smile was my M.O.

Now, my calling card has changed.

“OK, who pooped?”

“Sit still. I gotta wipe your boogies.”

“And shove another pea up your nose and I’m gonna get ugly!”

These are among the most common utterances in my typical day. Nowadays, I get giddy when Lee Riders go on sale at the local Wal-mart. Most of my energy is spent chasing people with poopy pants. My nights out often include a burger and a balloon. The highlight of my week involves veggies and a cooperative 3 year old. And my mini van is the slinkiest ride on my cul de sac.

Such is the life when a girl is swept off her feet by a new in town stranger, a wide smile, a fat diamond ring and one smoking hot hiney. Kinda caught this gal unawares.

To Diaper a Beast

Now, I’ve seen a wiggly baby with a full diaper before. After two babies, I should be a pro at diapering a wiggly baby (ya think?). But, this one is different. There is almost a premeditation to her wiggles. (Ha, ha, let’s see how much I can frustrate my adults!)

Once the diaper is off, she twists that dirty bottom counterclockwise, while simultaneously turning her upper half clockwise, legs in a bicycle spin, back arched and hands thrashing wildly reaching for anything to smear, stain and otherwise ruin your day (or outfit). If you are lucky, you can manage to grab a foot and elevate her soiled lower half before it makes contact with A. your hand B. your hair C. your sleeve D. the carpet or E. whatever happens to be unlucky enough to be within a 12 inch radius at the time. Once the wipes are whipped out, the bicycle spin accelerates, the screaming escalates and the whole frenzy reaches a tipping point. The naked target is moving about wildly, making your aim a little off. If you’re lucky, you may land one or two good wipes to the bull’s eye. A good wipe to any part of the lower region counts for points, too. ( Bath maybe later?)

Now, for the re-diaper. At this point, the naked target has righted itself, much like a toppled turtle, and is rapidly heading for the nearest exit. You, being the fool that you are, chase your little target, diaper in hand, hoping for a tidy and quick resolution to the problem. Hopefully, by this time, the reinforcements have been called in and have circled around to head her off at the pass. Once trapped, the wild beast will not respond to reason (even with tasty bribes). Rather, the frenzy will escalate to such a point that one considers that perhaps it is easier to deal with a stained carpet for a couple years. However, with a good wrestling match, much sweating and physical exertion, two adults can diaper a 12 month old with minimal damage.

However, as the whole task repeats itself every 2-4 hours, a martini may be in order. Might I suggest a strong one?

The Mommy Watering Hole

During my first year of motherhood, I stalked moms at Target (see Mommy Isolation), I dabbed my toes into Infant classes (see Baby Gymboree and Baby Sign Language), before finally stumbling upon MOMS Club.

I finally found it! It was the watering hole of the mommy jungle. Here, mommies of all types, lionesses and gazelles, lingered together seeking refuge from the Stay at Home world. They banded together to form walking clubs and playgroups. They ventured out on Mommy Night Outs and field trips. They asked speakers to come to monthly membership meetings to disperse advice. They gave freely to charities, shared advice and swapped stories.

I quickly infiltrated the group, poking my nose into the Book Club, joining a playgroup and lending a hand in the Heart to Heart Club (making meals for new moms) before finally landing on the board. Yes, I took on a leadership position. I sometimes come to the board meetings wearing one slipper (I am not the only one), but I am there with (one… two) , yes, both my kids.

I support and incorporate new members and help them form new friendships. In so doing, I have formed wonderful friendships for myself, my daughters and my hubby. Families to grow with, I say. I also have found a tremendous feeling of satisfaction. “Even if I can help just one new mommy make a friend …” is my motto.

So, if you are a lone wolf howling in the woods of Stay at Home Mommydom, the watering hole is calling you.

http://www.momsclub.org/

Stroller 101

My stroller was on its side, like a wounded animal sprawled in the middle of the parking lot. Baby Boo was strapped in the car, howling. (see Colic?) And, I was appraising the wounded animal nervously.

“I think it’s dead.” I told my hubby over the cell phone. My hubby’s voice droned on and on over the cell phone, spewing stroller technical support my way. It had been my first solo outing since the stork had arrived with my first baby and, so far, the outing was a train wreck.

I had been successful in my attempt to strap Baby Boo in her car seat. I had spent the better half of the morning wrestling and restraining her little wiggly body into her infant car seat. Wasn’t that the hard part? (gulp)

Getting the stroller out of the trunk and erecting it to a full standing position proved to be a colossal act of eye hand coordination, mental focus, fine motor dexterity, and physical strength. Releasing the infant car seat from the car was another stumbling block (thanks to the secret release button). Placing the car seat on to the fully erected (get your mind out of the gutter) stroller challenged my spatial skills and tapped into a hidden reservoir of engineering ‘know how’ I didn’t know I had. The surrounding air had been littered with colorul and creative utterances ( who me?) and my post partum belly fat flopped with each push and grunt.

“Push the release button or the stroller will collapse from the weight of the car seat.,” my beloved tech guy continued.

Another button? Hit the wrong button, the whole thing collapses, hit the right button, nothing happens unless you simultaneously pull upward while applying pressure downward until you hear the victorious click. Check the brake. The brake always throws a monkey wrench into the pot. Flip the safety bar otherwise the whole kit and kaboodle could go head over heels. Adjust the strap. A twisted strap will cause the male portion of the safety belt to meet up with the female portion ( I know what you’re thinking) in such a way that they will be not be undone without the use of a screwdriver. Not a task for the faint of heart.

“Did you hear the click?” My tech support was getting anxious.

Yes, I heard the click. Yeah, for me! I was proud. I could do this Mama thing. I walked proudly with my fully erected stroller, finger nails broken, hands greasy, forearm scratched and beads of sweat glistening. Now, I just hope my tech support guy would be available for the ride home.

Grandma's Birthday

It was Granny’s birthday today. My daughter sat in the window for hours watching and waiting for Granny’s car. She watched the cars pass, hoping each time that it would be the one to pull into our driveway.

When I was a little girl, I thought birthdays belonged to just me, a moment in time wrapped up in a tidy bow. A day full of fat balloons and smiling faces….a day of crumpled paper, discarded bows and shiny new toys. A day to remember, a day to call my own.

Now, I know better. Birthdays also belong to mothers. They belong to mothers who count down to due dates and breath between contractions. Mothers who fret through doctor’s appointments and prenatal tests. Mothers who search through baby name books. Mothers who decorate and feather the nest…waiting….Waiting through the nausea and fatigue, the discomfort and growing stretch marks. Mothers who labor and sweat, and in the end, hold their new babies in hospital rooms and wonder.

Birthdays belong to Grandmothers. They belong to Grandmothers who patiently watch the generational ebb and flow. Whose words of wisdom fall on deaf ears and who watch in silence allowing their daughters to stumble and fall… to learn to walk, run, fly and yes, birth, the way they need to learn, on their own, in their own way, and in their own time. Grandmothers who would rather ignore their own birthdays, but agree to all the fuss because a little girl sits and waits in a window watching for her Granny to come.

Birthdays are for little girls. They belong to little girls who spend their afternoons sitting at a table, crayon in hand, and head bent. Little girls who carefully trace their name on homemade birthday cards. Little girls who help tie bows on carefully wrapped presents and stir batter for a chocolate birthday cake. Little girls in footed pajamas who can’t wait for tomorrow. Birthdays are for little girls who sit in windows waiting and watching because it is Grandma’s birthday.

http://www.onceuponafamily.com/

My Fairy BreastMother

For the past year, I have been viewed as a food source. My nursing baby eyed me in times of hunger in ways I have never been eyed before. However, the feast is just about over. I am almost finished weaning my baby now. We’re down to one feeding a day. My feelings are mixed….Surprise ( these tea cup boobies provided sustenance to another living being for a year??)….sadness ( She doesn’t need me the way she used to.)…..joy ( Thank God she doesn’t need me the way she used to!) ...mild panic ( they didn't shrink, did they?)

It has been quite the experience and I have a few ladies I need to thank…

The Breast Nazi who taught my Breastfeeding class when I was pregnant deserves a nod. “It is simply unacceptable to nurse a baby in a bathroom,” she snarled with disgust. “The more we nurse openly, the more accepted it will be.” Although, I did agree with the theory, I simply didn’t want my boobies to be soldiers in a political agenda. I just wanted to figure out how to nurse my baby. “Position please!” she barked as she walked around checking that we were positioning our ( covered) breasts correctly. In the end, she did give me some food for thought. But, at the time, her frosty demeanor made me run in the other direction in search for a lactation consultant with a softer touch.

Then, I found her….She flew into my hospital room with her fluffy angel wings widespread and calmly showed me the way…. My Fairy Breast Mother…. She lowered my anxiety, calmed my worries, and sat with me patiently. Maybe it was the drugs from the C-section, but I could have sworn there was a glowing light surrounding her and a harp playing softly while she spoke.

“ Nurture the mother and the mother will nurture the child,” she said while pouring me Breastfeeding Tea. (http://www.tealand.com/MothersMilk.asp)

She disappeared into thin air as quickly as she came, returning to Breast Fairy Heaven. But, she left me with words of wisdom. “Trust your instincts. Relax. Put nursing first. Do as little housework as possible. And if you ever need me, click your breasts together…( little joke) “ Common sense, I know. But, sometimes common sense is not so common.

“So, how much did we pay her to tell ya to relax?”

Don’t worry, ladies, He didn’t ask that question a second time.

http://www.earthmamaangelbaby.com/

Mommy Primping

I remember when I was an unfettered maiden, free of children and martimony, singing to my animal friends in the forest....I spent hours gazing at my loveliness in the mirror brushing my silken locks, applying lipstick and primping for dates. I would try and re-try on my new outfits, many still with tags. Should I wear strappy sandals, boots or my mules? Should I carry a clutch, an over the shoulder purse, or oversized handbag? Skirt or little black number? Blouse or tank? Sinfully skin tight low rider jeans or capris? And if we were past magic date #3 ...ahem, I mean...date #10, thong or bikini? Perfume or all body splash? Should I wear the matching lotion? Should my hair be adorned with sparkly clips, captured by a tortoiseshell clip or worn free and loose, blown dried, moused, dyed and spritzed? Taupe eyeshadow or black eyeliner? Both? Oh, you nasty vixen. Lipgloss or lip liner? Matte lipstick? Should my nails be French tipped or natural? The pearls or gold chain? Oh, the choices. So many details and so much time to gloriously decide....



As for today? I still primp....



1. Hair in banana clip ( why did these ever go out of style?)

2. Stretch pants retrieved from dirty clothes hamper.

3. Clean shirt taken from bottom of clean clothes basket.

4. Shirt thrown in dryer for 2 minutes to get rid of wrinkles.

5. Sniff arm pits

6. Quick pit wash with wet wash cloth

7. Can't find deodarant

8. Use hubby's Speed Stick

9. Sniff nursing bra

10. Rate its stinkiness from 1-10

11. Baby crying.

12. Get baby wearing only bra and pants.

13. Nurse baby

14. Can't remember where shirt is.

15. Decide not to worry about it.

16. Not leaving house today anyway.


Ahh, the luxuries of a Stay at Home Queen!

In the wild, if one interrupts a lactating mother...

I came across this blog that details a woman's experience while breastfeeding in her seat at the back of a plane. She was asked to "please cover up." I know, some may think it is the "decent" thing to do. I know I personally was a big 'cover upper' when it came to nursing my babies, but this made me think...Why is nursing considered indecent? Why is it OK to shame a nursing mother... to embarass her? Strong negative emotions can inhibit milk production. ( at least for me it did). So, I don't think it is a stretch to say this flight attendant needed a good swipe across the face from this mother's claws.

In the wild, if one interrupts a lactating mother, they get eaten.

I am a nursing mom. Hear me roar.

http://badladies.blogspot.com/2008/09/under-blanket.html

My mini van...

"We're buying a mini van!"

Four years ago, I was newly pregnant and gushing to my co-workers in the teacher's lounge.

"It seats 8 and has too many cup holders to count!"

My dreams of becoming a Stay at Home Mom were coming true. I would hand in my resignation soon and happily drive away into the mommy sunset in my ...(sigh)...minivan.

"It is so easy to drive and maneuver," my squeal continued.

My comments were met with forced smiles and a suppressed giggle or two.

I had promised my new Dream Machine to take care of her. I would keep her maintained and well kept. I would fill her up with clean, well dressed babies securely strapped. I would wash and vacuum her weekly. I would not be one of those mothers who, as she drove, threw crackers over her shoulder to silence the masses in the back. Oh, no. I am a teacher. I know about structure and discipline. My stay at home life would be full of squeaky clean, bubbly, fresh, heavenly, mini vanly scenes.

As for today? I still love my minivan.

She still sits 8. ( if I take out the double stroller, the single stroller that fits the car seat, the umbrella stroller, the Baby Bjorn, the shopping cart cover and diaper bag full of unused newborn diapers).

I am still amazed at all those cupholders. ( just please don't use the cupholders in the back. There just might be a dirty Kleenex or two in them, and no! No! Don't use the ones between the driver and passenger...you'll crush the Goldfish crackers...oh, that one over there might be empty...oh, never mind...something sticky at the bottom, but if you take this diaper....I think this one is clean...you could wipe it up...)

She still is easy to drive and maneuver. I can manage to keep her in the lane, one hand on the wheel, as I pass back sippy cups, loveys, and crackers to silence the masses. I've even managed to wipe a nose, tie a shoe, change a DVD, cradle a sleeping head and dislodge a cracker from Baby #1's throat, all with one hand on the wheel and ...yes... both eyes on the road.....Yes, Officer, I did say both eyes.

And, although she smells of fermenting formula, rotting cheese ( where is that coming from?),
and baby vomit ( I remember that one.), I still love ...*sigh*... my mini van.

Something's Gotta Give....

I have given up showers. Sorry. Schedule's tight. Something's gotta go.

I've tried showering at night. I was too tired to blow dry my hair and fell asleep with a wet head. I woke with such nightmarish bed head that I had to re-wash it immediately.

I've tried showering in the morning, but our resident rooster (Baby #2) always seems to beat the alarm. Or if I do manage to sneak in an AM rinse off, my toddler pulls back the shower curtain for a 6:00 AM fright.

I've tried showering during afternoon naps, but the laundry has reached epic proportions and the mushroom collection in the shower needed some weeding...so maybe...a shower tomorrow?

I've tried showering with both kids locked in the bathroom with me, but the toddler freaked out, pulled the shower curtain down (yes, off the rod), got puddles all over the floor and drenched herself. The baby emptied out the trashcan and cupboard and poured half the contents of the drawer into the shower. I was so distracted by the screaming that I only shaved my left pit and the back of my right leg and I think I forgot to wash out my conditioner. Frankly, I would rather be dirty, than freakishly half shaven, sticky haired and have the wits scared out of me because I think Baby #2 ate dirty Kleenex from Baby#1's cold from the bottom of the trashcan. (At least I found our second mushroom collection.)

After the shower, I slipped on the wet floor chasing Baby #2, landed on a Lego (how did that get here?) and spent the rest of the day with a towel on my head. At the end of the day, I had such terrible bed head (can you get bed head this way?) that ...*sigh*...I need to re-wash it again.

So, pardon the aroma, excuse the tangled hair, and please overlook the surrounding dust cloud....

I'v given up showers. Schedules too tight. Something's gotta give..

Skeptic Dead. Believer Born.

I had a rough morning. I had been late to baby sign language class. I had to park at the far end of the parking lot carrying Baby Boo, who at 10 months had been pushing 20 pounds. Baby Boo was fussy during class and I missed half of the experience walking around the room trying to distract her. Was she coming down with something? Teething? Colic again?

I had rushed home after class, eager to gulp down a quick lunch and pop ol' Baby Boo in the ol' crib for a the ol' past lunch nap. I thought I needed a post lunch nap myself.

Baby Boo whined to get down after eating a full lunch. "Man, this kid eats more than me. " I chuckled to myself.

Baby Boo crawled around and played contentedly for 20-30 minutes before the whining began again.

"Time for bed," I said happily signing 'bed'.

Baby Boo stopped in her tracks and Lord as my witness put her fingers to her mouth ( eat), put her fingers together and apart, together and apart ( more), and then miked the invisible cow ( milk).

"Eat....More....Milk..." I said as if translating a foreign language.

No. My eyes are deceiving me. Ten month old babies don't sign in phrases. She must be mimicking signs from class or randomly practicing signs. Afterall, she just had a full bottle and lots of food. There's no way she could still be thirsty.

I did, however, remember what my sign language teacher said about reinforcement. I reluctantly made her a bottle ....only half bottle, though. I handed it over to her and watched her gulp it down like she hadn't had anything to drink all day.

OK. This s**t works.

Skeptic dead. Believer born.

Skepticism rears its ugly Head

I have a secret.

Even after I witnessed Nathan signing 'more' in my baby sign language class I had doubt. Yes, even after my own Baby Boo signed 'fan', I still had doubt. A lingering little doubt that screamed, "You are being snookered!" at the top of its lungs.

A monkey can be trained to sign. Heck, my dog knew a sign or two. Rover, shake. Rover, point.
Wasn't this just imitation? Pavlov's dog? Good boy. Here's a biscuit?

The teacher had signed 'more music' in class and 8 month old Nathan signed 'more'. Don't all babies copy? Isn't mimicking part of learning? Are these babies really communicating? Are they exchanging ideas, expressing thought.....shooting the breeze?

I did have a few family members chuckle at my attempts to sign with Baby Boo. "Hey, let's put Junior at the head of the table. I want to hear her thoughts on the War on Terror." A cascade of laughter always followed.

Didn't I laugh, too? Didn't I think this was a tad bit silly? Training a baby to do tricks like a seal??

Hmmmmmm? Little did my inner skeptic know that her days were numbered....

My Baby's First Sign!

"Yes, that had to be it." I summed up the experience to my hubby over dinner. " That baby who signed in class must be a genius."

"A genius." My hubby agreed.

"But, I'll keep trying," I added. "Our baby is smart, too."

So, I kept trying.

"Eat?" I would place my fingers to my lips before I fed Baby Boo. "More?" I would sign as I saw her eyeing my dinner plate.

Then, one afternoon, a fleck of magic found its way into our world. We were having lunch in a family restaurant. I was summing up all I had learned in baby sign language class to my 10 year old stepdaughter.

"So, its all about reinforcement. If it looks like she is signing 'milk', you hand her a bottle. "

We both glanced at my baby in her car seat. She was gazing at something and pointing and circling her hand.

"Perfect example right there," I said. "It looks like she is doing the sign for fan. So, we reinforce."

I smiled at my baby. "Yes, Baby Boo, do you see something that looks like a fan?"

"Could it be all those ceiling fans?" asked my stepdaughter.

My breath was taken from me as I raised my eyes to the ceiling. I don't know why I didn't notice before. There must have been a dozen ceiling fans on full speed, attempting to cool the summer heat. And my darling 8 month old genius was using American Sign Language to let me know.

It was the first of many magical moments.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7gSZfW4gVhI

Genius Baby?

I was four weeks into Baby Sign Language Class.

No signs from baby yet.

I had been busily doing my homework which consisted of simple activities to incorportate signs into everyday life. Much like my friend's "Milk? Milk?" before she gave her baby a bottle, I had sprinkled some signs through out my day. "Bath?" I scrubbed my chest before baby's nightly bubble bath. "Where's the kitty cat?" I drew invisible whiskers along my face as the cat scampered by.

I followed the teacher's advice. Keep it simple. Follow baby's interests. Lots of repetition. Incorporate it into daily events. And lots of patience. However, I was getting a little deflated signing to a silent audience. My baby seemed totally disinterested. The other parents in class seemed to be having similar experiences. My skepticism began to bubble a bit.

However, little did we know, magic was brewing as we were planting little seeds in our little ones' brains.

One magical morning took my breath away. Magic began to explode in class. We were dancing with our babies to music. The babies were laughing and bouncing as babies do. Suddenly, our teacher turned off the music, signed and said "Stop!" and we all froze. The babies looked shocked. "Do you want more music, Nathan?" Our teacher signed 'more' and 'music' to an 8 month old who seemed particularly disappointed. He immediately put his fingers together and apart, together and apart....

"He signed 'more'!!" Gasps were heard around the room.

"This is when we reinforce. OK, Nathan. Let's have more music." She signed 'more music', turned back on the music and we all continued to dance.

"It's important to recognize his sign and reinforce its meaning. We just taught Nathan that his hands can influence his world," she yelled over the music, throwing scarves over babies.

My mind was numb. I would not have believed it if I had not seen it. Yes, I watched the video clips of babies signing at the beginning of class. But, weren't these just a handful of baby signers? Genius babies? And, I highly suspected one or two were doctored clips.

Maybe Nathan was a genius, too.

That had to be it.

First day of Baby Sign Language Class

The long awaited first day of Baby Sign Language had come. I joined the circle of mothers and babies sitting on the mat on the floor, finding a place next to a familiar face. (Weren't you in Baby Gymboree?) I noticed immediately that my baby was the only baby who couldn't quite sit up yet. The class was for babies 6-12 months. My baby was not quite there yet. At only 5 months, I had rounded up. I was smiling to myself wondering if the teacher was going to check baby ID's, when in walked a small woman with curly hair stretching down her back.

"Hi, Mommies and babies!" She had the cheer of a preschool teacher, full of bubbles and song.

She sat next to me, dumped out a bag of baby toys in the center of the circle and introduced herself. The babies happily chewed on rattles and toys as she gave us details about the benefits of signing with baby, which echoed my friend' s sentiments. She cited research and shared anecdotes which seemed a bit unbelievable. She shared her passion for signing and told us how happy she was to introduce us to the world of baby sign language. Her passion began to capture my interest. I decided to give this signing thing a fair shake.

After we each took a moment to introduce ourselves and our babies, the natives began to stir. ( My baby seemed to have never ending colic.) Our teacher sensed the restlessness and took action. "Let's sing a welcome song!" Placing an enormous bear puppet in her lap, she belted out a song. After slipping her hands into the bear's gloves, the bear began to sign. His huge purple gloved hands captured each baby's attention as he signed 'hello' to each baby. Babies were laughing, adults were attempting to follow along and the mood was light.

Each week followed suit. The welcome song was followed by a bag of toys emptied on the floor. The teacher introduced the signs for the week, giving us some strategies to encourage signing at home. The pace of the class was quick and entertaining. We learned a few fingerplays and songs that incorporated the 7-10 signs of the week. Then, it was time for centers. We each took turns at stations full of puppets, toys, games and sometimes food where we practiced incorporating signs as we interacted with our baby.

The teacher always gave us clues to help with remembering the signs. "Think...a goat's beard.." she would say as she placed fingers on her chin drawing a downward triangle for the goat sign. I was beginning to memorize signs without having to use our handbook as a resource. The question was....Were the babies?

Then one day, magic happened...

http://www.signingsmart.com/

Baby Sign Language

"Milk? Milk?" My friend began flapping her hand in front of her baby's face. She looked like she was milking an invisible cow. I began to wonder if people were staring.

"Umm...What was that?" I asked.

My friend was visiting from out of town. She had a baby the same age as my own and had been a great comfort to me during my first weeks at home with baby. She was, however, prone to loopiness sometimes.

She smiled as she explained that she had been signing with her baby. She explained how signing to a young baby increases their vocabulary, enhances language and reduces frustration.

"It really can open a window into your baby's non-verbal world. Babies as young as 5 months can sign."

Get out of town. She was truly off her rocker ( pardon the pun.) Yes, I could picture a toddler signing, but not a newborn. And why would you want a hearing toddler or baby to sign? Shouldn't they be learning verbal language?

I began to snicker. " I could see my colicky baby sign. What's the sign for 'my tummy hurts' ?"

"Well, you could take a class, if ya don't believe it. Ya might have fun."

A class? They give classes for this? Will other mommies be there? Mommies with babies? Friends?

I did a quick web search and found a class starting soon in my community. I signed up immediately. I wondered how the class would be taught. How would the babies be entertained while we learned the signs? Could we bring the babies? I double checked. Yes, babies were included. I was looking forward to it.

I had no idea what a wonderful experience I was about to have.....

Adventures in Gymboree Class

In life it's all about networking. As a new mom, I quickly learned that networking was not just a business skill. In the land of Mommy, it is what keeps you afloat. I fumbled, stumbled and tripped my way through my first year of motherhood. I searched for friendships, connection, mental stimulation and the feeling of belonging.

I enrolled in a Baby Gymboree class.

It was refreshing to sit in a circle with other mommies and their babies. We sang to our babies, gave them tummy time over a mirror ( seeing their reflection helps them push up), massaged them and mid class we answered an ice breaking question. This was my favorite part. It stimulated great conversation between women in the same place- the Newborn Fumble. Women existing on spurts of sleep and no connection to their previous lives. Women temporarily lost in the pea soup Newborn Haze. Unfortunately, the perky, well rested Gymboree teacher, who was following a script, usually rushed us through the delicious conversation. "Next class starts soon, so moving right along..." Ah, can you hear the audible snap of the cord of connection between women who so deparately needed it? After class, a few lingered. But, most rushed out to their cars allowing shyness to rule them. Hindsight being 20/20, I think many of them were afraid others would sense their desparation if they lingered too long. Others were happy to get home with a fussy baby. However, in the end, I never made a connection that extended beyond the Gymboree classroom. I continued on my quest. I signed up for Baby Sign Language.

http://www.gymboreeclasses.com/

Mommy Isolation

I saw a new mommy fumbling through the pacifiers at Target today. New baby asleep in the cart and a look of confusion mixed with the haze of sleep deprivation....Ah, memories. I walked these very hallowed aisles of Target searching through the baby goods once myself lost, confused and quite a bit lonely. Rows and rows of baby bottles, stacks and stacks of formula...Which one works? Which is the best? What is this gadget? Am I a fool to buy it? And will "somemommy" please be my friend? New mommyhood was much like first day of school anxiety, only it had sharper fangs. No one will be your playground buddy. No one wants to sit next to you at the lunch table and the teacher is absent. As a new mother, I watched the other experienced moms , carts full of a kid or two, going about their business full of confidence.
"Wanna play hopscotch with me? I'll let ya copy my homework." was not going to work on this playground. I contemplated causing a shopping cart fender bender. "Sorry. Didn't see ya. Can you sit down for a minute and tell me how you do this mommy thing. I need a one on one tutorial." Educated and professional, I had entered into this mommy thing a tad bit overconfident. Humbled quite quickly by colic, diapers and a couple of engorged boobs, I was eager to befreind a more experienced mom. My first attempts at friendship in the SAHM world began in the Baby Aisle in Target. Unfortunately, all my attempts were shot down. I mean, how does one go from "Cute baby. How old?" to " Can I have your number and address? I desparately need adult conversation."? My friends before mommyhood were all happy buzzing along at their careers, with little time for someone with a screaming bundle especially in the middle of the day. Yes, they brought presents, owwed and ahhed at the baby and then where did the conversation go? I knew quite quickly that I needed to find some new friends with whom I shared some common ground. My mommy stalking was getting nowhere. I had to take action. I enrolled in Baby Gymboree Class.

The Froggy Chorus

In light of the two last nasty posts, I thought I could behave myself today....:-)

Surely that is not just one frog. I open one eye and lift my head from the pillow. I imagine an army of fat frogs taking refuge in our neighbor’s pond. It had begun innocently enough with one or two gentle croaks, a country lullaby. Then it was two maybe three accompanying croaks quickly escalating to a full blown chorus. I imagine the croak filling up the lumpy frog’s entire body and lifting to the sky, a bubble flying to the heavens. The voices are all baritone. Does one audition for the frog chorus? What becomes of the frog with the tenor voice? I hear a cricket or two gleefully adding to this orchestra. Is that a mosquito humming the tune? Just as quickly as it began it all stops with a dramatic halt. One cricket gives a last feeble note and the night is lost in silence. I imagine the frogs’ bowing before their audience and making a slippery, silent exit into the stagnant waters.

Oh, well, at least it is not a baby crying.

Poop at work phobia

One of the things I love most about leaving behind the career path and taking a sharp right into Mommyworld, is my potty freedom. As an elementary teacher, I had to follow a rigid schedule. School began at 7:40. I had to hold any urge to use the pot until recess at 10. I then had twenty minutes to run , wait in line ( and there was a line. We all were on the same schedule) , and relieve myself. The choice of pots was between the big handicap stall with the echo effect or the small stall that had the regurgitation effect. Nothing like a toilet spitting back at you. Of course, this all included a guaranteed captive audience. ( long line, remember). Sometimes, the line was so long that it was backed up into the hall with the door propped open conveniently within earshot of the Principal's office. Nothing like sharing your bodily noises with the ol' boss. We then had only one other designated potty break during our work day. ...lunch! God help ya if you have a small bladder or happen to be pregnant or have to poop. My work as a teacher allowed me the opportunity to practice holding it ( whatever It was). If I got a little gassy in the classroom, what the Heck? I was surrounded by 8 year olds. If we happened to receive a classroom visitor, who would guess I was the phantom farter? And the kids would never imagine that a teacher cut the cheese. Teachers live at school and lack anuses, right? Unfortunately, with this kind of lax gas attitude, one did get caught with their pants down ( so to speak) when correcting papers after school. Oops. Is that the Superintendant about to enter my classroom? Where are the kids to cover for this gas cloud?
I did catch on to my neighboring co-worker who when pregnant would run to the children's bathroom during morning language arts lesson. ( so brazen!) Keep in mind, in a perfect world, we all would have had teacher aides who could watch the class while we went out for a quick pee ( or whatever). However, with cut backs, we had only 3 hours of aide time per week. So, to sum, I am happy to partake in my early morning bathroom break with an audience of two - my 3 year old and toddler. So much more private these days.

Dino Hearted

Dino-Hearted

“It’s ruined! Just ruined!” My preschooler threw herself to the floor, sobbing loudly.

“I am sure we can fix it, honey,” I said moving in to investigate.

“It’s broken and it can’t be fixed!!” She thrust the purple, plastic T-rex into my face, shoulders heaving.

I closely looked for broken parts, but in the end, failed to identify the problem. Prominent fangs were sharply intact. Forearms were in attack position. And, the tail was in working order.

“He looks all good to me,” I reassured her.

“SHE is not good!!” And, then a shaky whisper… “She is hurt.” She pointed to the ferocious beast’s right hand. Sure enough, this prehistoric creature was missing a claw. The tip had snapped off. I can only assume it took place during a hunt, a feeding frenzy or some Jurassic showdown.

“Sometimes dinos break their claws, sweetie. They don’t mind.” I tried to reason with her.

“She does mind. She does!” My Princess Paleontologist wiped her tears. Then a final plea. “It hurts her little finger.”

So, needless to say, I took pity on the beastly creature.

Before I knew it, that dino was all bandaged up, claw in a swing, and re-situated amongst her Jurassic cohorts.

It’s not every day one gets to assist a predatory, prehistoric animal. I felt a little proud. A tab bit heroic, even.

Although, on second thought…… judging from the look on the Stegosaurus’ face, I kinda got the feeling I was doing a little aiding and abetting.

You might want to remind me to do a quick head count in the morning. Just in case.

My toddler

Her eyes are enormous round pools of blue, accented with gold sparkles. They are beautifully hypnotic. Two thirds of her face is eyes and lashes, winks and blinks. The rest is a smile big and giggly with sticky on the edges. Her dimples fill her cheeks and her chin. She has her father’s smile, the smile that captured my heart on that wonderful first date. Her smile is usually accompanied by a laugh that emerges from deep inside her round tummy. It’s a laugh straight from heaven that lands deep in my heart. Her arms go straight up in the air as she says those magic words, “Mama, help”. I pick her up and my little monkey rests her head on my shoulder. Her hair is sticky with apple sauce and baby sweat. It is time for her bath.

Colic?

Colic?

I struggled to hear the voice over the phone as I was distracted by my baby's cries.

"If she screams more or less for 3 hours three times a week late in the day, it's most likely colic," drums the nurse over the phone.

"Don't all babies cry?" I squeak into the phone. Somehow, giving my innocent angel the label of "colic" seemed to make her crying even worse. I watched her swinging in her baby swing, mouth open, face red....assuming the usual evening positon.

"If her crying fits the description I just gave you, it is most likely colic," repeated the voice.

"What do I do?" I winced. "Can I bring her in?"

"She will outgrow it. Usually by 3 months, it's over."

That was it. I was left alone with a very unhappy baby and told to wait it out. What? My baby was upset. She couldn't be comforted. Her crying exhausted me. What is going on? Luckily, we made it through, but only after I researched the heck out of this beast called colic. I have been curious if colic is associated with shaken baby syndrome. I tried to imagine a less patient person handling a baby with full blown colic and shuddered at the thought. Because, I am telling ya, I was a teacher in a low income neighborhood for years. I am a patient woman. But, facing colic, patience took on a new meaning. Worse yet, was the well meaning advice of friends. "Don't worry. You are a new mother, You will get the hang of it." What? Are you suggesting I am freaking my baby out? There is something to this colic. Determined to help another parent with a baby that just "won't stop crying", I have summed up all I have found.

Remedies for Colic....

*Take your baby to the doctor with a journal of his/her crying to rule out anything serious. It could also be acid reflux. There are meds that can help.
*Switch formulas. All formulas are not equal. Be careful with Soy based. It could constipate.
*Read Harvey Karp's, Happiest Baby on the Block. Pay attention to the 5 "S." - swing, swaddle, Shh, side, sucking http://thehappiestbaby.com/
*White noise machine or something that makes white noise- vaccuum, blow dryer, clothes dryer, static on radio. The machine really helped my second baby sleep thru the night.
*Movement ...rocking, walking, strolling, bounce on top of a yoga ball...
*Gripe medicine or homeopathic colic pills. I did not try , but heard it works.
*Use the colic hold, pressure on tummy
*Anit gas meds http://www.mylicon.com/
*Watch what you eat if you are breastfeeding, keep a journal
*Breastfeedng can be more tolerant than formula, give breastfeeding a try. Although, I know colic does exhaust mom, Your supply may dwindle if you are exhausted. Get help, get rest. A lactation consultant can help. Yes, some are Breast Nazis, but some are like Breastfairy Mothers... Shop around. They're your boobs.http://www.laleche.com/
*Colic kicks in around week 3 , just as you are your most sleep deprived. Be prepared.
*Dr. Brown's bottles have an anti colic appartus. All bottles are not the same, experiment
*Amby bed- this helps baby sleep longer. It places baby in womb like nest. http://www.ambybaby.com/
*Co-sleeper makes night breastfeeding easier and you get more rest. I used http://www.armsreach.com/
*Listen to the addage of " a fresh pair of arms", a child does pick up on your frustration. Hire a teenager to come in and hold your baby while you shower or nap.
*Sling, "wear your baby"
* Get support and compaionship thru a class or playgroup. The only one who understands life with a newborn is someone who is currently living with one. Amnesia quickly sets in after the newborn days are over. You may form lifelong friends.
*The baby is OK crying for a few minutes in her crib while you shower.
*Drive the baby in a car.
*Dunstan Baby Language. This lady claims that you can decipher a baby's cry. http://www.dunstanbaby.com/
* A warm bath
* Infant massage using lavender
* Pacifier
* I heard some good things about cranial osteopathy, but never tried it myself.
* Some research has proven that probiotics help with colic.
*Take the baby outside. There is something to be said about babies and fresh air.
* Yes, it is usually over by month 3.
* I have a theory ( just a theory!!) that women who use antibiotics during pregnancy may be setting up baby for colic. The antibiotics may be wreaking havoc on the baby's digestive systems prenatally. This is only from my personal experience. If ya gotta take antibiotics when pregnant, then take them! I would just recommend taking probiotics, too. Of course, you are no longer pregnant and there's nothing that can be done now, I know. Just food for thought.

Some of these tips may or may not work for your baby. All babies are different. Experimentation is part of parenthood. Keep trying. Remember, a baby changes dramatically during this first year. Every month brings new changes, joys and new challenges. This will pass.



"

Leaves in Heaven?

One September, 2008

Fall has come. Summer is ending. School is beginning. I watch the leaves wither and fall from the tree limbs as my 3 year old asks, " Do leaves go to Heaven?"

"Of course," I answer affirmatively. "They are up there with the dinosaurs and the ants that you had in your ant farm. " I then continue on with my description of Heaven as a beautiful place with angels and big puffy clouds. What a jewel of a moment.

"I don't like Heaven," she states matter of factly.

Curious, I venture to ask, "Why not?"

Quick to answer, my three year old sums it up. "Heaven is where you go when you get lost. I don't like to get lost."

Uneasily, I mention something again about fluffy clouds. Another jewel of a moment, I might add.

"Mommy, look! The leaves aren't in heaven. They are right here!" She points to a pile of brown, crumpled leaves lying under our tree."They are in our backyard," she states quite pleased with her discovery.

"Yes," I agree.

And that is where we leave it. For now!