OMG I'm a such a Nerm!

What is this "Nerm," you ask? My sister's fiance and his friends created this word in high school to describe nerdy moms. I laughed when I first heard it, immediately flashing to a mental picture of such a woman. Little did I know then that I would one day become the ultimate nerm...

Let's count some of the ways in which I am nermified.

First: my friends and family are all-too-familiar with my trucker's mouth. However, not wanting to pass this nasty habit on to my Bean, I have tried to clean up my act. I regularly say things like:

• Good gracious!


• Whoa, Nelly!


• Uh oh, spagettios!


• You're a silly billy!


• Geez, Louise!

Sometimes I slip a little, and have to recover, through gritted teeth:

FFFFFFFFFFFFF-u-u-unny dog....
Shhhhhhhhhhhhh-ugar!

And sometimes I really do slip and promise myself I'll try harder next time.

Anyway, I recently heard myself played back on a video that Hubby took saying "Good graaaaacious!" in my baby-talk voice and I realized what a dork I've become.

Other Nermy things of note:

• I sing along to the piped-in music at the grocery store. Out loud. And I don't care who hears me.


• I sang "Itsy Bitsy Spider" - complete with the accompanying hand movements - in front of a bunch of people I didn't know trying to get Bean to smile while having her pictures taken at Picture People (and anyone familiar with my trucker's mouth is also painfully aware of my inability to carry a tune, even one as simple as Itsy Bitsy). Technically, also, I think that patronizing said photo store in the first place already qualifies as supremely nermy.


• The spot on my counter previously occupied by gin, vermouth, and Shiraz now has a lovely assortment of Juicy Juice, Organic Elmo crackers, and plastic sippy cups. (Those other things are still in my kitchen, of course - just not as readily accessible ;-)


• I have crazy kids' music (Old MacDonald B-I-N-G-O, Ten in the Bed, etc.) playing at most times, much to the horror of my friends when they stop by for a visit ("Who ARE you?")


• I have subscriptions to Parents magazine, Baby Talk, and Good Housekeeping (all of which are labeled "wicked dorky" by my co-workers)


• I traded my 5-speed Beemer for a station wagon. (OK, it's a Passat, but a wagon nonetheless.)


• The first thing I uploaded to my new iPod Touch was a Sesame Street video


• Etc., etc., etc.

I'm not really lamenting my nerm status here - just a little surprised by it. Apparently, dorkiness creeps up on you.

Puttin' away the pump

I made it to a year. I'm still nursing my Bean two to three times a day, but the dreaded PUMP has been shelved until number two (if there is a number two) comes along. Actually, I shouldn't say "dreaded" pump - that wonderful device allowed me to feed my baby breastmilk even when we were apart.

When Bean was consuming the most - around the six month mark - it was quite satisfying to pump and get six to eight ounces, plus a couple more for the freezer. But once she was eleven months or so, I'd massage my breasts and vary the pump speed and drink mug after mug of lactation tea and try all sorts of tricks to increase the flow, only to eek out an ounce or two....hardly worth the time spent drawing the blinds, assembling the pieces, pumping for fifteen minutes, and then cleaning everything afterwards. It was taking me several pumping sessions just to make one bottle.

I don't think I realized that the last time I pumped would be THE last time. I don't miss it (the way I'm sure I'll miss nursing after Bean is weaned). And I REALLY don't miss pumping at work. Luckily, working from home 4+ days a week meant that the in-office pumping sessions weren't that frequent. Another bonus is that I have an office at work with a door and blinds, which makes it very easy to get the required privacy. My "Mommy things in progress; please come back in 10 minutes" sign and the hum and whir of my pump behind the closed door raised some eyebrows (oh well). My boss is a dad, and I know he supports my breastfeeding efforts; but I also know that the thought of or the sight of my pump makes him uncomfortable (to which I shrug my shoulders and keep on pumpin' - it's my daughter's health and well being at stake here, after all).

Anyway, it's a relief to not have to lug the pump into the office, find 20 minutes three times a day, stash the little bottles in the community fridge, and then make the 1.25 hour drive home with them on ice.

So, while I'm glad to be done with my pump, I also am immensely grateful to the thing. It allowed me to meet my breastfeeding goals and keep my Bean healthy while working full time and even having a (very) occasional night out. And for that, it's worth its weight in (white) gold.

Mother's Day

I got an unexpected surprise when I picked the Bean off at daycare today: a Mother's Day gift in a pretty blue bag! The tag said, "Happy Momma's Day, Love Bean."

Mother's Day is 3 days away, but I couldn't resist taking a peek. Inside the bag was a flower pot with soil and seeds in a baggie. It was painted pink and covered in Bean's handprints in yellow paint. Along the top were the words "Watch Me Grow."

I cried when I saw it... I think it's the best gift I've ever received!

The ol' mare ain't what she used to be

So have you seen the new Suave commercial that claims, "89% of moms say they've let themselves go"?

It's a cute ad, and they're smart to target the harried mom demographic, but you know what, honey? It takes a lot more than a little Suave. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of myself reflected in the grocery store window and gasp, forced to look away in horror.

I was in Walmart the other day, chastising myself for being unable to silence the voice in my head from saying things like, "Oh, sweetheart, that is really not your color," or "Are you sure you need the double-size value pack of Snickers?" Now, I know I'm the last person who should throw stones, but my inner monologue remains evil.

Anyway, feeling quite superior having identified all that's wrong with the Sunday-afternoon Walmart crowd, I get home and look in the mirror. Hair: unwashed and nesty. Face: pasty white and in dire need of eyeliner, mascara, and maybe a little lip gloss. Sweatshirt: emblazoned with a HUGE, crusty, dried up patch of spit up. NICE.

Cruel irony aside, is it really that we moms have let ourselves go? Or are we just focusing on what's important?

I haven't quite decided. (But I need to re-read this post before I head off to Walmart again...or at least remember to check the mirror first.)

Good ol' H20

I realized something the other day as I indulged in a 15 minute, make-your-skin-red-it's-so-hot shower - such a luxury now - I never appreciated water until I got pregnant. I've always loved to swim, and of course I drink the stuff. But I developed a new appreciation for water once there was a Bean in my belly. Oh, the many ways water comforts:

1. Early pregnancy baths. I had 20 weeks of 24-hour-a-day nausea at the beginning of my pregnancy. The only time I felt well was when I was asleep....or taking a bath. Somehow the warm water relaxed me and took my mind off the swirling maelstrom in my stomach. In early pregnancy 'they' advise against bathing in water hotter than 100 degrees, and, being that it was winter, and I'm a tall woman with a small bath tub, these early baths were usually pretty chilly and therefore pretty short. But, nonetheless, they were worth it.

2. Second and third trimester hot tubs. I got big fast, and as a result had a lot of round ligament pain, which my midwife aptly described as feeling like "you're a Barbie doll that someone is ripping the rubbery legs off of" every time you walk or roll over in bed. After the first trimester, I was allowed to take a hot tub (still around 100 degrees, but at least now I could be immersed up to my neck). In the tub I was weightless and carefree. I felt wonderful. I could have stayed in there forever. My friends are tired of hearing me say, "Whatever you do - when you buy a house, make sure it has a hot tub or a whirlpool tub that you can submerge your pregnant belly in." Regardless of whether you have discomfort during pregnancy, being weightless - even for a short time - is heaven.

3. Water birth. Even though I wasn't able to have the water birth I planned for the Bean, I am still a firm believer in the soothing, relaxing, healing power of water during labor and delivery. I did spend my early labor in our hot tub, relaxed and pain-free. If we have another baby, s/he will be a water baby.

4. That first shower after delivery. I won't go into detail here, but it's an experience.

5. The it's-my-only-escape shower. There's no getting around it - even with a newborn, you have to find a way to take a shower everyday. And, as guilty as I felt lathering my hair knowing that Hubby or Grandma or Auntie was trying to calm the screaming Bean, the running water drowned out all sounds. Sometimes those 5 minutes are the only peace you get in a day.

6. The breastfeeding thirst. Never have I been so thirsty! And, if I don't drink tons one day, my milk supply is down the next.

7. Bath, glass of wine, candles. No, I'm not getting romantic on you. Some days, after the Bean is asleep, there's nothing more relaxing than a hot bath. (Once or twice I've fallen asleep in there and woken up shivering.)

8. I have time to shave my legs! Older Bean, longer showers. True luxury!

9. A bath with my Bean! This on falls in the fun, rather than relaxing, category. The water can't be blazing hot like I like it, and I can't slink down to stay warm because I need to make room for the Bean to splish and splash. But what FUN! She squeals with delight and her gummy smile never fades.

101 Reasons to Breastfeed

This is a fantastic article: 101 Reasons to Breastfeed

Each reason is either backed by common sense (e.g., breastfeeding saves you a ton of money) or scientific research, which is properly cited.

There's no question: breastfeeding is great for baby, mommy, daddy, the environment, and society as a whole. Also, it's what nature intended. (How people can think breastfeeding is "gross" or "obscene" is beyond me...but I think that's better addressed in a separate post.)

I realize, of course, that breastfeeding is not possible in all circumstances, and it's not always possible to continue after 3 or 6 months. And, especially in the beginning, it is not easy. Bean wanted to nurse constantly, and often it seemed that the breast was the only thing that would comfort her. For a new mother, this is quite intense, exhausting, and overwhelming. But it got better, and quickly. Those 40-minute nursing sessions every 2 hours eventually got shorter, and now the Bean has a quick 10 minute meal every 3 hours during the day and (cue the angels singing in the background) sleeps 11-12 hours at night.

I am grateful every day that I've been able to nurse the Bean thus far, and I hope I can continue until she's at least a year old. Sure, it's difficult to be away from her for any length of time, and pumping is a chore, and my freezer stock is dangerously low. But I know I'm giving her the best possible nourishment, and, beyond that, that when she is nursing, she is comforted, safe, and happy. The feeling of joy and contentment that I get when I look down at that little face, snuggled up and nursing drowsily before bed, is something I'd never experienced before motherhood.

Though it will represent a bit of freedom for me, I know I'll be sad when the Bean weans.

In anticipation of...

...date night!

Hubby and I have a date tonight! Sure, we've been out together without the Bean a few times, but these "dates" were before the blessed, glorious SLEEPING THROUGH THE NIGHT, and we were usually too tired for more than a quick dinner close to home.

Tonight we actually have plans out of town(!). It's no biggie, really - it's just like any other Saturday night we would have spent pre-pregnancy. But as I showered (and shaved, *winkwink*) this morning, I realized I was pretty excited!

It's amazing how having a baby changes your marriage. You expect it to bring you closer, and it does. You expect it to bring incredible joy and happiness, and it does. But I certainly didn't anticipate how the challenges of extreme sleep deprivation and being on-call 24-7 would test our bond. Even when we're together, working as a team, sometimes it feels like we're miles apart: focused on getting everything done and drained of energy and patience and affection when there finally is a break in the action.

For the first few months, I was really worried. I was constantly on edge with Hubby. He bore the brunt of my frustration, sometimes deservedly so but most of the time - not. I needed someone to snap at, and I couldn't snap at the helpless screaming baby, so Hubs was an easy target. And I was scared. Is our marriage going to survive this? I thought having a baby had a positive impact on your relationship! My mother and married-with-baby friends assured me that it was normal and would pass...I wasn't so sure. I love this guy! Why am I lashing out at him? He was (is) endlessly patient with me, god-love-'im.

~~~~~~~~~~

Luckily, around 5 months (OK, maybe 6), the fog lifts, and most of the stress of taking care of a fussy baby turns to fun as she laughs more, sleeps more, and cries less. Now there are those moments when the bustle of the day is behind us, when the three of us relax in the Bean's room with her nightlight and jammies on... And we lock eyes as she plays between us. And without a word, we know: we've never been closer or more in love.

A huge part of what I love about my husband today is what an incredible father he is to our Bean.

Of course it's not all chocolate covered strawberries - we still have our tense times. And he is still endlessly patient when I lash out. But I'm no longer worried that we're in trouble.

And as much as I love our three-of-us time, I know that Hubby and I need time alone too, to sustain our happiness as time passes. Now, when that Bean goes down for her glorious 12 hours of sleep, or, in this case, when Grandma is here to babysit, we've got to nurture that bond. So, date night it is.

Wait, weight - don't tell me.

At my two-week check up, my midwife (whom I love to pieces) said, in words more gentle than these, "You have four months to lose this weight and still call it baby weight. After that, it's just WEIGHT."

That really hit home with me, and I was determined to use the extra calories that breastfeeding burned to my advantage. I was eating well and walking with the Bean and her silly dog every day for an hour. The weather was beautiful, she loved the fresh air, and we all benefited. The weight was falling off.

Then my maternity leave ended. I went back to work just before a huge project deadline at work. 12-hour days nixed our daily walks, and stress drove me into Bean Mama stress eating mode (my eternal weakness). It didn't help that I work from home and my office is four feet from the kitchen. Winter descended, the days shortened, and my comfort eating increased.

Once I piled work on top of sleep deprivation, salads and broiled fish just did not appeal to me. I deserved pizza, damn it, and a key lime pie with a side of blueberry muffins to go with the Greek chicken wrap (oh, heavenly GCW).

(On a side note, I was able to get some plus-sized modeling work.)

The magic four-month mark came and went; weight was static. DAMN! I missed the window. I can't seem to get back into the zone. I ordered a couple "post partum" work out DVDs, which are currently collecting dust. Pre-pregnancy, I did hour-long kickboxing classes 4-5 days a week and ate well. Now I'm a huge, unmotivated blob. And I have to be in a wedding in T-minus 3 months. And summer is speeding toward me like a locomotive (can I still wear sweaters and my Lane Giant jeans when it's 80 degrees out?).

It's time to stop making excuses. The Bean is eating solid food now, and I want to instill healthy habits in her. I've got to get back on track.

The Spit-up Chronicles

One thing I've learned as a new mom is that with motherhood comes a sick obsession with bodily functions. Did she pee? Was it DAMP or SOAKED? And more importantly - did she POOP? What color was it? Was it runny? They even want you to write it down.

There's another bodily function that you don't have to document so closely: spit up. Some babies just do it a little bit when they're newborns and quickly out grow it. Not my Bean. She is a steadfast SPITTER. Doc says she'll probably out grow it when she's one or so, but some spit until they're two. TWO? I have never done so much laundry nor been so stained....and fragrant. Inconvenient as it is, however, breast milk spit up is fairly innocuous. It comes out in the laundry and doesn't smell too bad if you clean it up quickly. But I wasn't prepared for the rainbows that would dribble down her chin and splash on the floor when she started solids (the dog likes them though. Gross!).

Anyhoo, I was thinking about all of this as I rinsed some crusty substance or other from my hair this morning, and I realized, just like diaper contents, spit up comes in many varieties.

1. The new friend spit up. "Oh she's precious! Can I hold her?" Sure, just be careful because - BLEP - oh, sorry about that. People usually say, "Oh, that's ok," but their horrified expression and frantic scrubbing betrays them.

2. The stealth bomber. How does she manage to project that stuff from her face and not get a drop on HERSELF? My fave was when she somehow managed to spit up DOWN my turtleneck sweater directly into my cleavage...yet there wasn't a trace on her or on the outside of my sweater. Good. At least I didn't have to change again.

3. The OMG this poison is burning my skin -up. This is my Hubby. I think he's finally given up, but for the first three months, as soon as she got him, he'd hand her to me so he could run and change his shirt. Again, and again, and again. Just rub it in, babe. It's hypoallergenic.

4. Prunes.

5. Carrots/sweet potatoes/squash.

6. The car seat spit up. Is it the angle of the seat? Do the straps press on her belly? I have never identified the cause, but the Bean spits up EVERY time I strap her in her car seat, soaking whatever cute little outfit or jacket I had carefully chosen and wrestled her in to. EVERY time.

7. The airplane. It's so fun, laying on your back, flying the baby around. She smiles, she giggles, she loves it ("You're playing with fire," a voice in your head says). Splat. In the face. (She smiles, she giggles, she loves it.)

8. The friend's story. I love this one too much to not share it. My friend, who, BTW, rarely curses, took her bean to the doctor. After a long day at work, followed by the baby peeing on the examining table, she had had enough. When the baby then spit up over her shoulder, down her shirt, and onto the floor, she exclaimed, "motherFUCKER!" then blushed when she saw the doc's horrified expression.

9. The bath. Never fails. If the spit up doesn't come at the beginning of the bath, filling the water with the cottage cheese you were in there trying to wash off in the first place, it comes at the end. "Nice and clean, Bean...." SPLAT.

10. The kiss. (You can see this one coming.) "Oh, mommy loves her Bean. Come here, give me a kiss..." Splat. Right in the kisser. GAG.

A Bean is Born

I've been meaning to get this down on "paper" for quite some time, so I figured it was a logical place to start.

Pregnancy: 10 long months to wonder, worry, ponder, and plan. I read everything I could get my hands on: books, magazines, Web sites, blogs, etc., etc. There is such a glut of "information" to sort through, to consider, and to assign weight. Every resource says something a little different. But, after all my reading about child birth options, two spoke to me: water birth and Hypnobirthing.

I was determined to have a natural birth, and that meant no unnecessary interventions, including induction. As my due date came and went, I became more and more anxious to, of course, meet that little girl who had been rolling and kicking inside of me, and to get the labor process started before I required any "help." I tried the usual: sex (was it good for you?), nipple stimulation (hope none of my dead relatives are watching!), spicy food (great for inducing heart burn but not much else), evening primrose oil inserted at bed time for two weeks (I think this one actually helped soften the cervix, but who really knows?) and so on. Finally, the day before I was supposed to go in for an initial "nudge" as my midwife described it, I told the Hubby, take me to the mall, and we're walking as long as I can stand (it was 95 degrees out and just as muggy, so a venue with AC was my only option). We walked and walked, spent money, walked some more.....nothing.

"Let's go get sushi he said, and I'll make you a wasabi cocktail."

At this point, what the hell.

I, of course, dutifully ordered only veggie and fully-cooked sushi rolls and dunked them in this paste he created of a whole lotta wasabi and a little soy sauce. Heartburn be damned, this baby is coming out tonight.

Went home. Nothing. Went to bed around 9:30. At 11:30 PM I woke up to pee (2 hours! That was a long stretch!) and realized I was a bit crampy. I sat down on the couch and told the Hubs, "Go back to bed - I'll wake you up if it's anything." He was already in the driveway, bag in hand, with the car running. I calmed him down and commenced my Hypnobirthing breathing techniques. As the cramps intensified (still no pain) I thought I'd sit in the hot tub for a while to relax. I sat in the tub and worked on breathing and visualization while he timed the cramps. I still was not convinced that these were contractions, because my belly did not feel "hard as a basketball" as I'd heard it described.

"Can we go to the hospital now?" he pleaded.

"Babe, relax, it's only been like 1/2 an hour."

"Actually, it's 2:30 AM [the time distortion techniques actually worked!], and these contractions are coming every 5 minutes. That's when we're supposed to go."

I called my midwife, and, listening to my description of the cramps, she seemed hesitant to have me come into be checked, but, given their frequency, said it was better to be safe. So we drove the 10 minutes to the hospital and the nurse came in to check me. "You seem pretty comfortable, so I suspect it's still pretty early...but let's take a peek.... Ok, you're at about 5 1/2 centimeters - let's get you into a room!"

I reminded her that I wanted a waterbirth, and she said she'd get the jacuzzi ready (early labor was in the jacuzzi, then I'd move to a tub in my room to give birth).

Turned out my labor progressed too quickly for the jacuzzi, but they started filling the tub in my room. So far I had been fairly comfortable - then they decided to strap on a monitor for a non-stress test (not sure if this is a mandatory test, but I didn't think to ask). Then my midwife was called away to another patient, and the nurse kept the NST going for the next hour. I couldn't roll on my side or move around to get comfortable, and that's when I got out of the Hypnobirthing "zone." I should have insisted that they remove the NST (which was not reporting any problems), but I was not thinking clearly. Hubby was great - rubbing my back, encouraging me to use the hypnobirthing techniques, etc. But I didn't fight hard enough to stay with my breathing....and that's when it started to HURT. "This isn't supposed to hurt," I remember thinking.

It was around this time that my mom arrived. I have never been so happy to see her! My younger sister came shortly afterward, and I remember not wanting her to come in - I was worried that seeing me like this would scare her from ever having kids! But everyone was saying, "You're doing great - you're not scary!" Looking back, I don't think I showed how much pain I was in... I remember Hubs telling everyone "Oh, yeah, she did wonderful - was calm and collected, relaxed the whole time, etc." WHAT? I was out of my mind!

Having my family there for support was wonderful. We had planned ahead of time that just my husband would be with me for the actual birth, so as it got closer mom and sis retired to the waiting room. But knowing that they were there and would come in as soon as the Bean arrived helped me more than I can describe.

The contractions continued to intensify. "I want to get in the tub." I stripped to a tank top and got into the warm, wonderful water. Relief! Then the midwife came back to check my dilation. I was fully dilated but my water hadn't broken yet. She explained that they needed to see my waters to make sure there was no meconium present - so - out of the tub. She offered to break my water but warned that the contractions would intensify. At this point, I just wanted it to be over, so I told her to go for it.

Big mistake. A.) There was meconium present, so waterbirth was out of the question and B.) "Intensify"? More like "breaking your water will cause each contraction to feel like your insides have been plopped into a food processor on PULSE." By now my inner dialog went something like this: Ask for some drugs. NO! You're almost there. It's too late anyway. I can't do this any more! Ask! Say it aloud! No! You have to do it. Breathe.

I never did ask for the meds... Just kept breathing and trying to relax, though I was in agony. I never screamed or swore (choking husband: YOU DID THIS TO ME!) like you see on the movies (has there EVER been a realistic portrayal of labor/birth?) - just kept praying for it to be over. Hubs rubbed and rubbed and rubbed my back and encouraged me the whole time. Definitely could not have done it without him.

The nurse suggested that I sit on the birthing ball... That glorious, bouncy, ridiculous-looking thing SAVED me. I rolled back and forth while Hubs rubbed my back and got some relief during the contractions. "Do you feel the urge to push?" the nurse asked." Not really. "Why don't you just try pushing anyway -- just see if it feels any different?" (She was fantastic - knew what I needed but knew how to suggest it without being intrusive.)

She was right. Now at least I felt I was doing SOMETHING. The pushing helped the pain a bit. After pushing on the ball for a while I moved up to the bed. (DAMN! I really wanted to be doing this in the water.) Pushing was exhausting. I think it lasted about an hour. I felt the nice warm olive oil my midwife poured on my bottom and she said "Reach down and feel your daughter's head." I know it's supposed to be this magical moment, where you cry and scream, "Oh my god, my baby!" but I reached down and thought, "Yeah, great, a head. Whatever. Let's get it O U T." A couple more pushes, and the midwife said to my Hubby, "Come down here and deliver your daughter!" And that he did!

He and the midwife brought her up to my chest - I'll always remember the feeling of the hot umbilical cord on my thighs - and there she was: the most perfect, beautiful, incredible thing I'd ever seen. My Bean.

No drugs so she was AWAKE, AWARE, and ready to nurse. She latched right on and hasn't stopped since.

*****************

Would I go the Hypnobirth route again? Absolutely. Only this time I'd insist that the NST time be limited unless there was a problem, and I'd bring my CDs, and I would STAY IN THE ZONE. Were it not for my slipping back into fear and stress, I would have had a relatively pain free delivery. Still, it was not bad: 9 hours, and only 5 were really gruelling. And the results? Worth a million, million labors.