Unwellness

a bunch of baby questions

Today was Beck's nine month visit and I brought up the issue of me going back to work. I had been worried that Beck has a milk allergy because of his reaction to yogurt, but the doctor thinks it is just a yogurt issue, that we can retry at a year and that there's no reason to believe that he won't be able to eat cheese. Which is good, because no son of mine.... Seriously, that baby is MADE of cheese. I ate so much cheese when I was pregnant.

Anyway, the big issue is how to make him drink cow's milk (if there really is no allergy) at age one when I am not here all day. I don't plan to wean him as far as when I am with him but there will be 5 days a week from 7:30-4:30 that no boob will be available. The doctor asked how many times a day I was breastfeeding and I just said, "Ummmmmmm." A gazillion? About a gazillion, maybe?

"Oh, you are in big trouble," he said. "You have a long road ahead of you. Start today."

I honestly don't think I really understand what he wants me to do. I am pretty sure he said to make cereal with formula and feed him that in place of one feeding. There are many things wrong with this idea, so I am coming to you, Internets. How do I start working toward a schedule wherein the boy will accept milk in place of boob milk? Because as willing as I am to keep bf'ing him when I am back at work, I am not going to pump.

Here are the Beck specifics:
- He doesn't eat baby cereal as such. He turns down more than half of the mush we offer now and prefers chunks of things (which WE must feed to him, which is a whole other post asking for assistance in how to make him feed himself someday). So we can mix some formula (or breastmilk - I do have a few bags frozen but they won't last that long) into... chunks of oatmeal or tofu or something. But it won't really be a lot of liquid. Is that a problem? Is part of the issue water/liquid/thirst?

- I am supposed to... substitute a feeding. Huh? I don't keep track of feedings and I have no idea how often he nurses. Sometimes he just has a few nips and that's it. He nurses to sleep for his 2-3 naps. He usually nurses a little bit when he wakes up. And maybe 2 or 3 other times that are not related to sleep but are much shorter. What do I consider a feeding? Do I just try not to nurse for some of those little nip moments? Try to stop nursing when he wakes up? Try a snack instead? I suppose the first step might be tracking his nursing patterns and then figuring out how to make it a real schedule. Yes?

- The doctor said something about using formula now because it will be easier for Beck to digest cow's milk if he is used to some formula (just once a day). This seems odd. Did I misunderstand him? Does he maybe think I am trying to wean totally? Is it because I mentioned that I wasn't going to pump when I went back to work and the nutrients in formula are better than just solid food at this point, so if I am dropping nursing he needs to make it up somehow? Or is just odd advice? Is there any real reason to use formula? And, if so, does anyone have an organic formula they like? Wes read some of them add sugar. Hm.

And, on a related note, shall I change doctors? I have been considering it for a while. I don't hate my doctor but I barely get any time with him at all. Visits are super rapid and he doesn't ask all the questions that books say he should (nothing at all about development, though he saw us a bunch in the waiting room so he saw him cruising, so...) and doesn't take the time to be sure I understand stuff. On the plus side, he has a good manner with the baby and he is some sort of Head of Pediatrics at the hospital near me where Beck was born. So I sort of feel like he might be a good guy to be in with if something really bad happened. Because the reality is that I don't need much by way of hand-holding or checking-in - I already know the developmental milestones to watch for, I feed him as I want to anyway, etc. So it's really just that I know he SHOULD be asking more questions that makes me wonder. It's not actually something I NEED.

So... other working moms, especially if you went back after being a nursing machine - HOW do I do this? Where do I start? I have three months. Mother-in-law will be here midsummer for good so we can transition slowly. But I really need a PLAN.

PS - As much as I'd love to let you all believe we have THAT advanced of a child, I must clarify that he is not actually WALKING yet. Cruising and standing. No steps.

tagged

Five things meme

from Killin' time being lazy

What were you doing five years ago?
Starting to truly hate my job at former school, saying goodbye to the best boss I ever had as she prepared for the birth of her twins and was ousted from our place of work. I was a Department Head and constantly frustrated. I was blogging. I had been married a year. We lived in the best apartment we ever rented (it wasn't as dramatic as the one we bought but it was way more functional and we still miss it) and I had my own office there. I thought I was going to start trying to conceive the next year. I was a bit depressed and on medication that helped. We took an amazing cruise that summer to Alaska and I hiked on a glacier with Wes, GMB and my sister.

What are five things on your to-do list for today (not in any particular order)?

• Make an appointment for a physical for me
• Buy ticket to visit Melissa in godforsaken Ohio
• Make CD for Charlotte
• Send items from Cali auction
• Grocery shopping (only one I got done today)

What are five snacks you enjoy?

• Mini peanut butter crackers (or cheese)
• Peanuts
• Quesadillas
• Cookies
• Brownie, chocolate croissant or scone from Parco cafe

 What five things would you do if you were a billionaire?

• Quit work and write
• Buy a giant brownstone in NYC (here or in Chelsea) and renovate wildly.
• Have homes in San Francisco, Paris and somewhere in Italy. And somewhere beachy.
• Toys toys toys for the boys boys boys.
• Technology up the wazoo. My home would be voice-fricking-activated.

 What are five of your bad habits?

• I pick my nails.
• Left to my own devices, I eat nothing but crap (though I like healthy food when pushed).
• I watch too much TV.
• I scream at the pets.
• I pick zits.

 What are five places where you have lived?

• Phoenix, AZ
• San Francisco, CA
• Florence, Italy
• Tuckahoe, NY
• Brooklyn

 What are five jobs you’ve had?

• Clerk in record/video store
• Assistant in a travel agency
• Restaurant cashier
• Work study - Student Reference Night Librarian
• School librarian

 What five people do you want to tag?
You want it, go for it.

chair photos and not chair photos

For eight months, we took Beck's photo in his mod green chair.

And then came nine.

We got just one shot in the chair. It is thanks to the pancake, a la Cali's auction.

And even then, our boy is in motion.

can't keep my big mouth shut

I really should not read the local parenting listserv so closely. Did I really need to read every annoying post about the library porn topic? I KNEW it would get me riled. And yet I could not stop myself.

The gist: someone just realized that the free internet at the library meant that people could look at PORN! In PUBLIC! Near their PRECIOUS CHILDREN! And so there is much discussion. A few (mostly librarians) point out that the first amendment protects adults' rights to read what they want. Others claim tax dollars shouldn't have to pay for smut (which, technically they might not be in this case as people have to pay for some porn) and this sort of thing mustn't be allowed. Others just want them to move the computers to a place less likely to be seen by children's eyes. But some are just outraged! By the porn! Near their CHILDREN!

Oh, and then there were a couple of people who were upset by someone calling the porn-lookers 'pervs'. Because that was intolerant.

It amuses me, all this. It is just SO my neighborhood. The debate is already appearing on NYC blogs left and right.

So I couldn't resist jumping in. My post:

This discussion may be interesting to some, but I have to say I find
it a bit baffling and a little annoying in the most stereotypical PSP [the listserv]
way. We are bound for NY Mag, indeed.

First, I just wanted to mention that there are occasionally reasons
that a person may be looking at porn other than a desire for arousal.
For example, a friend was given an assignment in graduate school to do
something that made her uncomfortable and online porn was one of the
suggestions given.

Second, I want to reiterate the fact that internet filtering is
extremely imperfect. As an example, I was unable to look at the
website for childbirth classes at Realbirth because of an internet
filter. But I mention that only to support the comment that the use of
filters on computers for teens leads to the exclusion of information
to which they really need access. That's for me to take up with the
federal government, I suppose.

If the placement of the computers for adults is upsetting to you,
perhaps you can calmly communicate this to the library or our new
liaison.

If you are just posting to complain about porn's existence near your
children... why? I hope no one thinks that some angry parents are
going to change the policies of the American Library Association, an
organization that stands solidly against censorship and tries to
protect you from the slippery slope some others have mentioned.

There are parents who are as horrified by Harry Potter as you are by
porn. There are the opponents to the gay penguin book mentioned
earlier. There are parents who believe comic books are trash and
should be kept far from their kids. There are parents who believe that
reading Junie B. Jones books will permanently stunt their children's
vocabulary. There is plenty of moral outrage to go around. Surely any
reasonable person can see that those calling for censorship of books
or materials you love are just as serious and upset as you. Everyone
has a personal line that they think shouldn't be crossed. To think
that we get to dictate that line for others leads to big problems.

We live in a big city and our kids are going to see all sorts of
things we'd prefer they did not, sometimes at ages more tender than we
would like. The first time I took him to the swings, my baby saw a
mother spank her daughter hard in the playground for crying when it
was time to leave. Last month, we saw a man violently kick his dog
with his skates and then throw it down on the steps and choke it when
it had done nothing except fail to keep up on the leash as he skated.
Frankly, both of those things are far more hideous to me than a
glimpse of porn on a library computer from which I can turn away.

The tone of some of the emails in this discussion is Park Slope
Parental Entitlement at its finest. Don't assume all of us share your
position.

-Bri, mom to Beck (9 months), stepmom to a 17 year old and
LIBRARIAN, aka, Protector of Pervs and Intellectual Freedom

PS - I could have just TURNED AWAY from this discussion, since it
annoyed me so much. Sadly, my Librarian-ness made me speak.

bullets

baby bullets
* My boy is brilliant, I tell you. Take out the book called Daddy Kisses? He KISSES it. Show him a lion? He opens his mouth wide in a silent ROAR. And then grins impishly. Feed him a mango? He claps. Smarter than I am, this baby. Also, he climbs stairs like a madman. And he LEARNED things at the Children's Museum - how to put his hand on a certain spot to make air blow, how to feed letters to the dragon.
* He will be NINE months old this week. That feels momentous. Even though pregnancy isn't technically nine months long, it sort of is. And so here he is, as old as the amount of time he lived inside me. He has been out as long as he was in.
* I would post pictures more often but A) I am always on the laptop lately and the pics are on the desktop, B) we haven't taken many this last week or so because he comes crawling right at the camera every time we take it out and C) he needs a haircut. Heh. He has out of control baby sideburns. A cut is in his future because a photo shoot is. Our baby the model. Not a paying gig, unfortunately, but cool nonetheless.

mom bullets
- I do feel that I overshared with that last post but at the same time I was greatly comforted by the comments. Do keep them coming if you can relate. It helps.
- The DVR is making me watch more TV. Who said it was going to make me watch less? I think it was Charlotte and S. They swore I had to have one. They insisted. Then my father leapt on that bandwagon. And now we have one. And it is glorious. But I watch a LOT of TV now. I can watch Frazier, Will & Grace, and Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations. ENDLESSLY.
- It is nice to have all this television when one is sick. Which I am. But when comes the part where I spend a day or two on the couch with a blanket and some tea and the TV and nothing else to do? There seems to be this... baby... who... needs things.
- My very nice Mother's Day (brunch, Children's Museum) ended with me, the TV, tea and blanket on the couch.

I need blog fodder. Someone tell me what to write about.

moms day, in which i come clean and revel and pout

Here is my biggest problem at the moment - I feel like I have lost my wifely-ness. Lost like Stella's groove. Lost like Bo Peep's sheep. Lost like... Lost. I don't know how to be both wife and mom and now that I am digging the mom role, I find it a stretch to think of my marital relationship as anything but a shell of its former self. And it's all me. All my fault.

Wes is the same as always, loving, doing things for me, splitting childcare and doing the bulk of the cleaning, urging me to take time for myself, putting up with my distance and bitchiness like a champ.

But I am different. I feel far away and angry with him sometimes for no reason. And if I push myself to dig deep and figure it out, I'd have to say that I think it is related to sex.

I don't ever write about sex here but I am writing about this because A) maybe someone out there can shed some light, having been there and B) maybe someone out there is going through this and I will be helping them feel less C-R-A-Z-batshit loon-Y.

So. Is it the breastfeeding? In birth class, I learned that there are 3 times in our lives when our oxytocin, that peace-giving chemical of satisfaction, is highest: while giving birth, while breastfeeding and during orgasm. Something I read said that the increased oxytocin during breastfeeding can, for some women, cause a lack of interest in sex. This makes sense to me, but it could just as easily be that other favorite excuse of postpartum women - "Not tonight, honey - I am TOUCHED OUT." And that feels true, too - I don't even like the dogs to sit too close to me anymore. After I put the baby down, I want the couch, the TV and the laptop.

I am disinterested. Sex is like... the concept of infinity or the origin of the universe or celebrity gossip. I don't care about it.

And while my darling spouse would certainly like some good loving, he does not complain about its absence. Not much. He totally understands and supports me. And yet... I feel terribly guilty. And scared. What if it never comes back? My sex drive had already been slowly diminishing as I aged, leading me to pray for that whole sexual peak thing people used to talk about (I seem to remember women peaking at 36 - is that a silly 80's study or something that has since been proven untrue? must.. research). But it was pregnancy and motherhood that truly squashed it. Before this, I was dismayed by how infrequently I really needed it. Now I am horrified to discover I don't ever, ever want anything to do with it.

Help me, Internets. You're my only hope. Do I need medical or psychological assistance? Is 9 months postpartum still within the realm of normal or should I be studied?

To get back to the bitchfest that is me, I think that sex is to be blamed for my crap mood toward Wes in general. This is going to sound crazy, and it's just a working theory... I am just thinking out loud, really. But I think I keep him distant so that I don't have to feel so guilty about the sex thing. See, if I am nice to him I might get him all hot and bothered. And then have to disappoint again. So if I just stay Bitchy McBitcherson, I won't have to encounter that disappointment thing. Not a real conscious thing, just a little guess at what might be the problem.

---------------------------------------------------
The flip side of this wife stuff is the mom stuff. And I am loving it. To such a degree that I worry that I am gross. I finally understand that ridiculous thing old people say about wanting to eat the baby up because he is so delicious. I can hardly stand to put him down at night, exhausted and hungry and achy as I may be, because I MISS HIM when he is asleep. I want him to be happy at all times because THAT SMILE is so AWESOME.

Don't take this the wrong, bad, hideous way. When I think about how I am supposed to go on a date with Wes (STILL HAVE NOT DONE IT), I think, "Yeah, sorry, no. I don't really want to date you right now. I'm good with the Beck." Does anyone know what I mean?

He is starting to do things that come out of his own brain. Nine months in and he has both a will of his own and the hand-eye coordination to do something about it. He pulls the pillows off the couch and nuzzles them, collapsing onto his tummy and rubbing his head back and forth with the cutest smile ever seen by human eyes. We call this behavior "Cuddly Cozy." And I COINED this revoltingly saccharine moniker. I am sorry. It is true and it makes me puke into my mouth when I think about it. But these are the facts.

He has also developed a love of footrubs. During the first week of The New Order of Bedtime (ie, he no longer wanted to be nursed to sleep and thus led me into CIO quite painlessly), he was doing this strange twisty thing while nursing. In the second week, I realized what he was doing - grabbing my arm and pushing it down while lifting his feet. He was guiding my hand to his feet. Once I realized this and started rubbing, he calmed down. Now it is part of nursing. When I mentioned it to Wes, he said that he usually holds and rubs Beck's feet when he is in the Ergo, so that's probably where he discovered the joy of massage. But I love that he extrapolated.

I hope he has children someday because it's the only way he will ever truly know how much I love him.

--------------------------------------------------
I had long believed that having a child would make Mother's Day into something palatable and fun, that it would erase the giant, seeping, gaping wound in my soul when the word MOTHER is uttered.

Maybe someday, but not this year. As amazing as it is to be approaching tomorrow as a freaking MOTHER (OH MY GOD - ME?), I am still MOTHERLESS. And the combo of missing mom and being mom has just heightened the reality - that my son will never know his grandmother.
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I just went upstairs to yell at Wes for printing something when the baby was semi-awake and fussing (prying, bitch-tastic boss lady much?) and I was shooed away. He is doing something for me, for tomorrow. He is lovely. I am so not good enough for him. To him. I need to work on it. First by just being kind. And maybe someday with some nookie.

nerve, found.

I was really not going to go. I called Wes to tell him I wasn't going because... what was the point? It was a book signing, so even if she was really nice and thought I seemed cool rather than stalkerish, there would be a line of people waiting to get books signed. And that would be that. Signing, a smile, bye.

Me: I'm not going to go.
Wes: OK.
Me: Do you think I should go?
Wes: Well, I guess the question is... are you going to be really disappointed if you go and she doesn't turn out to be your new best friend?
Me: Yes.
Wes: Well, then maybe you shouldn't go.
Me: Hm.

I pushed him until he said I should go. To meet Dooce at the signing of her new book, a collection of essays about fathers that she edited.

As I drove over to the bar, I tried to think of something I could do to make myself stand out from the crowd. I decided I should arrive bearing gifts. Not that I had a gift. But I was singing loud and loving the time in which to do so (since I don't often drive and do so alone even less often, LOUD car singing is a great joy to me) and I decided that maybe Dooce would appreciate my music. I decided to bring her the newest Girlyman CD because the talking parts (the tuning songs) are really funny and maybe she would like that.

You can see that I was desperate.

As expected, there was a pretty good line when I arrived around 6. While waiting and drinking my beer, I had plenty of time to beat myself up for a number of things:

- there were a lot of babies there and I could have just brought Beck, which perhaps would have gotten me more attention (though he would have been a giant grump at that hour and would not have loved waiting in line)
- I should have brought my camera - lots of people were getting their photos with her and some were getting photos of their babies with her. How much would I have LOVED a Beck and Dooce picture?
- I should have brought a Sharpie so I could write my blog's url on the CD I was giving her.
- I should have gone to the bookstore today and bought the book

They were selling the book there and I saw a pile when I arrived. So I didn't think much about it until I got closer to the front, about 5 people away from her, and noticed that the book pile was gone. All of the people in front of me clasped their copies to their bosoms and looked superior. The woman behind me in line just gave up and left. I... wasn't sure what to do next.

But I for sure wasn't leaving without saying something. SOMETHING.

So I made it up to the front. And I said, "So, I am the start of the disgruntled mob who missed out on the book."

She apologized profusely. I said I knew it wasn't her fault. She said, "Well, do you want me to sign something else?"

"Sure," I said. We both looked around and saw a pile of bookmarks near where the pile of books had been so I grabbed one and she took it.

"You know," I said. "My husband didn't want me to come because he was sure I would end up disappointed when I inevitably failed to become your new best friend."

She stopped, pen poised, and looked me in the eye. "Did you write about that on your blog?"

"Um. Yes."

"Because I read it."

I gasped a little. "No, you did not."

"I read it. It was in my referrals. I read it."

"Oh. My. God."

"So," she said with much concern and seriousness. "Are you going to get to nurse your baby to sleep tonight?"

"Um, yes. I am."

"Oh, I am so glad." And she TEARED UP. "I totally got that. I just totally know how that is. And I am so grateful that you came. Thank you. Seriously. And..." She grabbed both my hands. "Will you be my new best friend? Seriously."

"Yes." I peeped. I was almost crying. And we hugged. And then she had to do a picture with someone so I grabbed a pen and wrote my blog address on the CD I was giving her and it didn't really show up but oh well.

"Thank you so much for coming. When I read what you wrote, I just felt for you because I know how hard it is to decide if it's worth it. There were about 7 months when I didn't leave the house because I know how it is to want to put your baby to bed at night."

Then I told her my name and she signed my bookmark thusly: "Seriously - thank you. Heather B. Armstrong."

And then I was outside floating down the street and calling Wes to tell him I was coming home to nurse our baby to bed. And that Heather B. Armstrong was my new best friend, to which he replied, "Come home so I can kiss you."

And I arrived home with plenty of time to spare and helped with bath and cleaned up toys. And thought about how I'd had a beer before nursing which I almost never do. But I didn't worry about it. The milk was  surely better than ever, tasting as it did of Stella Artois and Deep Satisfaction.

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Here is the note to her that I drafted last night and which I was too embarrassed to post yesterday:

Dear Dooce,

I suppose I should get it out in the open right now - I, much like every blogger I know, am jealous of you. I wouldn't mind being you. If I thought it would get me fired and then famous, I would start dishing my place of business on a regular basis. As it is, after five years of nearly daily blogging (less often lately with the mobile baby issue) about depression, loss and infertility, I find myself finally tiptoeing into the mommyblogger world with some trepidation and I enjoy your blog more than ever as a model and inspiration.

But beyond jealousy, I have just always liked your style and it is for that reason that I would like to offer myself up as your new best friend. Your Best Brooklyn Friend, maybe (everyone should have one). I like how your marriage is fun and involves mockery of your spouse. Mine is similar. I like how your parenting involves junk food and inappropriate jokes. Mine will, too (husband's healthy eating habits be damned). I like how you blog about poop and pets and the inevitable interplay therein.

Realistically, I won't even get a chance to introduce myself tomorrow and even if I do, you will not have read my blog and you won't know or care who I am. There isn't a large enough nametag for me to wear it all on my sleeve and the lighting at Soda is sort of dim, if I recall. So I may never get the chance to let you know that I am down.right. FASCINATING (see my About page). In real life, I am snarky but normal, an average Park Slope stroller mom who appears to blend in with the straight marrieds and their dogs. Just as a teaser, some of my charm comes from the fact that I am an ordinary mom who can tell shocking tales of her days as First Lady of the NYC Lesbo Scene. Wanna hear the one about the Swedish film crew taping the naked women making sundaes on one another atop a bar? It was a book release party. Maybe we can work up to that tomorrow night. It was certainly festive.

It's funny to write this note because you could actually read it. It's not going to be like my letters to Anne Lamott that I never send because, honestly, why bother? I am never going to actually get to hang out with her. But this... I am sticking this on the Internet. And then I am going to a place where I may meet you tomorrow night. Gut-wrenchingly, as I am overly attached to my child (much to my chagrin) and have difficulty parting with his nighttime routine even for a chance to meet you. But I am going to try. Because while you are a famous person, you are also a real person. You may be nervous about meeting random Brooklynites just as I am nervous about this whole hare-brained Meet Dooce scheme.

I don't fall for celebrities. I do not gush about famous people (OK, maybe just my boyfriend Tim Gunn) and I don't feel the need to meet them. But I feel a deep need to meet you because you are my personal blogging HERO. I am so impressed by what you have managed to do with your life based entirely on your writing and your willingness to share your life in gorgeous detail. I just want you to know that you inspire me, just as all my favorite writers do. When I read Margaret Atwood I want to write moody, depressing prose about feminism and societal woes. When I read John Irving I want to write epic, character driven plots that tie up nicely in the end. And when I read you, I want to write everything that happens to me in a way that makes people laugh and relate and understand.

Thank you for writing your blog. And sorry for getting all Wind Beneath My Wings on your ass.

Your BFF in Brooklyn,
Bri