On My Heart: Mother and Daughter

When the ultrasound technician told us Brighton was a girl, I burst into tears of joy. I was so happy that she was healthy, and I really didn't care if we were having a boy or a girl... but a girl seemed like so much fun.

But on the way home, I started to panic. The relationship between mother and daughter has been painted as one of turmoil and drama, and I knew from my own experiences that the likelihood of Brighton slamming the door in my face and yelling, "I hate you" was closer in my future than I wanted to admit... because the relationship I had with my own mother was one of delight and fun until the age of 12. After that it was a full on war. 

I have always been fiercely independent, easily frustrated by those who tried to over manage me, and suspicious of people for whom negativity and fear was their everyday language. My mother was my opposite of me - slightly clingy, fearful of the world (you'll get car jacked if you don't lock your doors, you'll get malaria from mosquitoes, you'll poke your eye out with those scissors!) and most comfortable when giving me detailed directions and instructions. She did not trust that life can sometimes work out, and her fears brought out a sense of insecurity in her that led to a need to control. She clung to me too tightly and I fought it every step of the way.

I hated the way she handled me in my teenage years - I was a good kid, but because the world was a dangerous place in her eyes, I was limited and held back and monitored. Because I lacked the maturity to see the situation for what it was, I made life very hard for my mother.  It took years for us to recover from that season, and while our relationship now is fine, I still feel myself bristle when she says something that sounds overly irrational or gives me unsolicited advice.

I don't want that kind of relationship with my daughter, but my fear is that it's inevitable.

Sadly I have already imagined the future drama unfold in my head. Brighton is upset about something she nor I can control, or I set a limit she doesn't like, or I give an opinion that is contrary to what she wants me to say and she freaks out like teenagers sometimes do and we exchange words and actions that we will both regret one day.

I can see this scene because I lived it so many times. The overwhelming feeling of being misunderstood and scrutinized and suffocated by my mother and feeling that uncontrollable, hormonal rage and teenage despair that my life just might end based on what she had just done or said. It was all so dramatic and ridiculous, but at the time my life was so short and my frame of reference was so narrow. I did not know real struggle, or suffering, or pain. I was a spoiled, stubborn child who thought she should be treated like an adult even though she refused to take on all the responsibilities adulthood brings. 

I know Brighton and I will clash at times. It's human nature to have conflict and misunderstandings and for children to push the boundaries that their parents set for them. I get that. What I pray is that she doesn't resist me the way I resisted my own mother, and that I don't try to press her into being like me or thinking like me when she should be herself.

Maybe she won't be the child who slams her bedroom door in my face. Maybe she will never say, "I hate you". I hope that our relationship is more of a blessing than a burden.  I hope she will walk the beginning of this path I have laid out for her. Each stone I will set down is another piece of myself - another part of my heart and my mind that I have carved out just for her so she won't make the same mistakes I made. I know there will be times when she goes her own way and gets lost, or goes her own way and it works out better than we could have imagined. And there will be a day when I won't have any more stones to lay down and she'll have to forge the path on her own.

I am already mourning that day, the day when the separation between us becomes the norm and not the exception. It's inevitable and healthy and the right thing, but it scares me so.  I want her to be protected and safe and be treated with respect and kindness and care. I don't want her to fail like I did. I want her to have a beautiful life.

But there is nothing I can do to ensure that. All I can do is lay down my heart and my worry, stone by stone, and hold her hand until she won't let me anymore and keep saying, "Baby girl, this is the way."

On My Heart: I got you

One humid afternoon this past July, Brighton was running and chasing bubbles as they flew into the air. Suddenly her flip flop caught on a small dip in the sidewalk and down she went, landing on her knees and hands. She stood up as we ran to her, her lower lip pushed out, tears in her eyes and held out her hands, the tender skin scraped and red, her knees bleeding slightly. I wrapped her up in my arms as she cried, and whispered into her ear over and over, "Baby I'm so sorry. Mama is here. I got you. Don't be sad, I got you baby." Slowly, she stopped crying, wiping her eyes on my shoulder, and let me tend to her wounds.

Ever since that afternoon, every time she has fallen and cried, or was scared or worried, or needed to be comforted, the words that always worked to calm and reassure her were, "I got you. Don't worry, don't be sad, mama's got you. I got you baby."

One cold afternoon this past December, I sat on the couch in our living room reading a book while Brighton sat on the floor nearby, wrapping her baby dolls in blankets and changing their clothes. She wrapped one baby in a blanket carefully and cradled it in her arms. Then I heard her whisper, "It's ok baby. I gots you."

I watched her pat her baby doll's back, my heart swelling at seeing my child show such love and care as I had to her. I felt big, fat tears run down my cheeks and a sob rise up in my throat. Brighton looked up at me for a moment, noticing my crumpled face and asked "Why you crying mama?" I replied, "Oh it's ok baby. I'm ok."Brighton laid her baby doll on the ground and climbed into my lap, wrapping her arms around me, her little soft hands patting my back. I hugged her back tightly, trying to choke back my sobs and as I wiped tears from my cheeks with a hand, she whispered into my neck, "Aw, don't be sad Mama. I gots you. I gots you."

We forget how our every day actions, the little things that in the moment seem so insignificant, can shape our children's character. A moment of providing comfort and security to her baby doll and then a moment of providing the same to me reminded me that all those times I have held her in my arms and said the same things over and over mattered. Maybe even more than all the other things I have tried to teach her so far. Because maybe being there for another person when they need it and reminding them that you "got" them, is the best demonstration of love you can offer. I sure hope so.

On parenting a cautious child

Brighton came into the world the way I expected her to - in a sudden rush, loud and wild, announcing her presence - the way I would have entered the world if it were up to me. I expected Brighton to be just like me in all things and for the first year and a half of her life, she was. She was joyful, easygoing, happy among crowds and noise and mostly adaptable. She slept well and ate well and in general, was just an easy baby - even a pretty easy toddler, for the most part.

However around about a year and a half, something in her changed. It was a gradual change and at first Matt and I chalked it up to development and just general toddlerhood. We never attributed it to Brighton individually, meaning who she might be, or her personality. And that was our mistake.

Brighton was a mostly outgoing, gregarious child, but gradually turned into a cautious, slow to warm and shy child. She went from having more of my personality and temperament to being more like Matt. This was not a bad thing of course, but it was something that sort of baffled us. Mostly me if I'm honest. I began to notice her temperament and behavior changing more and more, but I kept reasoning that it was her being a toddler. Some of it was, and still is, her just trying to figure out the world, and pushing boundaries and being curious. But a lot of it had, and still has, to do with who Brighton is as a person.

It took me a while to piece it together though. First, she started to "hide" when we carried into a place where a lot of people were congregating - she would close her eyes, turn her face into my neck and lay her head on my shoulder.  People would say, "Aw, she looks tired! Does she need a nap?" and I wouldn't know how to respond. It would take her at least 10 minutes to stop clinging to me and look up at the people around her.

Then she started turning her back to people who came on too strongly for her liking, even going so far as to walking away and hiding behind something if the person came down to her level and was talking loudly or energetically or was actively trying to play with her. She did this even with her own grandparents at times. Sometimes she would pout and lay down like a limp rag doll (just like she is doing in the picture above) if she didn't feel comfortable with what activity we were doing as a family.

Then it got a little more intense. She would cry if we went to an event or playdate, and there were a lot of people there that she didn't know. One time we met up with a friend of mine and her children at the public library for story and craft time. In the car on the way there, I told Brighton where we were going, and who we were going to see and she acted excited to see her friends. But as soon as we walked over to the story and craft area in the library, she lost it - trying to get out of my arms, crying, saying "no" over and over. I couldn't understand what was going on, so I let her down and she ran and hid in the stacks. For 25 minutes she avoided our friends and the activity area for children. It was only after the volunteers started to clean up, and the children and their parents started to leave that she warmed up to the idea of walking into the space. But she never chose to do a craft with her friends. She just watched.

I also noticed that she stopped smiling at strangers who smiled and said hello to her. Last spring at the mall, Brighton was sitting in the stroller and as I purchased a few items, the cashier leaned over the counter to smile and say hello to her. Brighton did not smile back, instead she turned her head away and covered her eyes with her hands. The cashier looked at me and said, "Oh she doesn't look happy."

I'm going to be honest here - all of this bothered me. It was frustrating to have a child that seemed to cling to me whenever we went anywhere, that she would freak out and have a tantrum if we took her someplace that was supposed to be fun, or that I had to explain to people over and over that she was shy, to just give her a minute to get comfortable and she'd warm up, but then keep explaining if she never did.  I was embarrassed and puzzled and frustrated by Brighton's behavior. She had changed in a way I could not understand or relate to. She acted "normal" around us and people she knew - she ran into her preschool classroom daily with excitement, she played well with her friends at our home or at playgrounds she knew well, she would leap into the arms of my girlfriends for hugs, and talking, smiling and giggling were her mode of operation. So why couldn't she be that way all the time?

A few months ago through tears, I admitted these very feelings and questions to Matt. I felt so much guilt for being frustrated about her reactions and so much more guilt for being embarrassed when she didn't act "normal." And after talking about it for a few minutes, and piecing all these stories together and admitting that I didn't know what to do, it became really, really clear. I had to stop fighting who Brighton was, and accept her just as she is.

We expect our children to be like us. And she is like "us", she looks like me, but her personality is more like Matt's. In general, she is still a joyous, silly, talkative, intelligent child, but she is also cautious, slow to warm, and thoughtful in situations that feel unfamiliar. She observes before she engages and she has to understand and feel comfortable before she says yes. I am nothing like this. My mistake, my HUGE mistake, is that I expected her to be like me and when she wasn't I became frustrated and embarrassed. I valued cheerfulness and enthusiasm over careful observation and quiet thoughtfulness. I valued my own personality over hers. End stop.

So I had to let go of my expectations and reset. I apologized to Brighton (I'm sure she had no idea what I was saying, but it's still important to say sorry to our children) and then got to work trying to figure out how I could change to support who she is as a person.  I researched articles, and read a few books, and starting paying careful attention to her behavior and trigger points, and somehow, through some major trial and error, I figured out what to change. Those changes worked by the way, and they worked immediately (and of course I felt more guilt for not employing them earlier, but quickly got over that too.)

First, I had to respect and acknowledge who Brighton is as a person. She is not like me; she is more like Matt, but she is also her own person, with her own unique personality, temperament and opinions. Who she is had to be accepted as normal. Second, I had to prepare, prepare, prepare her. If I knew that we were having a big party at our house, or going to a place she might not be familiar with, or to a place with a lot of people, I prepared her by talking about it a lot ahead of time - the details, what she will get to do, etc - and then I talked about it some more. Third, I gave her space and time to adjust to new things, loud or crowded places, or changes in her routine. If it took her 20 minutes to go join her friends on the new playground, that was ok. I didn't push her anymore, instead I provided support, both emotional and physical if she needed it, and reassured her that we would be there no matter what. Lastly, I didn't say anything out loud to others that would make her feel bad about who she is, or label her. I stopped using the word "shy" to describe her, and instead just calmly told people that Brighton will come and play when she's ready, and thanked them for their patience.

All of these changes worked, and are still working. Here is a more concrete example: during the month of October we talked about Halloween and the act of trick or treating daily - what the day means, that we planned to have her friends come over and they'd be wearing a costume, that she could wear a costume too, and we'd walk around the neighborhood and walk up to people's houses, knock on their door, say the magic phrase of trick or treat and then they'd give us candy. Then we practiced knocking on doors around our house and at her school, we practiced carrying her pink bucket, saying trick or treat over and over, then saying thank you as we walked away. We practiced the "trick or treat" phrase in the car, we talked about it before bed, we even asked her grandparents to bring it up in conversation. The entire month of October we talked about Halloween and the day of, she was ready. She wasn't apprehensive or resistant or afraid - she knew what to expect, she felt secure in her knowledge of what was going to happen, who would be there, what she would wear and that her parents would help her when she needed it. When her friends arrived, she was a little hesitant, but after holding her and reminding of her of what we planned to do, she got excited and starting talking and giggling. The 30 minutes of walking around the neighborhood was a success - no tears, no freaking out, no stubborn tantrums - just a lot of smiles and excitement about her candy and friends.

So in everything we do now, we prepare her like this. Thankfully some situations aren't as extensive as walking up to our neighbor's house in a costume, saying some odd phrase and getting candy (you have to admit that it's a weird tradition!), but even in things like my parents coming over for dinner on a Sunday night - we talk about it in advance. We let her know when and why things are happening and it helps her feel comfortable and safe. We don't make her feel bad if she doesn't agree to the idea at first, we just keep talking about it, explaining, preparing her, and then give her plenty of space and time to adjust whenever the time comes.

Many might think this is coddling or spoiling her, that we are not letting her learn how to handle situations on her own, or that our actions will eventually be crippling to her... but she is two years old. She doesn't have the emotional or intellectual maturity to know what to do in situations that seem unfamiliar to her. She doesn't have enough life experience to apply to a new situation and adapt.

Plus it is our responsibility to teach, show and expose her to the world. It is also our job to protect her, to ensure she feels safe and is safe, and to create an environment where, when she is ready, she can engage with the world in the way she sees fit. What Matt and I have to do for Brighton could seem like a lot of work - the constant commuication, and preparation, the patience when she is afraid or stubborn or unsure, the extra time we build in for activities - but it is work that is worth it because Brighton is worth it.

Parenting someone who is so different from you is challenging, and even though we have a system that works, some days are harder than others. But I am so thankful for Brighton, for what her sweet, intelligent, cautious little heart and mind have taught me: there is no right way to be social, no right way to learn, and no right personality type. Brighton has always been "normal", it was just her mama that didn't see it that way at first.

Thankfully Brighton forgave me (or at least I think she did - she gave me a kiss on the nose and then went looking for her teddy bear after I apologized.)

Rock a bye baby

I have a parenting confession to make: I still rock my daughter to sleep.

Matt does it as well. We can't help ourselves. We alternate who puts her to bed each night and both of us take the time to hold her in the dark and quiet of her room, her blankies or a stuffed animal tucked under her arm, and rock, rock, rock her into a peaceful sleep. Sometimes it takes only a few minutes, sometimes it's an hour, but when I can, I hold her until she is heavy in my arms.

She likes to sit on my lap, facing me, and lay her little head on my chest, the crook of my arm holding her just so. She lets me pray over her, sing a soft song into her ear, and then I rock and kiss her forehead and rub her back and stroke her hair. She settles in and her body relaxes and her breathing slows. This is the time of day when I feel the most at ease - my daughter in my arms, her sweet breath on my face, the smell of her hair so close. There is something magical about a sleeping child.

No matter how hard I try, I cannot break this habit. Laying her down awake brings racking sobs and standing in her crib, her arms outstretched to the door, calling for us over and over. Time goes by too fast and before I know it she will be asking for me to give her space, to not kiss her goodbye in front of her friends, to wait in the car. She needs and wants us now and I will gladly give her my time and my arms every night until she tells me otherwise.

I don't know if this will create some sort of habit I will have to work hard to break. I don't know if this will mean she'll be 8 and fighting to find space in my lap for me to hold her. Frankly I don't care. She might be the only child we have the privilege of ever raising and these moments where she needs us, and wants us, and finds comfort in our arms is probably one of the most precious and special times of my life.

I will rock her to sleep until she goes off to college if she'll let me. I just love her that much.

A few letters on Mother's Day

Mom - I love you. I am so thankful for you, for the kindness and patience you have given to me day after day, for the sacrifices you have made to help me have this life I lead. I know you have up your career to raise me, that you went without things you wanted so I could do things like play sports and take ballet. You have always been willing to give whatever it takes and I promise to always be grateful and thankful for what I have in life. Thank you for being a great example to me of what motherhood should look like and thank you for helping take care of my daughter while I work - you're the best grandma anyone could ask for and Brighton is lucky to have you in her life. Love you so much!

Mom in law - We have been family just shy of a decade and I'm grateful for all the mothering you have provided me over the years. You raised three special and precious children, especially your eldest son, my darling husband. Your character has been instilled in him and I'm so lucky to have married into a family that treats me as their own. Thank you for making me feel like another daughter to you, and thank you for taking care of my own daughter. You're a wonderful grandmother and we love you so very much!

My friends who are also mamas - You are such amazing women and I'm thankful to have such a large community to lean on when I need it. You have helped me become a better mother and I'm grateful for the love you have for my sweet girl. I love you sisters of mine.

My dear friends and readers who are not yet mothers - I know this day is a hard one for you. It was hard for me for so long and I still feel twinges of guilt for my place in life. I want you to know that I love you and I wish I could take the hurt or sadness away. You already have a mama's heart and I'm praying that your dream of motherhood would be fulfilled, and soon.

Brighton - You gifted me the title of mother. I can't fully express in words the gratitude I feel each day to be yours. I waited so long for that title, that responsibility, and I strive to be grateful for it each day since you were born. You have helped shape me, my character and my integrity and you have made me heart grow larger than I ever thought possible.  I love you to the moon and back baby girl and I'm so thankful for the miracle of you.

Happy Mother's Day! 

Strong Willed Mama

I have not written about the subject of parenthood in a while. To be totally honest, I have struggled with this season. I know every mother suffers from an ongoing irrational amount of guilt, but from the time Brighton turned one year old until she was about 16 months, I wondered if I was cut out for motherhood and if I was truly failing my daughter.

Brighton is a genuinely happy, silly and sweet-spirited child. As a baby she smiled and laughed easily, she loved to be held and cuddled and she was extremely easygoing. She took her time learning to crawl and didn't walk until after she turned one. But then walking led to running and running led to climbing, which led to jumping and pushing and kicking and a slew of physicality that my small daughter mastered within a few months. That physical ability created a wild curiosity in her - she wanted to see and touch and experience everything. And while she was both silly and kind, she had strong opinions about most things and thrived on order and a schedule.

Before Brighton was even six months old, she would protest if we got her bedtime routine out of order. When she was nine months old her little lip would start to quiver if I didn't let her twirl and tug my hair when she nursed. When she was close to a year, she would burst into tears if we didn't let her buckle the straps on her highchair. But after she turned one, my tiny toddler didn't just cry when things were not going her way, or we did something against the regular routine - she would throw things, kick, push or dramatically fall on the floor and scream.

I know this is a normal toddler response to being frustrated or angry (since she lacks the words and logic to explain how she needs help or to tell someone how she feels), but these reactions just leveled me. I had read a lot about this stage of development, but I was not prepared for hard it would be on me as a parent.

Matt and I did everything we could to keep things routine and peaceful and to anticipate her needs, but it seemed no matter what we did, we were witness to an epic meltdown daily. We tried to discipline when things got out of control, or if she was physically violent towards us, or was hitting/kicking/pushing something that she shouldn't - we would get on her level and tell her no firmly, remove her from the situation, or even take her into another room to calm down. At times when she was doing something willingly disobedient and unsafe (like taking off an outlet cover and trying to put something in it), we would pop her hand and say loudly "No ma'am! No touch!" Sometimes it would work, but 50 percent of the time, she would turn around and pop us back.

At every turn she was pushing boundaries with either her curiosity or her disobedience. I found myself saying the word "no" so much that she quickly turned it into one of the first words she used intentionally towards us. I also found myself walking on eggshells around my child, unsure of what to say or do for fear of upsetting her. I started reading books about routine and the psychology of toddlers and brain development and the way to handle children with strong wills. I felt angry a lot during those months, especially when I felt like I had done everything I could to provide a safe, fun and consistent environment for Brighton and she still freaked out, or threw tantrums when we did things exactly the way she wanted, or told me no and pushed me away.

It was a really, really hard time for me. For any other parent out there you know that you cannot control your children. You can provide them direction, guidance, a sense of morality and discipline when necessary, but at the end of the day, you cannot control their impulses or their actions. You can however control yourself and I didn't learn this lesson until I was in the thick of those months. 

The lesson came to me on Thanksgiving Day. We spent the cold morning eating cinnamon rolls and watching the Macy's Day Parade, and at almost every turn she was upset about something. We had almost the entire day to ourselves so we bundled her up and took her and the dog to the park. As we pushed her in the swing, or helped her on the slide, or let her run in the field, she fought us. No matter what we offered or did she was upset or tested us. We went home, checked her temperature and gums (always check for a fever or teething right?) and just tried to carry on with the day. I kept trying time outs, or taking away options, even explaining in plain terms what the rules were, but the tantrums and whining and pushing of boundaries carried on. During lunch, I quietly slipped away to our bedroom, shut the door and spent the next 15 minutes crying into my covers in frustration and despair. Days like this were becoming too common and I was baffled that my sweet baby had turned into an unhappy, sometimes violent and impossibly strong-willed child. I worried that she would always be like this and started to think back over the months leading up to that day. What had changed outside of her regular development to cause this?

It hit me quickly and hard, like most life lessons do: what had changed was me. In an attempt to keep order and peace I tried to steer her actions too much. I said no more than I said yes. I spent more time focused on correction and discipline, instead of redirecting her energy and curiosity to something good. I didn't play with her as much as I should have due to all that focus on making sure she behaved right. I was overwhelmed with what I couldn't control and it overshadowed everything else that made me a decent parent. She was not the one with the strong will - it was me. I was the strong willed mama and I needed to become something better than that.

I did a lot wrong during those months of her changing from a baby to a child, but there was still time for me to course correct. I spent the rest of Thanksgiving trying to not beat myself up too much for my failure and instead think about what I could do different so my daughter felt empowered and safe and loved by me again. 

Every day since I have tried my best to break that strong willed spirit in me. There are good days and there are still days when I feel myself gripping so tightly to order and the need to be in control. There are days when she looks at me and listens the first or the second time; and there are days when we spend 20 minutes battling each other. On those hard days, I fight hard to become something better than just a disciplinarian and apologize when I fail her.

Parenthood is a series of trial and error. I don't always know what to do when she pushes and pulls and tests me, but I know what I want: I want to be be more patient than frustrated, to give my time to her freely, to be firm but gentle in love and leave lots of room for exploring and messes and learning. I don't want to be a strong willed mama. I want to be more.

Time Off!

My holiday vacation starts on Friday and I’m silly with excitement. I get 14 days with my daughter and husband – no work, no obligations (save hanging out with family for the holidays) and no agenda to meet!

 

However, I do want to take advantage of the time I have with Brighton and do some fun stuff, including:

 

-          Visiting the Leonard Bearstein Symphony Orchestra at Founders Hall – it’s this animatronic group of bears in tuxedos and ball gowns acting like a orchestra. They play holiday songs and this feature has been around since I was a child. I plan to take Brighton on my first day off so she can enjoy them too.

-          Going to “Pay your own price” Mondays at Monkey Joe’s. Matt has never been and Brighton is a typical kid – she loves bouncy houses! I’d like to see her have a good time there with her daddy.

-          Take an afternoon nap together. She has fallen asleep in my arms a few times lately, so I’m going to try to see if we can snuggle and snooze in our bed together one day next week.

-          Spend a whole day in our pj’s. Sometimes it’s just nice to be comfy and not leave the house!

-          Take her to the park at least every other day (weather permitting). Her favorite place to be is outside and hopefully the sun will stay out so we can go run and swing and maybe kick a soccer ball around.

-          Teach her a few new words. She is learning so eager to read and try out new sounds.

-          Soak up every moment, even the hard ones. I am so thankful to be employed full-time and help take care of my family’s financial needs, but I miss my child every single day. I want to appreciate what I have, even if it’s just a few days with her.

 

Happy Tuesday! 

Phantom Crying

The bathroom fan is on. I’m trying to simultaneously comb through my wet hair and apply face moisturizer. I’m in a hurry because it’s 7:00 am and my daughter will be awake at any moment. In fact, I think she is because I can hear her crying. Her bedroom shares a wall with the bathroom and the doorways are next to one another so I open the door softly as to not make additional noise.

I step into the dark hallway and hear…. nothing save the roar of the bathroom fan. I walk into my bedroom and check the video monitor – nothing, no crying, no whimpering, just her breath slow and deep as she continues to sleep.

I startle awake. The room is still dark, but I can hear my baby girl crying softly through the monitor. She is grumpy because she has woken up too much between sleep cycles and struggles a little to find her blankie in her crib and a comfortable position to restart her slumber. I turn the monitor down slightly, but watch her. I’ll give her 5 minutes to figure it out on her own. I pray she falls back asleep without my help.

I roll over to adjust the comforter over me and Matt and close my eyes for a moment. A few minutes later I hear her crying again, and flick on the monitor to see what she is doing. She is fast asleep on her belly, her little legs tucked under her. I close my eyes again, but hear her crying again. Again I check the monitor. Again, nothing.

I am alone in Target. This is a small miracle and I celebrate by buying a coffee at Starbucks. I leisurely walk through the aisles, shopping list in hand and compare prices. As I push my cart to the grocery section, I hear a child crying. It sounds like my own baby, so I walk faster to the sound. Although my head knows my child is at home with my husband, my heart hears my baby’s voice. I turn down the aisle and see, of course, that the child is not mine.

I can hear her high-pitched wail ringing in my ears for the rest of my time in the store.

Matt and I stand in the kitchen talking about our day as the laundry runs in the washer next to us. Our daughter, just out of sight in the adjacent living room, plays with a few toys, her little feet stomping back and forth across the hardwood floors. I hear her footsteps fade into the hallway and we continue our conversation. All of a sudden I hear crying. I ask Matt, “Is Brighton crying?” and he says he can’t hear anything. I run to the back of the house and find her sitting in her rocking chair, happily flipping through a board book.

This insanity is what I call phantom crying. Maybe it is the sound of a high pitched noise, or another child, or my fear, but I hear it everywhere I go. I am haunted by the ghost of the crying baby. Am I alone in this? Does anyone else hear the phantom crying?  

The imperfect life

Have you read my friend Rachael’s post “know it, work it, embrace it”? It was incredibly inspiring and it led me to really think through who I am, where I am strong, and where I can use some work. I think blogging (and social media) in general can lead us to believe that people have these carefree, fun-filled,  and beautiful lives. I think we all know it's not true, but it's easy to get caught up in the seemingly perfect pictures and captions and tweets and posts.

I hope that I have never given the impression that things are always fun or beautiful or easy; my life has it's good moments and it's not so good moments. So this is me - knowing, working and embracing where I am right now:

My name is Kara and I am very organized. I am incredibly loyal to my friends and family. I tend to never leave the home without mascara and lipstick on. I am diligent about giving people my time, energy or money when they need it. I bake a great apple pie, can whip up a tasty dinner in a pinch, and can “Mary Poppins” my house in about 30 minutes. My wardrobe is decent and I know how to make my hair look however I want. I am good at my job, writing, encouraging, and budgeting. I am an attentive parent to Brighton. I believe that God is good all the time.

When my temper flares I have no verbal filter and tend to say things I regret. I avoid unloading the dishwasher if I know everything in it is clean. I am impatient more often than I’m patient. I have a problem with authority. I’m judgmental of people who tend to have paranoia or are into conspiracy theories about vaccines and the government. I watch too much television. I hoard magazines, lipsticks and receipts. I am prone to seasonal depression and withdraw from the world when things get too hard. I let my child go to bed with ketchup stains on her face or dirt under her fingernails. I pick at my cuticles all day long. My faith is shaky when bad things happen to the people I love. 

This is me. Now how about you?

Adventures in B-Feeding: Weaning

For the last 22 months, my body has not been my own. From pregnancy, until one week ago, my body was shared by my child, first in utero, then through nursing for the last 12 months. I was so fearful of breastfeeding before I tried it. I nursed Brighton exclusively until she was almost 7 months old. After I went back to work, my supply dropped, partially due to the stress of being away from her, partially because pumping in a supply closet was demoralizing and depressing, and partially because my body simply couldn’t keep up with her. After a month of trying everything under the sun to get my supply back up, I made the decision to stop killing myself, and supplement with formula. I went from nursing 5 times a day on the weekends, and nursing twice and pumping 3-4 times during the week, to just a morning and evening nursing session, with bottles of formula in between.

 

Around 10 months, I dropped the night nursing session and replaced it with a bottle, in order to give myself a bit more freedom and also to allow someone else to put my daughter to bed at night. We continued to nurse in the morning, but each week she seemed less interested in it, less eager to snuggle in with me, I would have to coax her each day to nurse, entice her with a toy to hold, or offer it multiple times to get her to take anything from me. It was a frustrating process for both of us, and a week after her first birthday, I discussed the situation with Matt and he encouraged me to do what I thought would be best for both of us.

 

So this past Monday morning, simply didn’t offer her the option to nurse. I woke up at 7am, made a bottle (half formula, half whole milk – we are also making the move to whole milk from formula, slowly but surely), and brought her into our bed, her warm back leaning against my chest, her “lovie” blanket still clutched in her hands, and gave her a bottle. She didn’t protest, whine or cry. She quietly laid back against me and drank her milk. When she was done, she sat up, burped quietly, then turned around to face me and wrapped her arms around my neck for a hug. It was so sweet.

 

It was a relief to see her adapt so quickly to this new routine, and she has not shown any distress or signs of wanting to nurse since that first day. It confirms what I had been feeling for the last few months – my daughter was ready to be more independent and let this go. I feel so good about this decision, as it gives her what she needs, but also provides me the opportunity to not be the only person in her life to provide her with her morning feeding.

 

Brighton is weaned and I am so thankful I had the opportunity to nurse my daughter for as long as I did. It was one of the most difficult tasks of motherhood, but it was also incredibly rewarding. I made it 12 months and I’m proud of my accomplishment, and also so thankful for the invention of formula which gave my daughter what I couldn’t for the last 5 months.

 

For my other posts on breastfeeding, click here, here, here, here, here, here, and here.

 

 

Cloth Diapering - Part II

For the first post click here.

We are still cloth diapering! It's been 8 months and so far so good. We have 24 bumGenius 4.0 diapers and that is the perfect amount based on when we do laundry. I have friends who have about 18, but since we both work outside the home, we decided to get a few more so we could have one more day's worth of diapers before we have to wash them. Here are some of the details (in case you are thinking of using cloth):

• We do a load of the diapers (typically we wait until the majority are dirty to wash them in 1 load) about every 4-5 days. We make sure any poopy diapers have been sprayed off with the diaper sprayer, then we seperate the liners from the covers (I wear rubber gloves while doing this) and run a cold rinse cycle first, then do a quick wash on hot with a scoop of Charlie's Soap. 
• We dry the liners on low heat for 1 hour and let the covers air dry on a drying rack.  
• If any of the liners or covers are stained, I'll set them out in the sun for an afternoon to bleach them. 
• I've never had to "strip" my cloth diapers - they still work just as well as the first day!
•  If any of the diapers carry a smell (sometimes when you let urine sit for a long time it makes the diapers stink a little), we spray them with bumGenius odor remover before we dry the liners and covers. It is all natural and helps make them smell fresh again.
• If Brighton gets diaper rash (she's only had it once), we use disposable diapers until it's cleared up. You can't use regular diaper rash cream with cloth because the chemicals can ruin the absorbancy.
• We also use disposable diapers for nighttime sleep since she is a "heavy" wetter and when the cloth stash is being washed/dried.
• Cloth diapers have saved us about $600 for the year (even including the 1 extra load of laundry a week)!

We will cloth diaper until she is potty trained, and if we have another baby, they will use the same stash of cloth too. Do you cloth diaper? Any tips you'd share?

Rule Breaker

 I made all these rules for myself before I had Brighton. Some of them were based on parenting books I read, or things I noticed other parents do that I didn't agree with, and some were just based on principles that Matt and I thought were important.

But good lord, I broke so many of them once I became a parent. Here are some of the ones I threw out and am laughing about now:

I will not co-sleep with my baby.

Although we technically never let Brighton sleep a full night in the bed with us, she spent a lot of her first 6 months snoozing in our bed for naps and in the early morning. It was easier for me, comfortable for her, and Matt loved it too. Even at 9 months, I bring her into bed with us every morning to nurse and cuddle and I cannot imagine changing that any time soon.

My boobs will never be used as a pacifier. 

I will admit that I massively judged women who did this, but when the crap hit the fan and Brighton was inconsolable I totally used my boobs as a pacifier. And guess what? It worked every single time. And still does... although she is much easier to console now that she is older and can be distracted and likes to cuddle.

Once the baby is old enough to be sleep trained, I will stop rocking her to sleep.

All those parenting books warn you that if you rock your baby to sleep they won't be able to learn how to fall asleep on their own. That's not true at all, at least for my child. Brighton can fall asleep on her own pretty easily, but I rock her to sleep most nights because it's the few minutes where she is calm in my arms and I can hug her tight and kiss her soft hair as much as I want. One day she won't let me rock her to sleep, so for now I relish these sweet moments when my baby girl lets me hold her for as long as I need.

Once my baby starts crawling, I will make sure my floors are clean and dirt free.

HAHAHHA. Pul-leeze. Honestly it would take a daily cleaning to keep our main living space clean given all the foot traffic and our pets. Ain't nobody got time for that! Brighton has been crawling for over a month and has probably ingested a few dog or cat  hairs, plus a little dirt already. I figure it will help build up her immune system and not have allergies later in life.

My baby will eat a healthy variety of foods.

I'm eating crow on this. Brighton is pretty willing to try anything once, but she is already showing a preference for the "fun" foods - sweet fruits, puffs, bagels, butter, cream cheese, yogurt and cookies. Yes, I have let her eat a cookie (just the cookie part - no chocolate chips or anything). Some days when she refuses every thing healthy I offer her, I just give in and give her more fruit, or something with butter on it so she'll get some calories in her.

Ok mamas what rules have you broken? I know I'm not alone in this!

Adventures in B-Feeding: When to Quit (part 2)

I have to say a HUGE thank you to all of you who took the time to comment or email based on this post. I was incredibly touched by those who shared their experiences, advice, lessons learned and encouragement with me. I am thankful that this blog has become a place where we can learn from one another, and I feel blessed to have learned from so many of you.

I will admit that I wrote that post in a fit of frustration, but those thoughts of quitting or scaling back had been rolling around in my head for quite some time. I wanted to carefully consider all angles of the situation which is why I asked for advice both from plenty of moms, Brighton's doctor and Matt. I also prayed a lot about it, which might seem silly but I wanted to feel at peace with whatever decision was made.

It goes without saying, but I want to do whatever is best for my daughter and I am willing to work hard and sacrifice for whatever she needs. But I also believe that both of us need to be satisfied in the relationship in order for us to thrive as a family. I felt satisfied in the early morning hours when she was heavy with sleep and eager to eat and solely focused on that task. I felt satisfied in the early evening after her warm bath and fresh pajamas and slowly blinking eyes, looking to me to help lull her to sleep. But all the other times? I will admit that I was not satisfied. I was starting to resent my daughter's tiny, wild body as she flailed and kicked and wiggled and waved and yanked her mouth off of me in a fit of energy. I was not satisfied with the daily fight to get calories into her system from my body and my ever thinning patience with her. I was not satisfied with producing only 2 ounces of milk after 25 minutes of pumping regardless of how much fenugreek and More Milk Plus I took, or how much water I drank, or healthy food I ate.

So I have decided to continue nursing Brighton in the morning and before bed, but will be supplementing with formula during the day. I feel incredibly relieved that I haven't totally dried up so I can continue to provide her with breast milk for at least some of her meals, but am thankful that she is a champion with the bottle and seems to equally like formula.

I met with her pediatrician on Friday and after hearing about my low supply, pumping woes and Brighton's struggles with nursing during the day, she gave me the go-ahead to start supplementing. She advised me to not "dump the pump" cold turkey as it could potentially cause engorgement, clogged ducts and decrease my supply even more; but instead to go from pumping 4 times a day on my office days to 3 times for a week or two, then decrease at the same rate (drop one pump session for a week or two) and see how it affects my supply. She even hugged me and congratulated me on making it this far, which of course made me cry in my highly emotional state. I left her office feeling a massive weight lifted off my shoulders.

I started the new routine yesterday: Brighton nursed in the morning when she woke up, took 3 six ounce bottles of formula during the day, and nursed again at bed. I pumped twice at work and then again before I went to bed. It worked well and I plan to go at this day by day and stay flexible to both our needs. I feel satisfied knowing I am still providing her with the right kind of nutrition, but not killing myself in the process.

I know I will most likely get some negative comments or judgements from all those breastfeeding advocates about my decision but frankly I don't care anymore. I have said this before, but I'll state it again: I am pro breastfeeding. I am pro formula feeding. I am pro feeding your kid however you need to. We each have to do what is right for our own children and it's not our place to judge one another on something as personal and precious as family.

Again, thank you to this amazing community that has graced me with their presence through this blog. I am so grateful for your kindness and grace to our family. God bless each of you!

Adventures in B-Feeding: When To Quit?

Headband by Littlest Lulu

Are you guys tired of this series? I know I have written about it A LOT, so apologies if this is boring you. Feel free to skip this one...

 So my supply has dropped again. I was hopeful after taking Reglan and More Milk Plus and seeing great results. It seemed to be going so well, but then in the matter of a few days it was cut in half.

Brighton has become more and more active and more and more distracted. Her constant need to see the world around her and play, combined with still having to pump 3 times a day when I'm in the office definitely affected my supply. I started to supplement with formula once a day on the days I'm in the office, but my freezer stash is dwindling and I am pumping less and less.

So I'm on the fence about what to do...

• Do I keep going? Meaning nurse her every time she normally eats when I'm with her and keep pumping at all the nursing times when I'm away from her at work (3 times a day plus once a night before bed)? 
• Do I just nurse her in for the first morning meal and in the evening before bed and do formula for all the other meals?
• Or do I just start the process of weaning her and be done with breastfeeding altogether?

I'll admit that I am really torn about what to do. I loved nursing Brighton in the beginning and still love the ability to snuggle her in the wee hours of the morning and at bedtime. But I don't love nursing her during the day when she is hyper, distracted, constantly pulling off to look around, smacking me with her hands and being rough. She doesn't mean to be this way, but it still frustrates me to no end. Nonetheless, the thought of stopping nursing altogether makes me want to cry. I've put so much time, effort and work into this part of my daughter's life and wanting to scale back or quit makes me feel guilty.

So I plan to talk to her pediatrician this week and get her opinion on what to do, but I'd like some different perspectives as well.

So for you mama's who switched from nursing to formula, how did you do it? Were you able to keep some nursing sessions without having your supply totally drop off? How hard was it to switch to formula for most or all of your baby's meals? Did you have any physical or emotional side effects after you scaled back or quit? (If you don't feel comfortable leaving comments about your experience, please feel free to email me at matt and kara adopt [at] gmail [com].)

Thank you in advance for your opinions and help. This online community is amazing!

Adventures in B-Feeding: Supply and Demand

Just a few weeks ago I was patting myself on the back for breastfeeding for almost 6 months. And then just a week after that I was mentally beating myself up for the last 6 months. All because Brighton was initially diagnosed as being potentially too skinny for her age at her 6 month wellness appointment.

Brighton is a breastfed baby. No formula. Just milk and two meals of oatmeal or fruit or pureed veggies. And she was labeled "too skinny" because of it. Because of me. Because of my milk and the food I fed her. The guilt I felt was so intense I barely slept for two days.

At her 6 month appointment, Brighton weighed in at 13 pounds 7 ounces. She had gained a little less than a pound in 4 months. She had grown an inch in length and continued to be in the 90th percentiles for height, but had dropped off the weight chart from the 50th percentile at birth to the 30th to the 25th and was now down to the 10th.

As the nurse logged her head circumference, height and weight into her file, she made one of those under the breath noises you hate to hear - the "hiss" sound that translates into "uh-ho". And then our pediatrician made the same sound when she read the number. Then a barrage of questions started: How often do you nurse in a 24 hour period? On one side, or both sides? For how long? When you work how many ounces does she drink per bottle? How much solid food does she eat?

- Brighton nursed 5-6 times in a 24 hour period.
- For the last 3 months had only ever nursed on one side at each feeding. Every time I offered her the other breast she would refuse me. So for almost 3 months she had alternated sides at each feeding. I never thought anything of it because she never acted like she wanted more.
- She also got faster and faster at eating and was down to 6-8 minutes for a nursing session (on one side).
- When I went back to work, I put 4 ounces of milk in each bottle and most of the time she would drink all of it, but there would be days when she would only take 3.5 ounces.
- She had 2 solid food meals a day - one mid-morning and one around 5pm. Each one was 4-5 tablespoons of food.

The last question the doctor asked me was this: How much are you pumping and how many ounces of milk are you getting each time you pump?

This is when I felt tears welling up in my eyes. I was only getting 1-2 ounces total each time I pumped. I knew my supply was dropping. I knew that eventually I was going to have to supplement with formula if something didn't change. I tried not to worry about it. I tried to listen to all the advice that told me my pumping output had nothing to do with my overall supply - maybe my body just didn't respond to the pump well. I had even made a lactation consultant appointment the week after Brighton's 6 month appointment because I wanted to make sure I was doing everything I could to keep my supply in tact.

So Brighton was cautiously deemed "too small" for her height and age. She was in the 10th percentile on the WHO chart for breastfed babies and while her doctor said she could potentially just be a super skinny and tall kid, she wanted to explore everything before she decided that was the case.

I spent the next few days in a constant state of worry over Brighton's eating. I went to my lactation consultant appointment and after weighing her before and after, we realized she was only getting about 4 ounces from me, even when she nursed on both sides for as long as she liked.

My supply had dropped. The fact that Brighton had only been nursing on one side each time made it drop. Going back to work made it drop. My stress about being away from her made it drop.

As my sweet LC told me this news, I started crying. I know it seems silly to feel such emotion over breastfeeding, but I felt I had failed my daughter. She was eating just enough to take the edge off of her hunger and because I wasn't able to provide her more milk when she nursed, she didn't attempt to nurse more.

After the tears and the questions, we decided to take a swift course of action. I was to call my OB-GYN and get a prescription for Reglan, which is a drug for gastrointestinal reflux, but a side effect of taking it is an increase in the production of prolactin. I also was to start taking More Milk Plus, make Brighton nurse on both breasts each time for at least 10 minutes on whichever side she starts, and increase her bottles from 4 ounces to 6 ounces. I had a friend who had weaned her daughter give me all her leftover frozen milk so I could use it to feed Brighton while I pumped and built my own freezer stash back up.

So we began. Brighton was initially reluctant to nurse on both sides, but I kept at it until it became our routine. We increased her bottles and after a few days, she started drinking 6 ounces each time. I added liquid formula to her solid food meals to add more calories. After a week, I started pumping 4 ounces each time I pumped. My supply had increased. She was eating more. Nursing more.

This past Monday I took her back to the pediatrician. She wanted to see how my supply was doing, how much Brighton weighed and talk through the next steps. She was weighed and the nurse made that noise again. The "uh-oh" hiss.

She had only gained 5 ounces in almost 3 weeks. Only 5 ounces. She was taking in 30 ounces of milk a day, eating more solid food fortified with fatty filled formula and it didn't seem to make much of a difference.

Her doctor still wants to keep watch on her weight, but is leaning heavily on her original theory - Brighton is a skinny and tall kid. Her dad is a skinny and tall guy. Her mama is not skinny or tall, but I was on the smaller side as a kid. She eats enough. She is hitting all of her developmental milestones. She never stops moving. She is fine.

I still worry though. I still get sensitive every time someone picks her up and says, "Wow she's so light!" or "Are you sure you feed her enough?" I still feel guilty for all the months she wasn't getting enough from me. I think about milk supply more than I should. I count every ounce of milk Brighton drinks, every tablespoon of food she eats, every minute she nurses. I count and worry, and count and worry, and then when my mind is spinning out of control, I try to remember that she is just fine.

But I've started to research organic formula just in case...

On Going Back To Work

My three times daily work ritual - pumping in a conference room.

 So I survived my first week back at work.

I knew I would. It's not like it was an end of the world scenario, but leading up to this week, my heart and head made it seem like it was a tragedy. I knew that placing my baby in someone else's care during part of the week was inevitable and I tried not to think about it too much until I was at the very end of my maternity leave.

I did everything I could to prepare for life as two working parents - I made a ton of baby food and froze it. I went through all of Brighton's clothes and weeded out the items that didn't fit anymore and brought out some of her bigger sizes from storage. I made a detailed document about Brighton's eating and sleeping habits for her babysitters. I started pumping again (consistently) about a month ago, making sure I had plenty of milk as a backup supply. I was more diligent about getting her on a eating and napping cycle so her daytime caretakers would have an easier time following her cues.

In my last week on maternity leave, I tried to spend every moment I could just enjoying her, soaking her in. Every time I felt sad, I tried to count my blessings. I had almost six months with her after all - it was far more than most working parents received with their child. But then my last weekend before that dreaded Monday came and the anxiety hit me fast and hard. I spent most of Saturday night sweating through my shirt and pacing the house. Finally I had the sense to text some of my girlfriends and ask them to pray for me (Matt was at a birthday party). And they did and I felt an inkling of peace.

That Sunday night as I put Brighton to bed I told myself that something had to change - either my circumstances or my heart. I asked God to help me figure out which one to focus on and it was perfectly clear:

My heart needed to change.  As I prayed, I was reminded...

... that going back to work full-time is the right choice for right now. Of course I want to be at home full-time with my baby, but the right thing for our family is for me to work and receive a paycheck and all the benefits that come with it - like good health insurance and paid vacation and sick time and flexible work arrangements.

... that Brighton will be taken care of by her grandmothers, who are capable, healthy, amazing women who did a darn good job of raising me and Matt. They love my daughter fiercely and are eager to help care for her while Matt and I are at work during the day. I couldn't ask for better for my baby.

... that most of my co-workers are just like me - working mothers with young children. They are the most supporative team I could ask for because we are all trying to figure this thing out - working and providing and raising our children.

... that my boss will allow me to work from home two days a week, which allows me to see Brighton a little more and relives me of two days of pumping milk and washing bottles.

... that just because someone else is caring for my child during the day, I am still her mother. Matt and I are raising her, caring for her, providing for her. Working outside the home doesn't cancel that.

... that nothing is permanent. This job could go away tomorrow, or we could realize 6 months from now that this isn't the right choice anymore. I am not married to my job. I am not imprisoned by it either.


Monday morning came. And I cried before I left for work. And I cried on the way to work. And I teared up the minute anyone asked me about Brighton that morning.

I tried to hold it together so I thought of all the good things God reminded me of. I counted my blessings and the day got easier, and each day after was easier than the last. I started to feel peace in my heart. I still missed Brighton terribly and hated that my time during most of the week with her was limited to a morning nursing session and a few hours in the evening before she went to bed, but it turned out ok every single day. She was fine. I was getting there. And I know it will continue to get easier as time passes and that my heart won't feel so heavy each morning as I kiss my baby goodbye.

So for now, I am a working outside of the home mother. This is the hard choice I have made. I'm sure there will be days when I am grateful for my situation, and other days when I want to throw in the towel and quit; but since my circumstances aren't going to change right now, thankfully my heart has.

Adventures in B-Feeding (part 4)

 For the other posts click here, here and here. 

I have been breastfeeding for almost 6 months! That feels like a huge accomplishment, at least for me. I have a tendency to get lazy with something so routine (hence me never, ever being able to stick with a diet or exercise program in my history as an adult). Anyhoo - 6 months! I feel like I learn something new each week. Here are a few more realizations about this process:

They get faster

Other mothers said that the nursing sessions would get shorter, and they were right! The time suckage I complained about in this post is no longer an issue. Brighton nurses in about 6-7 minutes flat. It is so nice to know I can easily nurse her in a pinch and not have to allocate at least 30 minutes to sitting down.

Pumping Sucks

There I said it. I hate pumping. I do it because I love my daughter and I want to provide her with breastmilk until she is at least 1 year old. Maybe that is an unrealistic goal, maybe I will end up eating crow in a few months on this, but it's my goal. 12 months of mama's milk.

I started pumping and creating a freezer stash when Brighton was 3 weeks old. I used for date nights or when we are going someplace where it will be hard to nurse in public, but I kept most of it for when I went back to work.

I pumped every night right before bed for 2 months leading up to this week. I now pump 3 times during the day for 20 minutes and another 20 minute session at 10pm. I use the milk I pump daily the next day and if I don't produce enough, I go into the freezer stash.

But I hate pumping. I hate gathering my bag full of bottles and the little cooler that comes with it and sitting in a locked conference room at work with that machine hooked up to me. I try to do all the things my lactation consultant told me to do to make the time go by easier - look at pictures and videos of my baby, drink a full glass of water, eat a snack and don't look down at the bottles until I'm totally done otherwise I'll stress myself out over my supply. 

But I always stress about my supply. And I feel like a cow hooked up to a machine. I think pumping sucks.

Kids are weird and sweet

Brighton went through a really annoying phase where she was super distracted while nursing. She'd stop halfway through and start giggling, or rear her head back to look at something. Now she can nurse and look around at things without losing total focus on the task at hand, but she has replaced her distraction with something else:

That kid loves to take my shirt and pull it over her face while she nurses. Then pull it away, then pull it back. It's like a weird twitch. And if she can't grab ahold of a shirt, she will knead my boob. Yep, just like a kitten kneads his cat mama, her tiny hand pushes down on my chest over and over again. It is the weirdest thing. 

Even though Brighton acts like a weirdo, she does the sweetest stuff too. She has gotten into the habit of reaching up to my face, placing her hand on my cheek and patting it while she nurses. Sometimes she reaches up and puts her hand on my mouth so I'll grab it and kiss it. And she always ends the nursing session with a big sigh and a smile. She's so cute!

I'll keep posting as I learn more about this whole mystery of breastfeeding. Any advice you'd give on pumping? Any stories you'd like to share? I'd love to hear from you!

On Crying

I have a confession to make: I have a low tolerance for crying.

I should clarify that I mean I have a low tolerance for crying in children. Adults don't bother me at all because most have the social skills and maturity to choose appropriate places and times to lose their crap. And most of the time they are easier to console. And they can wipe their own snotty nose with a tissue. But I digress...

I have a low tolerance for crying children. It doesn't matter if it's a legitimate cry because the child is hungry or tired or scared or hurt, or it's one of those vicious toddler tantrums, I cannot handle the sound of crying for very long. Maybe this is because I am an only child and never had to hear a sibling cry. Maybe it is because I don't like children being unhappy (then again who does?). Whatever the reason, I internally freak out when a child cries more than a minute or two. 

Going into parenthood, I knew that this was going to be a big hurdle for me.

Brighton cried immediately upon birth as most (if not all) babies do. I probably would have too - she left a soothing environment and was yanked naked and covered in goo into a freezing cold room where the noise and chaos were at an all time high. She continued to cry until they placed her naked body on my chest, but as soon as she was taken from me to get cleaned up she started crying again. She cried a ton during her first bath in the hospital nursery, she cried every time her diaper was changed and she cried the whole morning before she had to get a catheter because she was having a hard time passing urine (she's fine now).

When we left the hospital the constant crying continued - unless she was asleep or nursing she was crying. And it drove me crazy.

I knew the wa-wa-wa-wa sound was hunger, but every other kind of cry I couldn't figure out. Was she tired? (Aren't all babies tired all the time?) Was she too cold or too hot? Did she need a diaper change? Who the heck knew?!? The first two weeks was a cluster you know what. I worried that she had colic, or gas, or wasn't getting enough milk. After a couple of days I started to cry when she cried. I developed post-partum anxiety (PPD's less popular cousin) and would start panicking and crying every night around 8pm even even she wasn't crying, anticipating her crying later that night. I was a hot mess.

Then right after she had her one month birthday the constant crying stopped. She still cried if I didn't feed her quick enough or if she was overtired, but now when she was awake she was smiling and calm. She didn't cry when she had a dirty diaper or even when it was time to take a nap. She seemed like she was turning into a happy baby and I thanked my lucky stars and God that I could start to enjoy my daughter.

At almost 6 months old, Brighton has stayed true to the demeanor we saw develop in her fourth week of life - she is easygoing, happy and mostly calm. She has had only a handful of massive meltdowns (where she cried really hard for longer than 5 minutes) and it's always been in the car when she is overtired and ready to get out of the seat or when she has missed a nap. I still freak out when she cries though. I just try not to show it!

Although my baby is pretty chill, I know my low tolerance for crying is going to still be something I need to work on because:

- Brighton has a serious set of lungs on her. She can wail like nobody's business - head pitched back, face bright red and huge tears running down her face as a sound louder than a siren comes out of her tiny mouth.

- I've already seen a glimpse of what a real tantrum is going to look like. Brighton has begun to protest cry when she doesn't want to nap or doesn't want to be put down. In fact a few weeks ago I went grocery shopping and had her in the carrier so I could use the whole cart. After I checked out and packed up the car, I unsnapped the carrier and started to load her into the car seat and she looked at me, stuck out her bottom lip and started whining at me loudly!

- She has started teething AND showing signs of stranger anxiety.

P.S. Here is a little video of my happy baby going from laughter to crying in a few seconds. She was so tired and had just eaten and was ready to go to bed. That little bottom lip poking out just kills me!

Brighton's Mood Swing (Jan 2013) from Kara on Vimeo.

Does anyone else have a low tolerance for crying, or is it just me?

Adventures in Parenthood: Puke Party

So Brighton threw herself (and us) a little puke party early this morning. 

She normally wakes between 6 - 7 a.m. but I heard her cry out around 5:40 a.m. Normally if it's just a fuss, I know she is just transitioning between sleep cycles and will go back to sleep for another 30 minutes or so. But this cry was different - she sounded scared and angry.

I went into her dark room to pick her up and felt that her shoulders and arms were soaking wet. I turned on the light and she had vomited all over herself and crib - a disgusting mix of sweet potatoes and breastmilk. Her poor little face, neck and hands were covered in it, and there were chunks of sweet potato all around her head. It was even in her eyes and ears! It scared the ever living s--- out of me!

I called for Matt and we rushed around to get her wet pajamas off, the puke off her face and into a quick bath. She cried almost the entire time Matt bathed her and I quickly changed her sheets and threw all of it into the wash. 

20 minutes later she was nursing and almost asleep in my arms. I rocked her and held her for a few extra minutes before laying her back down to sleep. 

It's almost lunchtime and thankfully she seems perfectly fine now. She has nursed two more times today with no signs of throwing up on the horizon, she doesn't have a fever and is playing with her toys happily.

This morning's staring contest

 We think she might have overeaten at dinner last night - but we are keeping a close eye on her today.

Parenthood is not for the weak of heart!

Solid Food

So Brighton started eating solids. (Insert tiny sob.)

At Brighton's 4 month appointment the pediatrician told me that at any point in the next two months, my baby might be ready for solids. She said to look for signs like waking up in the middle of the night hungry when a solid sleep pattern was already established, the ability to sit up and hold her head unassisted, and the ability to let us know when she is full from a meal - like pushing the bottle or breast away. 

She also made the joke that the breastfeeding experts will tell you to wait until babies are 6 months old to start solids, but Brighton never had a conversation with them or read their books. (Har, har.)

Well about a week later Brighton started waking up around 4 and 5am hungry and frustrated. She had been sleeping from about 8pm - 7am most days so this was a sign that either she was going through a growth spurt or she needed some more calories in her system. I waited it out a few days to see if the pattern would right itself, but it never did. She woke up every day for 2 weeks earlier than normal and I was exhausted having to nurse her at that early of an hour.

So with a reluctant heart (my only reluctance is that solids = her growing up too fast for me), I went out and bought some organic brown rice cereal. And she loved it!

She gobbled it up instantly and did a great job with learning how to take "bites" off the spoon. And lo and behold she started sleeping from 8pm - 7am again! 

She has eaten rice cereal every day for the last two weeks and we are now ready to introduce another food. I was thinking mashed up avacado or banana. Any suggestions on what I should try next?