15oz

That is the entirety of the backup breast milk I have in my freezer.
2.5 bottles for Peanut.

During the past month, I have been forced to go through a process of
letting go.  grieving the beginning of the end of my time
breastfeeding my not-so-little baby.  for unidentified reasons, my
supply took a nosedive during the month of  November, and despite my
efforts to give it a boost (fenugreek capsules, tea, oatmeal, water)
the daily milk i am producing has not increased.  In the meantime, i
flew through my entire freezer stash of backup milk just trying to
keep up.  now just the few sacred packets remain.

For a while, I was in denial.  I pumped a measly few ounces at each
session and cheerfully dipped into the freezer stash, day after day,
as I prepared bottles for daycare.  And then one day, as i struggled
yet again to get even a few ounces from a pumping session, it hit me.
I came home from work that night, held Peanut in my arms, an sobbed
and sobbed as I rocked her to sleep, mourning the anticipated loss of
our breastfeeding relationship. I reached out to my former lactation
consultant, who assured me that a dip at 10 months was normal.  "Your
body is preparing to make another baby," she said.  "Ha," I thought.
Clearly my brain hasn't passed on the message that I am nowhere near
mentally ready to go down that road again.

The one fact for which I was grateful was that I was to make it to
Peanut's 11th month (a week ago) before having to begin supplementing.
 Crossing that milestone was important to me.  Many parents who choose
to wean their babies by their first birthday begin doing so at that
time, so I mentally felt more like it was a "choice" to introduce
cow's milk to Peanut, rather than a necessity, which it now is.  After
taking with the pediatrician, we decided to use cow's milk instead of
formula, since she is now only a few weeks away from her first
birthday (when it is generally considered acceptable for babies to
fully transition off of breastmilk or formula to cow's milk).

So this past week, I put an ounce of cow's milk into Zia's bottles.
And then a little more.  And she has taken to it well.  There is
something about the experience of opening a carton of milk from the
fridge- a full box of cold, white liquid, that had been simultaneously
odd and freeing.  It is a weird physical sensation to just be able to
pour milk into a bottle.  As much as I want is available to me, just
right there in the fridge.  After having spent nearly a year obsessing
about and measuring and counting and planning how many ounces of
breastmilk I can pour into a bottle, let me just say, it's weird to
just have access to tons of free flowing stuff.

And at the same time, I feel relief.  I see a light at the end of a
tunnel of hard work, the opportunity to get through a whole work day,
or go to bed, without having to pump.

And then I started experiencing anxiety again.  There were nights when
even during nursing, I didn't have enough milk for peanut.  She would
cry out of frustration, of  experiencing an insatiable thirst.
Watching her try to extract just a few more drops was heart wrenching,
and I couldn't bring myself to just offer her cow's milk from a
bottle.  It just didn't feel right given that she hasn't hit the one
year mark yet.  So the day before Christmas, I went out and bought a
canister of formula.  I offered her a few ounces at home, and again,
she took to it readily.

Again, I felt a huge degree of relief.  A nutritious backup option is
available to me, and in an abundance I haven't known now for several
months.  If I'm not making enough on a given day, I can just go make
some.  It makes me suddenly have perspective on how much pressure I've
been holding in my body around providing enough milk for little P.

Snow Outing

Dear Peanut,

Someday, when you are grown, I will tell you stories about how I pushed your stroller five miles uphill in several feet of snow to take you to daycare.

In reality, it was only a half mile and a half inch, but boy, was it a doozy of a walk.  Still, seeing you bundled up with oversized mittens, hearing your sweet singing as we slipped and slid down Main Street, and imagining what you might be thinking about the buckets of white stuff falling from the sky, I couldn't help but feel lucky to experience an urban winter wonderland with you.

Love,
Your Mama

On Breastfeeding at 8 months

A few weekends ago, at my parents' house, I sat down at the kitchen table to pump before heading to bed.  It was late, and I was tired, but as I've learned very well by now, it's important for me to get a nightly session in to help keep up my supply.  So I do it.  Night after night, no matter how late the hour.  This time, my mom sat down at the table with me, and caught me up on all her latest stories.

One of her tales involved going on a walk with two close family friends, one of whom is the grandmother of a child who is just three weeks older than Peanut.  As they walked, they talked about how the mom of the other child was no longer able to breastfeed, since her supply had dried up.  They asked if I was still breastfeeding Peanut, and my mom affirmed that indeed, I was.

"Well, that's because ss has good-sized boobs," one friend said.  "So she can make a lot of milk."

I was taken aback.  

"I told them that your aunt, who has tiny breasts, was able to breastfeed your cousins for a year," my mom reported.  "I told them that it's because you work really hard to breastfeed, and that you're pumping at work and at night.  That's why you still have milk.  Not because of the size of your breasts."  Her tone was indignant.

Once again, I was taken aback, but this time, in a good way.  A really, really good way.  While I know my mom loves me, she doesn't say it very openly, or often.  She's typically more quick to judge or criticize than compliment or affirm me, especially when it comes to experiences in which she and I have a shared experience.  "I did things X way so you should be able to, too," is a common refrain for her.  To hear her acknowledge how much work I've put into breastfeeding Peanut for 8 months, to hear her tell me that she acknowledged the fact to other people, and defended me from the reductionist idea that my breast size determines my ability to breastfeed, especially when her own breastfeeding experience was different, was incredibly moving. 

When Peanut was born, I set a goal to breastfeed her for a year, if my body and circumstances would allow.  And I am so grateful that they have until now.  I know not everyone has the opportunity, support, resources or privilege to make the choice to breastfeed, and I make no judgement on the situations or choices of others.  It's just that I now know, intimately, how physically and emotionally challenging the experience can be.  

I have now been breastfeeding Peanut for eight months.  I am so proud of that fact, because it has taken time, energy, effort, calories, planning, dedication, commitment, prioritizing, and willpower.  Every single day.  It has required me to endlessly count ounces, pump a minimum of four times a day, deal with painful plugged ducts, commute with bottles and ice packs and pump parts on my back, pull stunts like figure out how to travel internationally with enough pumped milk on ice to sustain Peanut for 36 hours, manage constant fatigue, and so much more.  And still, every day, I have made the choice to continue doing it.

It's not often that I reflect on how much of the past eight months of my life have been shaped by the experience of being a breastfeeding parent, when in fact, my current life is entirely built around it.  For my mom to take the time to tell me, in the most direct way she could muster, that she was proud of my efforts, well - it felt good, and helped motivate me to keep on pumping along.

Finding the Body

Last week, S helped create the space in our schedule for me to go to a yoga class at our local studio.  It's a wonderful, healing space, but I haven't made the time to visit since, well, the day before little Peanut was born.  After many, many months of not doing any exercise whatsoever (since my third trimester, in fact), my body was feeling neglected, my muscles were simultaneously wound up and lethargic, and the opportunity to breathe and move with intention just sounded really, really good.  Necessary, in fact. 

So I went.  There were just three other people in the class with me (which, I have to say, because I live in a city with a few too many million people in a very small geographic space, felt like such a gift).  The teacher was kind and welcoming, and walked us through the class with exactly the kind of guided imagery that is helpful to me ("feel your feet solidly on the ground, imagine them connected to a root system, pulling you firmly into the earth.")  By the time we arrived at our last sitting poses, I was feeling more limber, relaxed, strong.  I followed the instructions to pull our legs towards us, feet together in a butterfly position.  "Inhale, and bend your body forward over your legs."

So I did.  I sat on my little blue mat in the warm, dimly lit room, and I breathed.  I inhaled, exhaled, and stared at the space between my bent legs, the diamond they created on the floor.  I inhaled, exhaled, and and felt myself overcome with un/expected feelings.  There I was, seven months later, pouring energy into the space from which little Peanut came forth.  There was so. much. emotion. in that space.  My eyes filled with tears.  Many many tears.  What suddenly emerged from that little blue diamond was grief.

Before I was consumed into the impending swirl of mind/body processing, the teacher asked us to stretch out our legs and move them around.  I shook the Feelings out and brought myself back to the four green walls and pale wood floors.  I finished the class and walked home in the dark, warm night.  As I thought back to that moment, the tears came again, and held themselves at bay, right in my throat.

Grief.  Grief.  Grief.  The word echoed in my mind, over and over again.  I asked myself, "why Grief?" 

My emotional mind answered, "Grief, because what I went through in childbirth was hard.  Really hard."
The rational mind countered, "But your delivery experience wasn't extraordinary.  It was within the range of normal.  Manageable.  Everyday.  No big deal."
Emotional: "Grief, because I had an epidural, and I didn't actually feel what was going on.  Because I was a passive participant in my childbirth experience.  Because they cut me open."
Rational: "But that was okay, you did what you needed to do to get through."
Emotional: "Grief, because I haven't been able to reconnect with that part of my body since giving birth."
Rational: "Yeah, that's pretty f'ed up.  Get over your damn fear!  Find pleasure again!"
Emotional:  "Grief, because I'm really, really scared of the depth of emotion that is contained within my body.  Grief, because I went through a physical trauma.  Grief, because I didn't see the aftermath, didn't want to look at my scars.  Grief, because the act of creating a very small space between my legs feels like too much.  Grief, because I want to just cry, and cry, and cry."

And then I was home.  I neatly put the cork back in my emotional mind, pulled the keys out of my purse, and walked into my building.  And made a silent commitment to go back to class again next week. 

Letter to Peanut at 7 Months

Dearest Peanut,

Spending time with you is truly the best part of each and every day.  You are endlessly happy and playful, and with your smiles, laughter, calm energy, curiosity and overall contentment, you bring so much joy to my life.  In truth, you enrich not only to my life, but Papa's life, Nana and Nani's lives, and to the lives of nearly everyone you meet.  You have a magnetic, compelling energy about you; neighbors in our building and strangers on the street often stop to talk with you, and tell us what an amazing person you are. 

I know I say this every month, but I continue to be amazed by your growing set of skills and abilities.  Human development is like a magical thing, and watching you grow is like watching a caterpillar morph into a butterfly.  You are finding your legs, stretching your wings, and releasing your spirit, bit by bit, day by day.  Here are some milestones from this past month:

• You officially started daycare full-time, and seem to really love your time there.  The teachers adore you, as do the other kids.  You're the youngest of the group.  When Papa or I drop you off in the mornings, the kids all gather around your stroller and call your name, touch your belly and arms, and express their excitement about seeing you.  You smile or squeal and kick your legs as an excited response.
• You started eating solid foods.  Despite having shown a great deal of visual interest in the foods Papa and I were eating for many weeks prior, you approached the actual consumption with some hesitance.  We started you with organic bananas, sweet potatoes, and carrots, but you didn't eat more than a spoonful or two of the purees we prepared or the jarred food we bought for the first two weeks.  Then, suddenly began eating with gusto.  First an ounce of carrots, then sweet potatoes, peas and squash.  You tried a little watermelon at the beach, and a little mango.  Now you're eating about 2.5 - 3oz of veggies at a time, twice a day.  I'm bummed that I haven't been able to prepare more homemade food for you yet, but I hope to do so starting in the fall.  
• You started babbling with different sounds!  Right before Papa's birthday, you started saying "da da da da" (which of course, Papa LOVED; he told everyone it was your birthday gift to him).  I am sure that when recounting the history of your life, you're going to be told that your first word was "Dada," though at this moment we're pretty clear that you're simply playing with sounds.  Right before we saw Nana a few days later, you started saying "na na na na" as well.  Good timing, kid ;)
• You started sitting up, solidly.  Now we can put you on the floor sitting up, and you'll play with toys there for long periods of time.
• You developed a keen interest in the cats, and frequently watched their movements around the apartment.
•  One of the coolest skills you developed was the ability to find your pacifier, get to it, and put it in your mouth.  Many times it will be a few feet away from you (in your crib, for instance) and you'll either roll or creep over to it, stretch your arm out, grab it, and stick it in your mouth.  Then you'll realize it's the wrong way (you often stick the handle in first), take it out, look at it, turn it around using your other hand, and put it in the correct way.  I don't know how to explain how remarkable it is to see you master such a complex skill. 

We had some fun adventures together this month; we explored a hip neighborhood in the city with one of your aunties from the midwest and one of your uncles from Puerto Rico.  We celebrated Papa's birthday at the beach with a few other babies of queer parents.  We went to a barbeque with some of my old coworkers.  And of course, we spent some quality time with Nana, Nani and your uncle.

My Peanut, my love for you grows bigger every day.  I'm looking forward to sharing another month of life experiences with you.

Love,
Your Mama

Ragged

I am utterly exhausted.  My bones are tired, my mind is spinning, and I can barely keep my eyes open.  My boss told me to consider going home to get a head start on the evening and catch up on sleep.  As someone who prides herself on Keeping It Together At All Times, that was a major blow to my front.

I'm not quite sure what I'm doing wrong, but somehow, every day feels like a marathon of to-do lists.  26.2 never-ending miles of making lunches, prepping bottles, cooking, cleaning, working, grocery shopping, running errands.  I'm not really doing much else.  S and I do a pretty good job of keeping routines; we cook large quantities of food once a week, we divide labor in the household equally, and at this point, we even have Peanut on a routine.  She goes to bed at 8pm every night (after play, dinner, bath and bedtime story) and actually falls asleep for the night.

But it's not working.

Somehow, even as someone with so much privilege - access to lots of support and resources while doing this parenting/living life thing - I feel like I'm failing.  I'm failing at doing the best I can.

I can't keep up with my own life.  There is always more to do, more to manage.  I try to let things go (mostly, cleaning the apartment) to create space for a little summer fun.  And then things pile up and I feel more overwhelmed than before the fun.

The small things keep getting in the way of the big things.  When I think about how "busy" I am, I realize I'm filling my time with things that are about maintaining my life, not embracing it or living it fully.  I worry that I've relegated caring for Peanut into just another set of tasks on my list.  Picked her clothes out?  Check.  Changed her diaper?  Check.  Spent thirty minutes connecting with her and making her laugh?  Check.

Something needs to change.

I feel like crying when I see how truly connected Peanut is to her daycare providers, and when they tell me things I wish I knew about her daily development.  I resent every minute of hustling and hauling stuff (groceries, laundry) around this challenging city.  The cats feel like a nuisance.  I have very little space or time to engage in real self-care - exercise, breathing, enjoying nature, cooking for fun, being creative, writing.  I'm barely connecting with S at this point.  We move through our days like the sun and the moon; sharing the same sky, but so very far apart from one another.

I miss Peanut.  I miss S.  I miss myself.  I have run myself ragged.  And I don't know how to stop.

The Next Big Thing

I can't believe how quickly S's twelve weeks of parental leave have flown by.  A week from today, he returns to work and Peanut will be in daycare full time - nearly 50 hours per week.  (I guess I should mention here that in early June, we stumbled upon a seemingly great residential daycare in our neighborhood - and with much relief, decided to sign Peanut up.)

Today, Peanut began her transition to daycare by visiting the facility for an hour.  S sent me a picture of her with one of the providers this morning, and when I saw it, I unexpectedly started crying.  The tears came and went all day, in fact.  In the photo she was smiling, and seemed happy.  It began to really hit me that S and I are no longer going to be her primary caretakers.  We are entering a time in our lives when other folks will be helping to raise our child in a meaningful and significant way.

When I returned to work in mid-April, the transition, for me, was relatively easy.  I enjoyed being back in my routine and felt good about the fact that S had an opportunity to spend a few months with Peanut.  I needed a break from the exhaustion of caring for a newborn on my own and not really being able to take care of myself.  I don't think I took into account how much of the fact that S was at home helped me emotionally jump right back into my work.

Now that Peanut is almost six months old, I am realizing I have more emotional work to do as I continue to show up at my office every day.  Much more.  This transition is the one that involves both of us being away from her, all day, every day, for the forseeable future.  Maybe forever.  This transition involves opening our hearts to others, trusting complete strangers, letting go of control of the world around her, and picking our battles.  How important is it for us to stand up for Peanut's right to not have petroleum jelly spread on her bum after every diaper change, or to be exposed to television, no matter how "educational" the content, all day long?  How much will we open ourselves to being taught by others?  How much will Peanut's understanding of the world around her be shaped by people with whom we don't necessarily share certain core values?

It feels really scary, hard, and sad.  I'm not quite as ready for this change as I thought I'd be. 

The Fierce Love of a Papa

This past weekend, S, Peanut and I attended the wedding of a family friend.  We anticpated that Peanut would take a nap during the evening reception, but between the bumping DJ, the energized emcee, and the excited wedding guests, the event turned out to be VERY loud.  We decided that one of us should hold little Peanut close, cover her up with a blanket, and rock her during the raucous festivities.  S did so first, and at some point left the room to help soothe our little one.

When he returned to the dinner table, S continued to hold and rock her, and talked to her softly through the blanket.  I decided to check in to ask if he needed some help, as nearly 45 minutes had passed.

Me:  "Aren't you tired of holding her?  I'm happy to take over."

S:  "No, I'm not tired.  I'm very happy holding her in my arms.  I will hold her every day until she's 18 years old.  And longer.  Maybe when she's 21, I'll say, now my arms can rest."

Maybe it was the fact that we were listening to sweet, emotional wedding toasts.  More likely, it's just that S has such a beautiful way with words.  But his comment was so unexpected, and moved me so much, that my chest swelled up and I had to hold back tears.  I simply nodded in response, and turned back to the hoopla on the dance floor.  All I could think was, how lucky is Peanut to be blessed by such a fiercely loving, expressive, and devoted Papa?

Small thoughts on a big day

"Children born today will grow up in a world without DOMA."  -Edie Windsor, 6/26/13

It was upon hearing plaintiff Edie Windsor say these ten words, as I stood in a conference room filled with my exuberant, proud colleagues this morning, that I finally teared up.  The Defense of Marriage Act - DOMA - has been taken down.  I am feeling such a mix of emotions.  It has been a whirlwind of a week, politically - between the Supreme Court gutting the Voting Rights Act and blatantly disregarding the Indian Child Welfare Act, and the ever ongoing fight to defend reproductive rights in the state of Texas - and now the end of DOMA and Prop 8.  We are living in complicated times - simultaneously disappointing and inspiring.

People have been calling Edie a "shero" and comparing her to Rosa Parks, Harvey Milk, and Martin Luther King, Jr.  And to me, those are short-sighted (even offensive) comparisons. Edie is a privileged, white, wealthy woman with access to incredible resources who maybe just happened to be in the right place at the right time.  She was a palatable icon for the marriage equality movement and was strategically employed by a huge movement of people working toward marriage equality for many years.  Her case was based on the fact that she had to pay more than $350K in estate taxes.  She is a charming, thoughtful person, and a great activist; but she did not single-handedly take down DOMA.   

But these ten words moved me.  When I think about little Peanut, and the world in which she will now grow up, I have to say I'm incredibly grateful that she will not have to know DOMA, or have the experience in which her parents' marriage is sort-of-but-not-really recognized (well, at least on the federal level).

Today, I was so grateful for my colleagues and thousands of people who have been tirelessly working to secure equal rights and protections for queer folks who choose to get legally married.  I am feeling lucky to be alive at this moment in queer history.

Now more resources, energy and attention should be directed into the immense work for equality and justice that remains.  Radicals and leftists to whom I look up, and for whom I have a great deal of respect, have done right to remind me today that marriage is the wrong goal in movements for equality and justice, and that there is much, much work to be done on many different priorities that affect the most vulnerable among us. 

Nanny share

S and I recently began to come to terms with the fact that we will not be able to care for Peanut on our own forever.  Soon, we will both be back at work full-time, and will need to introduce another caregiver into our lives.  We've generally assumed the best scenario for our family would be a nanny share.  The idea is that two families hire a nanny to care for both kids at once.  It's good for each family, because it splits the cost (which can then end up being more affordable than daycare) and the kids have a chance to socialize with each other.  And it's good for a nanny, who ends up generally earning a higher salary than s/he would caring for one child.

We were recently excited to come across a neighborhood listserv posting from a family looking for a nanny share as well.  I reached out to them with a tentative email.  "We're looking for queer-friendly family to participate in a nanny share with us."  I held my breath and waited for a response.  Several hours later, they wrote back.  They passed the first test: feeling okay enough to have their kid around a queer couple.  Cool.  We had some back and forth about our general needs and expectations, and when it seemed we were all on the same page, we set up a time to meet.  It turned out, they lived pretty nearby and had a kid the same age as Peanut.  Cool again.

We spent a solid two hours feeling each other out at our first meeting.  On the surface, the family appeared to be very different from ours.  Us: an interracial, inter-religious-but-mostly-secular leftist vegetarian-leaning queer couple, both nonprofiteers who rent a run-down one-bedroom apartment.  Them: a white, Catholic, straight couple from the south, both reporters who own a well-maintained two-bedroom coop.  When I walked in the door to their apartment and saw that one of them was wearing an NYPD t-shirt, I had my guard up about their values and politics.  When we came out to them, it was clear from the language they used ("we're totally ok with homosexuality") they didn't have much experience with queers like us.  Ultimately, though, I was impressed and surprised with how open they were, and how much we seemed to share expectations about raising our kids.  They challenged my own assumptions and stereotypes.  I mean, let's be real, not everyone is going to be open to having their kid spend a lot of time around a transexual man and a queer Muslim woman - especially ones who are total strangers.  The fact that they were not only comfortable, but welcoming of us, to me, spoke volumes about their characters.  After the meeting, I remarked to S, "while I wouldn't have picked them off the street as friends, I think we have the potential to get along well."

From there, we moved quickly and optimistically forward.  We set up interviews with three different potential caregivers during the following week, to be conducted with both families simultaneously.  We were riding high, feeling pleasantly surprised that things seemed to be moving so smoothly and we'd have care set up for Peanut by the end of the month.  Then we had the first interview.  In short - it was not cool.  The caregiver had been recommended to the other family by a close friend, so they saw her through a lens of trust and familiarity.  To us, she was a total stranger.  While she clearly seemed to be comfortable with infants and was kind and approachable in her demeanor, we saw some big red flags.  She described herself as a Seventh Day Adventist who would sing bible songs to soothe the babies.  When we told her we were queer ("kind of like a gay couple" is how we explained it, I think) and didn't believe in gay people, but didn't think it was her place (it was God's place) to judge them.  While she said she would respect our wishes (not to sing religious songs, for example), her answers to other questions demonstrated that this would not actually be the case.  We communicated to the other family that we felt pretty strongly that this nanny was not a good fit for us. 

They, on the other hand, felt very comfortable with her.  We all went ahead and interviewed the two other candidates, but it was clear they had decided the first candidate was the best match for them.  The tension built between our families for a few days.  Were we now locked into an uncomfortable partnership?  Were our needs just too different to make this work?  Was this a sign of differences and disagreements to come down the road?  Should we initiate a break-up?

S and I carried the anxiety and questions in our bellies for days.  We talked and processed late into every night, barely able to sleep.  We quickly learned that not only was working with another family very (and probably almost too) challenging for us given the care of  our little one was at stake, but we weren't quite comfortable with a nanny arrangement at all.  While we certainly know and trust there are many loving, amazing and nurturing paid caregivers in the world, we realized since we don't have a recommendation or personal experience with someone who would generally share our values and respect our family, we felt incredibly vulnerable and protective of Peanut.
 
We are proud of who we are, and we want Peanut to feel proud of herself and her family, too.  We want her to know she is worthy of love and belonging, that she is a part of a family with a rich, beautiful and diverse history, that has a unique story to tell.  We want her spirit to be cared for and nurtured by a caregiver with whom she can explore her own creativity and desires, whatever they may be.  We are especially conscious that we want to find a caregiver who will respect her self-determination around gender identity and expression as she grows up.

The other family finally wrote us an email to say, very kindly and respectfully, that they didn't think the nanny share situation would work out.  We were relieved and let them know we agreed.  We were  grateful, not only that we wouldn't ultimately be pressured to work with a caregiver that didn't feel right for us, but also that we were able to retain a good relationship with the other family despite our differences.

The experience ultimately was an unexpected but incredibly powerful test for us as parents.  It helped us clarify our needs, where we will stretch, and where we will set boundaries for our family.  It brought me and S closer together, and reminded us why we click and love one another.  And taught us, very concretely, that we are going to have to be willing to fight for what we feel is right for Peanut.  We are now beginning to explore other options for Peanut's care, hopefully with more clarity and assurance that we know where we stand and what she deserves.

Letter to Peanut at 4 Months

Dear little one,

It is remarkable to me that it has only been a month since I wrote your last letter.  In that span of time, you have developed an incredible number of new skills, the most exciting of which is that you are now LAUGHING!  Heartily, excitedly, and with some regular frequency.  Sometimes Papa and I will be laughing about a joke (like this morning, when our kitty cat somehow figured out how to turn on the lamp by himself!) and I look down and realize you are laughing along with us.  Your first laugh was with me, in response to me squealing "my baaaabyyyyy" to you in an increasingly high pitched voice.  You since have loved when we blow raspberries on your belly, or when people lift you up and down with big smiles on their faces.

During the past month you:

• Learned to roll to one side (usually from right to left)
• Grasped things and held onto them for a while (it's amazing watching you hold on to your pacifier, pull it out of your mouth, and then attempt to get it back in your mouth.  You can't usually do it, but you make a good effort!)
• Put toys in your mouth (typically by moving your head toward the toy with your mouth wide open)
• Grew out of newborn sized clothing and Size 1 diapers 
• Woke up!  You suddenly became an energized, awake, observant and active infant.  You continued to be a pretty relaxed and happy baby, even though you...
• ...began to exhibit some stranger anxiety.  Now when an unfamiliar person picks you up, you stare at them, give them a huge, sad pout, and start wailing!

Your favorite toy this month was a little stuffed ladybug you wore on your wrist.  You stared at it intently and put it in your mouth.  When it was not there, you would stare at your arm for long minutes as if waiting for it to appear.  We joked that you must have thought it was a part of your body!

This month featured a big transition in our lives.  I returned to work full-time, and Papa began his parental leave and is now staying home with you until mid-July.  I definitely felt some major sadness (and sleep deprivation since for the three nights prior, you barely slept) the first day I left you, but thanks to wonderful coworkers, I was welcomed back at my office with much support.  It felt good to reconnect with the part of myself that is fulfilled by my job.  And Papa was incredibly compassionate; he sent me lots of photos of you and made me feel like I was still a part of your day.  Shockingly, when I returned home after work, I put you to bed and you slept through the night.  Fully.  From 9pm - 6am.  With no waking to be held or fed.  We couldn't believe it!  Since then, you've continued to be a pretty solid sleeper.  You'll still fuss, cry, and wake up several times between 8:30 and 11pm, but after that you sleep consistently until the morning. 

The fact that I'm not home with you every day is made easier knowing you and Papa have three months of quality time (and warmer weather) together.  I appreciate having a job I enjoy and because I do, I come home to you excited, energized, and wanting to make the most of our precious hours together.  Still, I miss you and worry about what I'll miss during the 50 hours a week I'm not by your side.  I hope someday we'll figure out a way to have more balance.

A few days ago we celebrated my first Mama's Day.  It was a beautiful opportunity for me to reflect on our four months together.  There are few ways for me to explain and describe how good it feels to play with you, cuddle you, and hold you in my arms.  You have expanded my heart.  I feel so lucky, so grateful, so blessed that after so many months and years of dreaming of you, you are finally here.

With love,
Your Mama      

Letter to Peanut at 3 Months

Dear Peanut,

Today marks the end of your "fourth trimester," those precious first few months as you adjust to life outside the womb.  You're no longer a tiny, sleepy newborn.  When I look at you, I see a rapidly growing, bright, alert kid, intent on taking in and observing the world. 

During your waking hours, you keep your eyes open wide and are very focused on looking at everything within view; the frames on the walls, the toys in your crib, the cats on the couch, the stores and people in the neighborhood.  You crane your head back as far as you can to see what's above and behind you.  Your curiosity thrills and fascinates me.  You are holding your head up well (though tummy time still makes you grumpy), babbling and cooing, and kicking your legs while you're on your back.  You can lift your legs up to a 90 degree angle - and you do, often.

You are now - tah dah! - mostly sleeping through the night, typically from 11:30pm - 7:00am.  What a difference a big chunk of sleep makes for us all!  Papa and I feel more well-rested, and you, too, seem to wake up smiling wider and feeling calmer than before.  We're no longer swaddling you since you seem to prefer your arms wild and flailing freely :)  You're also crying less and smiling more these days.  Papa and I spend many hours trying to make you laugh.  And you're allllmost there.  You can anticipate certain games and start smiling wide before we even get to the "punchline" (high squealing voice, tickling, kisses).  I'm so excited to hear your first real giggle.  You're showing signs of recognizing me and Papa more.  Sometimes when other people hold you, you look out to us both.  Sometimes your lower lip sticks out, and sometimes you cry until we are holding you again.  Papa says it's a good sign you are securely attached.  It makes me feel good to know you feel comfort and safety with us.   


This past month, we spent two weeks at Nani and Nana's house again.  They loved having such a big chunk of time with you.  During my birthday weekend, they took you out so Papa and I could go on a date.  I cried when you left - it was the longest time we had been apart since you were born - six hours.  But you were fine, and Papa and I enjoyed dinner and a movie together (though we talked about you the whole time).  We also took you to my office this month and you had a chance to meet my boss and colleagues, all of whom were so eager to see you.  You and I also spent our first day in the park together last week when it was a blissful eighty degrees.  You seemed to enjoy the fresh air and spent long hours observing the trees and grass.   

Peanut, next week I will be going back to work full time.  Papa will be starting his parental leave and spending the next three months with you.  I am looking forward to being back at the office again; I enjoy my work and colleagues, and miss that part of my life.  I'm looking forward to the routine and structure of my work days.  At the same time, I am feeling sadness, guilt, anxiety, and grief about leaving you.  We may never have this kind of uninterrupted time together again.  I am worried and anxious about breastfeeding you less often.  I will miss cuddling you, talking with you, and playing with you throughout the day.  I am sad about missing the little things, and scared about missing the big things.  I wonder how the changes will affect you, and I feel guilty about having to put you through such a big transition at such a young age. 

I know Papa is super excited to get to know you better and to enjoy taking you out during the sunny, warm spring and summer days.  It will be a big change for us all, and we will all learn new skills and develop new tools in the process.  In the meantime, I'm looking forward to one more sweet week together.

Love,
Your Mama

Windows of Opportunity

While I was pregnant, S read some article somewhere about how during the first few unpredictable months of life with a newborn, it's important to take advantage of "windows of opportunity" - those few minutes or hours here or there throughout the day when you can do something besides care for your infant.  I didn't realize how much I'd grow to anticipate these windows - or how I'd actually be using them.

I remember laughing with friends during my pregnancy about how new parents complained about not being able to take a shower.  "How was that possible?" we joked.  "Can't you shower while your baby is napping?"

Ha.  Now I know better.  Napping windows with Peanut can be as short as three minutes (very often) or as long as three hours (very rarely), but there's no way to anticipate the duration when they begin.  As soon as they do, though, I'm usually off like a lightning bolt, rushing to do one of the following mundane activities:

• Brush my teeth 
• Use the bathroom
• Take a 2 minute long shower
• Eat
• Wash a dish or two
• Open the mail and think, "oh, I should pay those bills."
• Pay those bills
• Put away the clothes that have been sitting in the laundry bag for over a week
• Catch up on Facebook emails
• Pump my still annoyingly finicky breasts

More often than not, my activity of choice is disrupted by Peanut starting to shift around in her crib, at which point I'll rush back, stick the pacifier in the mouth, and pray it will soothe her back to sleep.  More often than not, it doesn't, and sensing my presence, she'll open her eyes wide and start wailing.  And more often than not, I'll choose to cuddle her back to sleep.  Then I'll just sit with her, she, cozy and content in my arms, me, still in my pajamas, hungry, holding my bladder, and loving every minute of it.

Letter to Peanut at 2 Months

Dearest Peanut,

It is hard to believe you are already two months old!  At your two month appointment with your doctor, we learned that you weigh 10 pounds and measure 22 inches long.  That's a net gain of four pounds and four inches since you were born!  Good job growing.  Your Papa and I are always remarking about how much "sturdier" you feel - more like a kid, a less like a fragile, noodley little newborn.  You're holding your head up pretty well; in fact, every time I burp you over my shoulder, Papa and I laugh about how you make an "ET neck" - you stretch and make your neck tall and long, and open your eyes really wide.  You are totally adorable. 

Here's a summary of this past month:

• Smiling.  Oh, your smiles.  They are still less frequent than I'd hope they'd be (you, like your mother, are a great frowner.)  But when you share them with us, our hearts melt.  You smile when we talk to you in a high pitched voice, when we tickle your chin, and when you're playing with your toys.  Your first really intentional smile was on Sunday, March 3.  Your uncle did a great job of capturing it on video!
• Playing.  One of your favorite toys right now is a blue stuffed elephant holding a rattle and plastic rings.  You have learned to bat at it when it's hanging by your side and it makes you smile, make happy, loud babbling sounds, and kick your legs with gusto.  You've learned how to make the elephant move with your hands and will play with it for up to 30 minutes at a time.  You also love watching your mobile.  It's such a joy to see you so happy.
• Sleeping.  At seven weeks, we decided the chaos of nighttime feeding and waking and rocking were just not working.  So we started you on a bedtime routine.  We start by feeding you between 7:00 and 8:00pm, then massage you with almond oil, give you a warm bath, dress you, read you a bedtime story, and put you to bed by 9:00pm.  The first three nights, you only woke once at around 3:00am and slept for 5-6 hours at a time.  It was amazing.  And then things kind of fell apart.  You just love being held, bounced and cuddled, little one, so even when you only woke once or twice, it took several hours to get to you actually go to - and stay - asleep.  We're still working on figuring out what helps you sleep quickly and for longer periods of time.   
• Feeding.  At five weeks, we began bottle-feeding you a bit.  It kind of broke my heart at first to see you sucking on a rubber nipple.  I felt like I was betraying you.  You gagged and it seemed like the milk was flowing way too fast.  But you quickly learned how to manage the flow and now go back and forth between the breast and the bottle pretty seamlessly. 
• Soothing.  Same thing with the pacifier.  I cried the first time I introduced the paci.  Until that point, you hadn't had anything in your mouth but my breasts and your own hands.  But it was 4:00am, and I was desperate.  You were crying and unable to sleep, I was totally exhausted after two hours of trying to help you close your eyes.  It didn't help much that night.  Now, it's a wonderful tool.  It helps calm you in stressful moments and on some nights, helps you fall asleep.  It thankfully has not affected the way you breastfeed at all.
• Traveling.  You took your first trip to the city on the train, Peanut, and since then you and I have had much more mobility.  We've gone to a coffee shop, to my postpartum doctor appointment, and have been walking around the neighborhood pretty often.  You're a great traveler - meaning you usually sleep the whole time, whether in the car seat, stroller or carrier!  We spent two weeks at Nana and Nani's house, which was great.  It helped me heal and get emotionally and physically stronger.  As a result, I felt better equipped to take care of you.  We also took a bunch of trains to go meet some of Papa's family - your Tio and oldest cousin - who were in the area for a weekend.  They were so thrilled to finally meet you.

At your two month check-up, you received five different vaccinations.  You handled them like a champ, but it was so hard for me to see you in pain, even for a few seconds.  I was crying by your side.  Afterwards, you were understandably cranky and tired all day long, so we cuddled a lot.  It helped make us both feel calmer and more connected.  I love love love feeling you sleep on my shoulder and chest.  If I could, I would hold you all the time like I did on that day.

I love you immensely, my dear Peanut.  I'm looking forward to spending another month together.

Love,
Your Mama

Angels

Today is the four year anniversary of my beloved grandmother's death. I thought about her today, often. I called my mother to see how she was doing. I texted my uncle, aunt and cousins to let me know I was thinking of them on my grandmother's "angel anniversary," (a term coined by my uncle). My aunt texted me back:

"Thinking of you, too. Just got back from jk [the prayer hall]. Prayed for her and took some sufro [a food offering] for her. The show must go on...with new angels like Peanut coming in. Love ya loads."

My heart was in my throat. Even now, a couple years after my extended family has come around and (sort of) welcomed S into their lives, it surprises me to hear such warmth and validation from people who at one time said such ugly and queerphobic/transphobic words to me. It helps to heal my heart just a little bit. It makes me hope that maybe my grandmother might be giving little Peanut her love and blessings, too.

Train ride

It was a big day for me and Peanut.  We had an experience that I've dreading since even before I was pregnant, so the fact that it all went so smoothly makes me feel like a superhero urban parent with a champion kid.

Today, we rode the train together into the city and back.  AND we took the bus.  Two modes of city transportation in one day with a seven week old.  In the icy wind and snow.

For years I've been so scared of the idea of navigating public transportation with a kid.  In my head, it would be a horrific experience trying to manage a screaming infant, avoid being pushed around by around a bunch of rude, oblivious, and uncaring city folk, and carry a bulky stroller up and down the train stairs on my own.  Instead, Peanut slept soundly.  Both ways.  People gave me seats on the train and smiled at Peanut.  And I took her out in a baby carrier, so I avoided the stroller trauma.  All in all, it was a positive, empowering experience.

Granted, the circumstances were ideal.  Peanut's doctor appointment was in the middle of the day, so we didn't have to travel during rush hour.  And she's still little enough for me to wear her comfortably.  Still, the fact that I managed to time her feedings around our travel times, I was calm and patient with myself throughout our travels, and even managed to stop by a bodega to grab a little egg and cheese on a bagel lunch for myself en route made me feel like a rockstar.  Things went so well I almost considered going shopping for a bit after the appointment, but decided not to push my luck.

I didn't manage to get comfortable enough to breastfeed her in public (I brought along a pumped bottle of milk and fed her in the doctor's office before heading back home).  And I couldn't figure out how to go to the bathroom since I had no place to put her.  We'll address those challenges another time.  For now, the opportunity to ride the train and visit the city for the first time since Peanut was born was gratifying enough.  It made me feel more like myself than I have in a long time.

Saturday (1/12)

(Peanut's birth story, Part 1 of 3)

S and I woke up early on this gray January morning geared up for a long and busy day.  Over breakfast, we made a to-do list for the weekend, which mostly included things like "grocery shop to stock freezer," "buy a diaper pail" and "decorate nursery."  So much to do before baby arrives!  All of which would have to happen on Sunday.  We quickly showered and left the apartment to walk to a local church that was holding a blood drive.  It took S a little over an hour to donate.  I waited for him at the snack table and stared at the piles of animal crackers and pretzels, willing myself not to sneak anything into my pocket or my mouth.

We rushed home, scarfed down a bite to eat, then walked to our local yoga studio.  Earlier this week, I had learned they were offering a workshop about nurturing relationships using hands and touch.  I thought it might be a good exercise for S and I to attend together to help us connect and have some couple time before baby arrived, and also to prepare us to support one another in the birthing process.  I am generally pretty uncomfortable with touch and massage, so a formal workshop seemed like the perfect way to open myself up to receiving nurturing and care from S.  We spent two hours sharing a space with our neighbors, mostly young queer-identified folks, touching our partner's faces, shoulders, necks, and feet.  It was easy for me to massage S; he challenged me to receive.  At one moment, he told me he would continue touching my shoulders and chest instead of switching off and having me touch his.  My eyes filled with tears. 

"No!" I whispered sharply.  "It's my turn to massage you.  It's not fair to be so one-sided."  He pushed back gently.

"I'm happy to do it.  Really.  Let me take care of you for a few minutes longer."  My emotions caught me by surprise.  He had been rubbing his hands over my heart for several minutes, and had clearly opened up some vulnerable space inside me.  I pulled myself together, frowning, and finally agreed.

We rushed back home after the workshop, processing what we had experienced as we walked.  I was mostly focused on the fact that we only had an hour to get home, eat, and head back out to meet friends for dinner.  We had just pulled together a mini lunch when S got a phone call.  An old friend of his was in the neighborhood with her husband and young baby, and she wanted to drop off some baby clothes for us.  We welcomed her over, leaving our untouched sandwiches and soup on the kitchen table.

S's friend walked into our living room carrying their tiny brown baby in a car seat.  I felt something stir inside me.  He was so small!  At 10 weeks old, the adorable baby boy looked to me so close to how I imagined our own baby might look.  I kept staring at his little face and thinking, "ok, now I get it.  We are going to have a real, live baby, just like this one... so soon!"  The teeny tiny baby clothes she passed on to us seemed almost too small for a human baby to wear.

After S's friend left, we scarfed down our now-cold lunch and ran off to the train.  At this point, we were running late and I was pretty tired, but our friends had very generously offered to meet up with us in a neighborhood fairly close to our apartment, so we didn't have to go far.  We started with Thai food at 4pm, gabbed for hours and hours, and ended with coffee at 11pm.  We spent a good chunk of the evening talking about our hopes and dreams for life with our little one.  When we exchanged goodbye hugs in the train station, there was excitement and nervousness in the air.  We knew the next time we saw each other, our little one would be here.
 
S and I were walking home from the train station arm in arm when I suddenly began to feel pain in my lower abdomen.  "Ay, babe," I said.  "I'm having those menstrual-type cramps again.  They're really strong!"  I asked him to slow down a bit, and I clenched my teeth as we rounded the corner to our apartment building.  And just like that, the cramps disappeared.  "It's such a weird feeling," I remarked.  "I guess my body is preparing to give birth!"

We snuggled into bed together and continued to talk, still wound up from our activity-laden day.  "I feel like everything we did today was really good for us," S said.

"Yeah, it was a really good day," I agreed.  "It's going to feel good to get everything off our to-do list tomorrow, too!"

Letter to Peanut at One Month

Dearest Peanut,

Today is Valentine's Day, and today you are one month old!  Learning to be your parent has been an experience full of questions, fears and challenges, and yet, you have made it all so easy in some ways, so worthwhile.  Every day I spend time just staring at (and kissing) your beautiful face while feeling so grateful, so blessed, so amazed that you are actually here on this earth creating family with me and your papa. 

Peanut, you are an very chill little person.  You have a calm energy and presence.  Even when you're trying to communicate a need with us - you're hungry, you have belly pains, you need a diaper change, you're sleepy - you do it in a way that makes it feel possible for us to figure it out instead of making us feel panicked or overwhelmed.  Oh, you definitely know how to cry; in fact, you've got quite a set of lungs on you, and your voracious cries can go from zero to sixty in just a moment.  Especially when we change your diaper right before nursing - you clearly hate to wait! 

At one month, you are able to lift your head (you've got a surprisingly strong neck, kid - and you use it to lift your head up from our shoulders when you're fussy, or to resist binding when we try to put you in a sling), to look at and follow objects we hold near your face, to hold our gazes, to coo and make all kinds of little grunting noises.  You love to listen to music, and definitely pay attention when we play songs for you or sing to you to help you relax.  Here are some of the songs we've loved singing to you this past month:

• You Are My Sunshine
• Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star
• Make You Feel My Love
• Somewhere Over the Rainbow

When you sleep, you make the sweetest and funniest faces and noises.  You have a strong internal clock and wake up to nurse every three hours on the dot, except at night.  That's when you nurse every four to five hours.  Thank you for that.  Even though it takes at least two hours of rocking, singing, shushing, bouncing, walking, and struggling to help you to fall back asleep at night, the fact that I can rest for a bit once you do finally go down is a big help.  You still spend most days sleeping, but have started to hang out with us, alert and awake, for a couple hours each day.

Sweet baby, my heart bursts with love and emotion when I carry you in my arms, when I feel your sleepy head rest on my shoulder, when you look at me with wide eyes and can clearly recognize who I am.  You've made me cry with joy on more than one occasion - and I'm not someone who typically expresses emotion easily.  You've stretched my heart in wonderful and unexpected ways.  I have never felt the kind of love, protectiveness, compassion, and patience I have felt in my relationship with you.  Thank you for a beautiful thirty days.

With love,
Your Mama

Boobs

Throughout my life, my boobs have been a source of stress and self-consciousness for me because they've felt so disproportionally large on my small body.  When I got pregnant, they got even larger, and once my milk came in they grew so huge that even the enormous nursing bras I got just a few weeks before giving birth (read: I didn't know that bra sizes existed in those letters of the alphabet) are too small.  Needless to say, having discomfort and pain during these past few weeks has made me resent my boobs even more than I did when I was struggling to find t-shirts that fit or having back pain before pregnancy.  I'm awaiting the day when I'm done breastfeeding any kids S and I have so I can get breast-reduction surgery and perhaps have a more comfortable relationship with my chest.

For now, I'm simply working on finding a way to be at peace with my boobs for the purpose of nourishing Peanut.  I met with the lactation consultant for a few hours yesterday. It was a good meeting, one that made me feel more hopeful and optimistic about a reduction of my pain.  The current diagnosis is that I have a circulatory issue - a constricting of my blood vessels that causes vasospasms.  Add to that a heavy let-down which causes P to clamp down when she's nursing, and there's the formula for a painful breastfeeding experience. Treatment is basically keeping my body and nipples as warm as possible, including using a heating pad for 10-15 minutes after each nursing session to help my blood vessels dilate. I should also feed P while laying back or laying down to help slow down the milk flow and hopefully reduce clamping.

So I spent all day today focused on the wellness of my boobs. Between nursing sessions I ran back and forth to the microwave, obsessively heating up pads to tuck into my bra to keep my nipples warm.  If I let P go more than three hours between nursing sessions, my boobs became painfully engorged, so I was obsessing about keeping her on the clock, too.  Sometimes nursing was still excruciatingly painful, sometimes it was less so.  Sometimes I started crying before P even latched on in anticipation of the pain.  I frequently thought about pumping and bottle-feeding as an escape from the drama.  By the end of the day, I was physically and emotionally drained, and angrier at my boobs than ever. 

I'm trying to trust that my experience will get better.  When it's good, I truly enjoy the connection I feel with Peanut while nursing, and I'm definitely still committed to breastfeeding her.  I'm just exhausted and frustrated.  This shouldn't be so hard.

Life at Three Weeks Old

Things I am loving about life with Peanut, who is now three weeks old:

• Breastfeeding.  I absolutely love the ritual and opportunity to be close to Peanut, to know that my body is producing the milk that nourishes her and helps her grow bigger and stronger every day.  I love holding her in my arms, looking at her eyes, stroking her head, feeling her little body against my body, watching her fall asleep using my breast or my arm as a pillow.  The look of fullness and contentment on her face as her eyes grow heavy with sleep after nursing fills my heart up.

• Cuddling.  Peanut spends more hours awake at three weeks old than she did during the first two.  Sometimes she's content to just lie back in her crib, look around, and make little cooing noises.  Other times, she wants to be held.  When I walk her around, carry her in a sling, cuddle her, talk to her, and sing to her, she now looks at my face and holds my gaze for minutes at a time.  It's a totally blissful and emotional experience to connect and communicate with her in a way that I couldn't even a week ago.  When she falls asleep on my chest I don't want to put her down.

Things I find challenging:

• Breastfeeding.  While things started out okay, during the past week breastfeeding has become an excruciatingly painful activity.  I'm nursing Peanut every 2-3 hours and I'm lucky if I don't cry every time she latches on.  My nipples are so sore that they throb between feedings.  I can't comfortably carry Peanut around, take a shower without keeping my back to the water, and I'm basically dreading having to feed her.  I finally decided to suck it up and find a lactation consultant because I just can't manage the pain any longer, and from what I've read, nursing shouldn't feel so bad.  I hope the consultant will help me figure out how to resolve whatever issues are going on.  

• Being home.  All the time.  It's winter, there's a flu epidemic, Peanut is under a month old, her immune system is weak, I should be resting for forty days postpartum... lots of reasons to stay cooped up indoors.  And still, it's making me frustrated and grumpy to be stuck in my own dark cave-like apartment day in and day out.  Even with occasional walks to the store and visitors coming by, being stuck indoors and bound to an exhausting infant care routine has taken a toll on my emotional wellness.  S and I talked about it and decided I should go spend a week at my parents' place soon so I get a change of scene and some company/support.     

Overall, things are going really well.  Peanut is a (knock on wood) pretty chill baby so far, so even in her fussiest moments, S and I have been managing to figure out how to meet her needs without too much of a struggle.  Having S's support when he comes home from work and on the weekends has been a huge blessing; he's a devoted, amazing parent and partner, and truly makes the experience of caring for Peanut more enjoyable and manageable for me.  Most days I simply stare at her and think, "I can't believe I'm a parent.  I can't believe this is my kid.  I can't believe I'm responsible for the care and well-being of this beautiful little person!"  I'm enjoying the opportunity to nurture and spend time with her and to witness how she is growing and developing each day.     

Reintegration

On Monday, January 14th, my life was forever changed.  On that day, our little one was born.  Just shy of six pounds and utterly adorable, the hospital staff referred to her as, "Peanut" throughout our two-day stay.  I'll continue referring to her by the moniker, or "P," on this blog. 
  
I've been working on writing her birth story with hopes of posting the events of the past few weeks chronologically.  But I've fallen behind.  There are so many things I've been experiencing as a new parent, so much about which I've wanting to write, and the days keep slipping away into timeless cycles of nursing, changing, rocking, and sleeping.  Today I decided to forget chronology.  I'm going to go ahead and start posting again, and will work on finishing the pending entries when I can.  Here's where I am today. 

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

With the exception of two car service trips to the pediatrician, I haven't left our apartment at all in two weeks.  Not even to step outside the building and breathe the frigid city air.  I've been living in a secure little indoor bubble with Peanut.  While it's been fun getting to know her and quite a privilege to have the time and space to adjust to life as a parent, I have become increasingly stir-crazy.  Not doing anything remotely related to my "regular" life - working, walking, taking the subway, having dinner with friends, running errands - has only reinforced the bubble and made me feel like I'm living in some alternate reality.  My life as a parent hasn't yet connected with the rest of my life at all.  I've subsequently been in a weird emotional space where despite the fact that my life is entirely changed, time feels oddly suspended.

Tonight, when S came home from work, I left P with him and walked to the grocery store in a first step toward reintegration.  The store is only five blocks away, but it was the first time I walked anywhere at all since giving birth, and it felt like a huge accomplishment to make it there.  Given that I'm still recovering from the delivery, am in pain, and am pretty slow-moving, I walked at about half my typical pace, meaning that I was constantly in the way of pushy commuters and rambunctious children on the sidewalk.  It was a scary experience.  I did my best to avoid getting shoved while simultaneously reminding myself to breathe and release tension in my body every few steps.  Step, step, breathe, lower shoulders.  Step, step, breathe, move neck from side to side. 

I finally made it to the store and walked the familiar path down the aisles.  Past the organic fruit and vegetables, through the shelves of bread and cheese, over to the tea and tortilla chips.  Though I was walking excruciatingly slowly and my maternity coat was hanging shapelessly off my non-pregnant frame, I felt as if nothing in my life had changed.  Scooping rolled oats from the bulk bin into a plastic bag, it was hard to remember that I'm a parent, and that everything is different.  I was simply back in my "regular life" compartment.  Even though I couldn't have even been at the store without having S available to care for P at home.   

As I handed my purchases to the cashier at the store, she looked at me and exclaimed, "did you have your baby?!"
"Yes," I smiled.
"I thought I didn't see a belly any longer!" she said.  "What did you have?"
"A girl," I replied.
"Oooh, congrats.  That was fast!  Even though it probably didn't feel that way to you."

On the contrary, I thought.  It was fast.  In the blink of an eye I got pregnant, grew a baby, and birthed her.  I anticipate this precious time on parental leave will go by even faster.  It won't be cold January forever, P will grow bigger and stronger and I'll be able to take her outside for walks and eventually, even to the grocery store and on the subway.  Reintegration will happen and I will have the opportunity to be a parent with a full life both inside and outside our apartment.  I imagine I'll even think back to this weird bubble-time somewhat wistfully, wishing I could have more opportunities to be stashed away with P for days on end, just she and I, cuddling and singing and gazing at one another in awe.  For now, I'll welcome the little chances I can get to step outside, breathe the air, and stretch my limbs and brain cells just a bit.     

New Year's Rituals

Since I've been with S, New Year's Eve has become one of my more favorite holidays of the year.  I love new beginnings, fresh starts, opportunities to revisit old goals and set new intentions.  Typically, S's mom spends the holiday season with us in the city, so we usually take her out dancing at a low-key venue with salsa music.  Without the pressure to have to find some fabulous party or over the top way to ring in the new year, the occasion has really become simply an opportunity to spend time together, and for reflection and ritual.

This year, S's mom postponed her visit until after our little one is here.  So the two of us went about marking the occasion a little differently.  We began our preparations for 2013 over the weekend, by scrubbing down our house.  We cleaned out the freezer and sorted through the piles of baby stuff we've accumulated during the past few months.   On New Year's Eve, we started the evening by doing some of S's mom's favorite activities in the city, including visiting a famous Christmas tree, getting champagne truffles, checking out the holiday storefront windows, and going to a gorgeous cathedral to light some candles and say a few prayers.

We spent the later part of the evening having dinner with friends, and at midnight we ended up watching fireworks at a local park.  In a new ritual for me, our friends provided us each with 12 grapes, and instructed us to eat each one in the first 12 seconds after midnight while making a wish for each month of the new year.  It was fun to challenge myself to conjure up a different wish for each grape.  They mostly came to me in the form of single words.  I was overwhelmed with excitement, knowing that 2013 will be the year that we will begin our journey into parenthood.

On New Year's Day, we welcomed another new tradition when we cooked and ate a delicious dinner of black eyed peas with brown rice, kale and beets, a meal that is supposed to bring prosperity and wealth.  We capped off the week with our third annual new year's decadent pancake breakfast with one of our dearest friends in the city.

We constructed a start to the year with many, many opportunities to put wishes and hopes and dreams out in to the universe.  Maybe that's because there is so much uncertainty in our lives right now, so much anticipation and excitement and fear and a lack of clarity about what our lives will look like in just a few weeks.  I have no idea how my birth process will go, what will happen when our child emerges into the world, how being parents will impact us as individuals and as a couple, what it will be like to reconfigure our identities and our schedules and our priorities.  All I really anticipate is our lives are soon to be flipped upside down.  Even ordinary things like going to the grocery store or making plans to grab coffee with a friend won't look the same.

I'm ready for my life to change, and have been for many years.  So many of the parents I talk to tell me that being a parent is an amazing, hard and wonderful experience.  I'm ready to grow, I'm ready to be challenged and stretched in 2013.  Hopefully all those wishes we sent out will be there to protect us in the process.  

Full Term

Yesterday marked another pregnancy milestone.  I am 37 weeks pregnant.  Full-term.  I'm grateful to have made it to the point where our baby will now more likely be able to easily adjust to life outside my body.  It brings me much relief.

At 37 weeks, I'm having weekly appointments with my OB.  Yesterday's appointment confirmed that my cervix is still closed.  I'm feeling some mild cramping throughout the day - not quite Braxton Hicks contractions, more like menstrual cramps.  I'm continuing to sleep pretty well, am peeing ALL the time, and between heartburn/nausea and my stomach being pretty compressed, I'm having a hard time eating.  Still trying to get through with small meals and snacks throughout most of the day.

I feel huge.  Now when I rub my hands over my hard belly, all I can feel is limbs.  Baby body parts, pressed up tightly against the sides of my gigantic uterus.  When the baby moves, I feel less of a kicking motion and more of a hard poking.  Sometimes my belly looks lopsided.  It's kind of hilarious to envision our little one all cramped up inside.  It makes me think about our almost 5-year old godchild, who arrived two weeks past his due date.  When you ask him why he came out so late, he says, "it was cozy in there!"  I hope our little one is feeling cozy, too.

I'm starting to imagine what it will feel like to look at our baby for the first time.  To feel his or her skin on my skin.  To hear him or her cry.  I wonder what it will feel like to hold our baby.  I've always felt uncomfortable and nervous holding other people's babies, but I have no fears about holding my own.  I think I will be able to do it with some degree of confidence.  I'm eager to kiss our little baby's head, to rock him or her in my arms, to feel the little hands and little feet.  Until now, these things have all felt pretty theoretical.  They still do, in some ways.  But our baby shows up in my imagination more concretely now then even a week ago.  I'm starting to feel ready.