McPal Wedding

So earlier this month my dear friends, McPal and his fiance (HUSBAND!) got married. I'm not one of those people who complain about weddings or who hates attending them. I adore weddings and this was a very special one. It's so amazing when your friends get married. They are your chosen family.

Neither of their parents attended, though. Yeah, it's the year 2014 and still there are people out there for cultural or religious reasons who allow their culture and religion to deny their children unconditional love. I've been thinking a lot about that lately.

Jack could be gay. He could marry a man one day. He's just a baby, so who he is deep down inside is a mystery. That area of his personhood is unknown. But if he's gay then it's already written into the fabric of who he'll be. And if he is, I can't imagine either A. not attending his wedding over that and B. viewing it as a negative thing in the first place.

My mom, when I was growing up, told my brother and I that if we were gay, she'd love us but also that she'd be sad because it's a harder life to live. Had she lived, she'd have been there are my wedding, no matter who I married. She'd have celebrated and shared our joy and toasted her glass. With a mother like her, being gay wouldn't have been hard for us as it is for others. There would have been no rejection from the person who's supposed to love you most.

I was the first person McPal came out to. I was not a close friend at the time and like so many before him, I was a good practice come-out. I was safe. He knew my views, and I wasn't a big part of his life. It really was an honour, though, and I think it's what really and truly kickstarted our friendship. And it means a lot to me that a meaningful friendship was ignited over an important shared experience where I could be the sort of friend that was needed.

And from that day to his wedding day, it's been wonderful to watch my friend grow into who he's supposed to be, and marry the person he's supposed to marry (Who really is quite a catch). And though nothing can really make up for the parental abandonment in this case, I hope they felt blanketed by their friends' support and good wishes. They're a very popular couple, and with good reason. Everyone loves them.

Having become a mother, myself, I don't understand their parents. I just don't get it. I wish their parents could see what they're missing. If I don't go to Jack's wedding it'll be because I'm dead or something. I can't think of another good reason to miss it.

If life gives you beautiful sons, you don't toss them aside. It goes against nature. So ultimately, it's their loss.

Dreams

Jack was unwell when I picked him up from daycare yesterday, and he had a fever. So today he's home with me, after a grand total of six work shifts.

On my second week back to work, six days total under my belt. And my baby got a fever at daycare and now I need time off. #mommyproblems
— Jennifer Allan (@jendraberri) March 19, 2014

He's getting some much-needed sleep right now. I was thinking about how some people have their parents to rely on in times like this. My work is good about accommodating this kind of thing, but it doesn't make me feel like a good employee to need time off this soon. But he needs me, so here I am. And, honestly, I'm the best person to make sure he sleeps and drinks enough.

But thinking about not having my mom gave me one of my old dreams, the one where she's still alive.

Normally they fall along a certain pattern. I find out she's not dead yet, but she's left me anyway, to go live her life somewhere else, to die away from me after doing things on her own first. I chase what feels like a shadow, look for clues, ask others, beg for a phone number, anything. I always wake up before I find her.

This time was a little different. She did leave, but now she's better and wants to see me. I'm so excited, and I'm trying to get to her, trying to dial a phone that won't work, be where I'm supposed to be with obstacle after obstacle in my way.  I get messages and encouragement. And my son is alive in this dream. She wants to meet him. Everything is going to be better.

And then just like that, it's crushed. She faked her death, so I can't see her or the life insurance will sue. She won't see me. She goes back into hiding. I get to see a picture. She's happy. I know she loves me. And I wake up.

These dreams would haunt me more if they weren't the only opportunity I get to see her. And at least this time she wanted to see me back.

First Week Of Daycare

Jack has spent a week at daycare. He's eaten his weight in food, dropped a bottle from his daily feed and is not taking much in the way of naps.

Home after a busy day of daycare.

The eating part I'm feeling pretty great about. He's nearly a year old. Moving away from formula is a good move. The sleep part worries me. I've been so militant about it, going well out of my way to ensure he sleeps enough. But it's hard on him being somewhere new and trying to sleep there.

This weekend he stumbled around like a drunk, exhausted even after naps. He slept in. And today he had a leaky eye, runny nose and I got a call that he started running a mild temperature. He'd napped only an hour all day. He barely wanted dinner, so I did his bath routine 45 minutes early. And he's been waking up every 30 to 90 minutes with a cough or cry. Poor pumpkin.

And poor me.

You know, what's hard about being a parent isn't necessarily the extra labour. It's often the unknown variables you deal with. It's the lack of a support system when you're living away from most of your family. It's wondering how you balance your work obligations with your baby's needs. It's all the mental and emotional space your baby takes up in your mind and your heart.

Like right now, what do I do? He's wetting one fewer diapers than normal. Is it because he's sick? I don't want to wake him, but is his temperature staying steady? Was it the right thing to put him to bed early, or does that have anything to do with his restless sleep? These little choices feel so large.

I'm liking being back at work, but when Jack isn't feeling well, I don't want him away from me. I think he'll get better faster in my care. And I don't want to take time off work my second week back. He went till nine months without so much as a sniffle, and he's had three colds since, which actually lines up nicely with the increase in trips to the Early Years Centres and daycare. Sigh.

I wouldn't go back, but that doesn't mean there isn't a part of me that wistfully recalls my simpler life, which I didn't even appreciate as being simple. I can admit I struggle with certain aspects of domesticity, and throwing another person's needs into the mix at times feels daunting.

With him feeling under the weather, I feel no sense of predictability about tomorrow. At least this whole night has not been spent with him crying. Some sleep is happening. Maybe the morning will be okay. Maybe.

God, I'm lucky he's an easy baby. Jack is not the baby I deserve, but he is the baby I need.

End of Maternity Leave

I'm at the end of my mat leave. My last day was February 23, 2013. I took a little vacay, mat leave began on March 1, and bolstered by a little more vacay, I'm due back at work on Tuesday. Jack starts daycare on Monday.

Friday was the last real day, where I had my baby all to myself while the Dude was at work. And it was a really great day. In fact, I had a really good week. Jack had been kind of sick for two weeks, so we didn't do much for awhile. But last week was really lovely.

Monday the Dude took the day off and we went to the subsidy office.

Tuesday I took Jack to an Early Years Centre in the morning.

Wednesday I took Jack to an Early Years Centre in the afternoon.

Thursday a mom friend came over with her little boy in the afternoon for a nice visit.

Friday I took Jack for a long walk after a day of him eating plenty and taking great naps.

So, it's ending on a high note. The notes haven't all been high, but now that my leave is ending I realize just how much I'll miss it. It's an era of my life that's over. I watched my baby grow and it's been a sweet time.

Deep down, I guess I used to feel like parents had some sort of protocol or idea of what they're doing... but we're all really just flying kind of blind. I made everything up as I went, Googling, asking my doctor and other moms for information, and now I feel like I've got some sort of handle on it all. And just in time to go back to work and do things I'm completely rusty at.

I was rocking Jack in the glider yesterday evening as I fed him his last bottle of the day and I had a little cry. Very soon that time of the day is going to really matter more to me than ever before. At the end of a day of work, I'm going to have to get as much out of our time together as I can, all two hours of it.

The Dude and Jack have a great relationship, and sometimes the Dude doesn't even get to see Jack at the end of the day, though when he does he says it's amazing quality time. So I can't be afraid of our connection going anywhere. I was raised with daycare and was very attached to my mother.

It's just I don't think I'm fully ready for it to be over. That's all. If I could just have one more month, maybe, or two. There's so much I'm going to miss.

You know, it took me some time to adjust to being a mother, to truly fall in love with my baby and to get into a groove where I wasn't feeling inadequate. And now I'm there. But at least maternity leave did that for me. It gave me the time I needed to become confident and competent and to create a relationship with my son. I can't imagine what American mothers go through, leaving their babies at 6 weeks, 12 weeks... I had over 11 months and that still doesn't feel like enough.

But here we are. I'm lucky. I just have to remember that. Jack will be just fine, and soon so will I.

We'll still have Sundays.

End Of Maternity Leave Musings

10 days and no post?!

Well, Jack has had a runny nose and in the cold with its leakiness, I haven't much left the house with him. I took him for a doctor's appointment yesterday in the freeeeezing cold. During nap time. So I left early and walked there so he could nap in the stroller. That's love, man. But what was it all for? Nothing, really. He has a virus, non-contagious and even though it's last TWO WEEKS, it just has to run its course.

And I have one week left of maternity leave and this is how it gets spent.

I find myself really realizing what makes parenthood so challenging. It's not the loss of time, although that is an adjustment. It's not the new daily tasks you must perform, even though they're time sucks.

It's the not knowing how to do things.

It's wondering how to handle a baby when you've never cared for one and he's crying at night, even though he always sleeps through, and you don't know what his damage is this evening and maybe he needs Tylenol for teething (Is he teething?) or a bottle (Why is he hungry at 11 pm AND 5 am?)

It's wondering if he really should be eating purees still, and how are you going to manage dinner when mat leave is over because you never know what time your husband will get off work but your baby starts his bath routine at 6:30 and you won't even have him home till 5:00 after not seeing him all day, so make dinner?!

Should my baby be pointing? He's clapping and waving, but pointing is not happening. What do you mean 11-month-old babies can speak words? Does bababababa or dadadada count? He's walking everywhere! That's early? Why did he have to be advanced in the one area that makes life harder?! No, he's not using a spoon. He's gagging and vomiting if he doesn't care for the texture of what he's eating.

It's an endless sea of questions you don't have the answers to. You're enclosed in a dome of shoulds.

And now with barely no time at all left in my leave, I find myself almost mentally throwing in the towel. The daycare will help him now. I've done all I can, all I know how to do. I need to outsource some of this.

And of course it'll lead to other concerns: Is he getting enough attention? Is he eating enough at daycare? Sleeping enough? What's he doing now?

Sigh. Ambivalence.

It takes up a lot of mental space. It's the largest emotional investment I've ever made. I'm never done; there's always more issues and development and cleaning and mobility ahead.

I'm starting to forget life before Jack. Not intellectually. I recall lazy Sundays and brunch, going out for a movie in the evening, dinner invites on a whim, my friend's houses, quick travel. What I only vaguely recall is the lack of responsibility. I've acclimatized to being truly needed, physically depended on for life and survival. It's a part of my daily mentality. There's no going back.

And with that comes the sense all the shit I do now really matters. And it kind of does. Think about going home and eating dinner and talking to someone. Now what's for dinner plays into a child's growth and nutrition. The way I speak models language and behaviour. The way I interact with my husband around my baby teaches about relationships and communication. The toys I provide and the places I take him are opportunities for learning through play.

And these are everyday considerations.

Motherhood is not coal mining hard. It's not air traffic control hard. It's not being an astronaut hard. It's just... hard, in an unending sort of way.

And the really messed up part of it is how if you asked me if I'd take any of it away I'd look at you like you were crazy. This hardness, it's all mine. And the Dude's. Relinquishing it is horrifying.

And yet that's what mat leave ending is kind of about on a small scale. It's going to be a dizzying amount of personal freedom, coupled by sadness, along with worry and excitement at the end of the day. It's exhausting to think about.

Independent Baby

I've been thinking a lot about how I want to raise Jack. I thought a lot about that before I had him, of course, but that was always along the lines of him being a child, and how I would react to certain things or what rules I'd have.

But having a baby makes you ask other questions, like when do I start on that path? And I think the answer I've been coming to is: as soon as possible.

For example, I want a child who can play independently. I do not envision myself as my son's manager of fun. I want to take him to the park and do as my mother did: sit on the sidelines and keep an eye out while he plays. I do not want to be one of those mothers who's actually on the playground with her child.

These days when I'm home with Jack, I try to let him sort out his own amusement as much as possible. Intermittently, I'll read him a story, pick him up and make him giggle, hand him toys, etc. But mostly, I put him on his play mat or in his bouncy seat or his jolly jumper. From there, I leave him to grab toys or roll over or bounce himself. He'll whine at me a little and I'll reassure him from where I'm sitting, and he'll go back to what he was doing.

Eventually, he'll let me know he's bored of whatever and I'll relocate him. And of course, he'll get hungry, so I'll feed him. And he naps every two hours. Between naps at some point, he'll go in my lap and we'll play together a little bit. But otherwise, the day is spent trying to encourage him to entertain himself.

And it's working, I think. I can take him places and he doesn't need me to fuss over him. I eat all my meals hot, something I was led to believe would not happen. I go to mom meet-ups and generally, I hold him in my lap and just converse with other women and he'll hang out and just listen to us talk. He'll squirm at some point and I'll put him in his stroller and he'll play with the toy attached in there and not fuss.

Either he is naturally a very mellow baby, which is totally possible, or he's learning to amuse himself. Maybe both. Right now I'm playing music on my laptop and he's in his bouncy chair just listening to it. Sometimes the Dude will play the guitar for him for up to a half hour and Jack will sit there and just watch, enthralled. I'm pretty impressed with his attention span.

I sometimes feel bad, though. I think it's hard not to internalize modern messages about "stimulation" and how motherhood is a "job". You can feel like you're supposed to always be doing something for your baby, playing with him, rocking him, talking to him, reading and so on. I've ignored these ideas because 1.  I don't think it's healthy for a child to be always reliant on others for entertainment, 2. rather than wean my child off of me as the play master, I'd rather not set myself up in that role in the first place, and 3. I know myself well enough to know I would never be able to keep up such a pace anyway.

I've been complimented on how relaxed my baby is. I've been told I'm lucky. And I totally am; I know this. But I wonder if I have any influence on the fact he's like this. I generally believe babies comes out of the womb the way they are, and his happy personality is his own. So I suppose what I'd like to know is if the way I care for him is helping create a mellow person, or if the way I take care of him is just naturally complimentary to the sort of person he is, perhaps due to similar personalities.

I'll likely never know the answer to that.

'Sup.

On Being A Baby Person

I find my feelings about babies has undergone a massive shift since having one.

I'm not inherently a baby person. I've never not liked babies. I'm not a psycho. As a human being, I've always appreciated a baby, though I've never ached to hold them or anything. I just enjoyed seeing a cute wee person in little clothes making coos. I'd hold them briefly and give them back when they fussed.

Now? I melt. A baby smiles at me and instead of feeling pleased, I fall in love a little. A baby cries and instead of hearing the noise, I think about the baby's feelings. I hear about bad things happening to babies and instead of feeling upset or indignant, I get a chill down my spine and feel like crying.

And I think it relates entirely to the fact that I consider every baby could be my baby. A baby laughs? Jack laughs! Has a cute outfit? Jack could wear that! Gets lost or abused? Oh God, that could happen to Jack!

Some people say loving a baby is what true love is. Now, I don't think that's so. It's a different kind of love than what you have for a romantic partner or your parents. Actually, and this is going to sound absurd in many ways, but it's sort of like how you love your pet.

Hear me out.

Unconditional love has no place in most relationships. There needs to be something that a person could do to lose the claim they have on your love. No one deserves to be loved by their spouse if they're cheating on and abusing them, for example. It's actually a sad state of affairs to go on loving someone who kicks your dog or calls you names.

But you love your child unconditionally. And, really, you love your pet unconditionally too, that is, if you actually love your pet and are not just keeping one for the hell of it. Because some people do that, and frankly also may have kids for the same reason.

You care for your child and it takes a long time before you get anything back in recognition. You provide for needs, spend your money and your time, worry about them when they're not around and generally do your best to give them a good life. And you do these things for your pet, too.

When people say their dog is like their child, it's a fair enough simile. No, the dog isn't a child, but in many ways it's like one. The caregiving relationship and unconditional love exists and is cherished.

What elevates loving the baby is that you expect the baby to outlive you, the baby will grow into a person who can share a love with you person to person, with words. Imagine if your beloved pet could say, "I love you"? You'd probably die of happiness.

So, I'd say the love comes from the same place, the nurturing, tug-on-the-heartstrings place where it cannot be shaken or broken, and you are fully invested in caregiving. Only it's more, it's lifelong, more involved and more personal. The intensity is greater, but the emotional place it starts from, at least for animal lovers, is the same.

So, for anyone who's ever loved an animal and becomes outraged at animal atrocities, you're really thinking, "That could have been Muffin!" And you get upset, more so than you'd be if dear Muffin never entered into your life. It's a point of reference for pain and love.

When you have a baby, it's just so. Your love for your baby puts you emotionally in other people's shoes, and you experience their joys, fears and sorrows about their babies because you know. And you can't go back to unknowing. You can't go back to where it's only hypothetical for you, where you imagine what it would be like, and then finish imagining and get on with life, because your baby is in your life and you live with that love and all it brings every day all day.

You can't imagine what something is like when it's an all-day, every-day thing. Because as soon as you're done imagining it, you're no longer properly evaluating it's effect on you because in real life there is no stopping, no breaks. Once it's happened, it can't unhappen and your heart, your mind and your life beat to different drums.

Same with pregnancy. You can't fathom constant nausea until you've experienced it because you can only imagine it for so long before you have to do other things, whereas if it's happening to you, it's unending and there is no stepping outside for a break. You live in the experience until it's done.

These are the things people try to explain and never are able to really get across. I think probably because it sounds smug, usually. "Wait till you have kids, then you'll know!" And you hear this and think, "Okay, asshole."

But remember losing your virginity. You can't go back to ignorance. It's not about hymens or anything like that, it's about knowledge and life experience. You can't unknow what you know. And that knowledge changes you. Same as with anything, like falling in love for the first time or losing a parent or nearly dying or being assaulted or saving someone's life. Certain things cause you to grow in certain directions and there's no going back. Becoming a mother is one of those things.

And unexpectedly, still without being a baby person, I'm totally now a baby person. My heart works differently.

Loving a baby means you love when he's ready for bed,
but when he's sleeping you look at pictures of him and miss him.

I Support You

World Breastfeeding Week is upon us and for those who are not raising babies, are done raising babies,  or are not in the business of caring for babies, this probably doesn't mean much. For those of us in the thick of it, it means quite a bit.

Since entering into the world of formula feeding, I've seen little support online. If I wanted to check to see if a certain mixing method was safe, I'd be faced with online opinions about how formula is poison, or how formula-fed babies only survive and not thrive, how breast is best. Not helpful. And hurtful, besides. Even my can of formula sometimes makes me feel bad.

I'm buying something I need to feed my baby
that tells me I'm making a lesser choice by buying it.

I've agonized over the way I feed Jack, slowly, very slowly letting go of breastfeeding and giving into my body's decisive stance that I would not be a source of food. I've quit the morning feedings entirely and I've stopped checking to see if I still have any milk trickling out. As far as I'm concerned, I've dried up.

Awhile ago I wrote the hospital and made a complaint about the care I received post-partum, about the stressful and too-long induction and the separation they forced on me from Jack when I had my infection, how I felt these things really damaged my ability to breastfeed. I got a response and really was able to get some of my pain out. It felt soothing.

And now there is a movement to support all mothers in how they feed their child. Breastfeeding moms who feed in public can face hardships from people who don't respect a baby's right to eat and a mom's choice to feed in a natural way ("Go to the bathroom or something. That's gross! I don't want to see that! You wouldn't poop in public, would you? So why would you breastfeed?") Formula feeding moms face criticism from people who believe everyone can and should breastfeed and feel this method is lazy and harmful to babies ("Breast is best. Breast milk is a baby's birthright. Motherhood means making sacrifices. You gave up too soon.")

The movement is I Support You. The rhetoric behind Breast Is Best has gone too far in that women who can't or don't breastfeed are being made to feel inferior. What is needed is not more promotion of breast milk, but rather support for it, real support. Where women can feel free to nurse wherever they and their babies themselves are authorized to be. Where in the hospital there are nurses and consultants who truly understand breastfeeding difficulties and how to overcome them. Where women receiving care aren't set up to fail.

But there's more. The professionals need to be able to recognize the times a mom would be better off throwing in the towel, whether she is developing postpartum depression from breastfeeding, or has insufficient glandular tissue (IGF), or a thyroid condition, or some other medical issue. These women need to feel like they have not failed. They deserve to know they are not at fault for problems beyond their control, that no amount of trying would work.

And for women who choose formula, because they understand their lives and obstacles better than outsiders do, because they've suffered sexual trauma, because they're struggling with their own concerns that are incompatible with breastfeeding, or who just cannot bear any further time spent with their bodies not being their own again.

This blanket approach to breastfeeding, that it's 100% natural and possible for all and every woman can do it is not just wrong, but getting in the way of women truly enjoying motherhood, because they're measuring their worth by their breast function. Fathers aren't treated this way. We understand they love their babies by how they care for them, that they can bond without breastfeeding, that their sacrifices don't have to include loss of bodily autonomy or perfect bodily function.

To the lactation "expert" at my hospital who said all women can breastfeed, while I was sitting there covered in hives and unable to carry my own baby post surgery: nuts to you, lady.

To the public health nurse who shamed my formula choices, feeding methods and suggested I pump every 90 minutes on top of nursing with a tube, despite healing from surgery and complications: nuts to you, lady.

To the perfect mothers out there who breastfeed with ease and can't understand why everyone else can't do the same: Nuts to you, too, though I support you in your breastfeeding and will always do so.

To the women who struggled with breastfeeding, overcame their issues and think all women should soldier through their own problems as well: Nuts to you, though I congratulate you on your success and support your right to breastfeed with pride anywhere you go.

To the women who are breastfeeding and are comfortable with their choice and the choices of others: I support you.

To the women who are pumping because their babies wouldn't latch, or their nipples needed a break, or their husbands wanted to feed the baby too, or because they're going back to work: I support you.

To the women combination feeding their babies with formula, nursing and pumped milk: Not only do I support you, but I understand you're living in the worst of both worlds. For as long as you keep this gruelling pace up, I support you. If you need to quit, I support you.

To my fellow formula feeders, for all the reasons we arrive at this place, without hesitation, I support you.

Happy World Breastfeeding Week

A Revelation

So I'm at my in-law's on the lake. This trip has been in the works for maybe a month and for the month I've been on the fence about it. I only really thought about how much I'd have to pack and getting Jack used to a new place and not having access to all my stuff.

Gorgeous evenings at the lake.

But what a great day I've had, one of the best in a long time. Having people around, family members who can lend a hand or take an interest or talk to, makes a world of difference. I'm not lonely or isolated and I'm eating normal meals at normal times. I got dressed and brushed my teeth. I can enjoy my baby.

This must be what it's like when you raise a baby around family. I'm getting a taste of what that must be like, what sort of socializing and support I'd have if my mom were alive and around. The unnatural feeling I've been having, questioning my motherhood, it's gone. After one day, I feel great. I miss the Dude, who couldn't come due to work, but other than that I don't feel drained and exhausted. Rather I feel able to properly enjoy the evening rather than recover from the day.

With the weight of loneliness lifted from me, I could really appreciate Jack and all the little things he does, like gripping toys and his giggles. Today he started rolling onto his side. It was so sweet and amazing to me to see him struggle and finally succeed, and then fine tune it. Soon he'll get himself onto his tummy. Sharing this milestone with people around me who care felt good.

It's nice to know there's nothing wrong with me, only my living situation. Staying home with a baby isn't unpleasant. Doing it alone is.

Bonding

I think I've hit my stride.

The feelings of failure and being trapped and isolated have been dissipating. I have this quickly growing awareness about my baby and his needs. I can watch him as he discovers his hands and ponders the room, and allow him to direct his own attention. When he fusses I can talk to him and engage and give him comfort. When I attend to his changing and feeding needs it's calm and pleasant. His naps are predictable and have become increasingly lengthy and less interrupted.

And I feel a sense of calm and competence. My loneliness is easing. Being alone with a baby is not the same as being alone with a pump. Without it chaining me down to my bodily failures, I've managed to get out of the house and see movies, go to cafes, go on walks, talk to other people.

I've developed pleasure in watching my son play on his mat, trying his hand at grasping things and kicking his feet. He'll pump his legs in his bouncy chair to make it bounce on his own without the need for me to do it for him. Other than meet his physical needs and reading him some books and talking to him periodically through the day, I just let him be and he is so engaged with himself and his surroundings.

I feel like I've hit my groove and I know what Jack needs from me. I feel connected to him at last. I was always fond of him and was proud of his hardy little self. But the bonding was hard and now I feel it sinking into my skin; he's becoming a part of my heart.

Ready to Stop Nursing

I'm reaching that point where I want to give up breastfeeding. I knew it would come eventually. In four days, Jack will be three months to the day, and I'm feeling like I've given all I have to give in this area.

Time to accept my reality.

I pump all day and take meds to garner between 7 to 10 ounces of milk, plus one breastfeed in the morning. And for what? When I try to feed my son my breast milk, oftentimes he'll make a face or flat out reject it. I've been adding it to formula to trick him into it. But it's like he's getting wise to me. He'll guzzle formula down like candy, but his mother's milk is a bother to him. He'll cry at the bottle, go back for another drink and then disengage and cry again. I can't describe the feelings of frustration and rejection I feel when he does this.

When I go out I'm wearing nursing clothes, just in case I start to leak and I can try to offer Jack the breast. It's never worked out. Pointless. And I hate my nursing clothes. They were expensive so I had to buy on sale and they're really nothing special and I don't feel special in them. I want my wardrobe back. I want my body to function like normal again. I'm tired of this. Also, it's been making my teeth sensitive.

It wouldn't be so bad if he was actually on the breast and feeding. Then it would be worth it. But seriously, forcing this issue is really making motherhood less and less enjoyable for me progressively each day.

And this is on top of the isolation I'm feeling.

I'm lonely. There. I've said it. I'm mostly reliant on the Dude for social interaction during the day, and I have to wait until 6:00 or even 7:00 some days to get it. None of my friends have babies. It's been raining almost every day, keeping me in the house with someone who can't hold a conversation. His smiles are great, but I'm a grown woman. I need more.

I'm not cut out for this. And by this I mean staying at home with a baby. Even though I love him, I am not "loving every minute" like the parents police command me to. They're the ones who nod approvingly when they ask if I'm taking a year off and I say yes. I don't mind the approval, it's what follows it, the forceful assumption that of course this is best for everyone and I must be very happy.

Maybe once Jack becomes more interactive I'll be more into this stay-at-home mom experience. That, and less rain chaining me inside my house.

And admittedly, I have a good baby. The problem really is who I am, which is not a baby person. And also the lack of family in the area. Grandparents would be a godsend. But they're all hours away. In many ways I just feel so alone. I miss my social life. I wouldn't give up Jack for anything. I don't regret my choice. I knew the first year would be very hard on me. But it still hurts.

Maybe removing breastfeeding failures from my daily life will improve things.

What Is A Natural Mother?

Most New Moms Don't Feel Like Natural Mothers

I relate to this. I relate to it so much it made me cry. It speaks to me because I don't feel like a mother. I know I spend my day caring for a little person who is very cute and whom makes me smile. I have an instinctual need to tend to him and his needs. I worry about his wellbeing. I take pride in his growth and development.

But do I feel like a mother? Do I feel like I'm a good mother, even?

These are questions I find harder to answer.

There's an entire internet of people out there piping in about how babies should be raised according to their standards ("If you're not going to stay home with your kids, why did you bother having any?"). There's a whole industry devoted to telling you how it should be done (Breast is best. No screen time until they're 2 years old. Soothers are to be avoided. Let them cry it out. Don't let them cry it out. etc.") There's another section of the community at large that says having kids is either a waste of time or a choice you should be alone in handling ("Why should my taxes pay for daycare subsidies? I don't have kids. If you can't afford kids, don't have them!")

And that leaves new mothers like me feeling adrift.

I have no one here with me. So I turn on the TV because as much as I'm supposed to be talking to my baby so he'll develop language, he doesn't talk back. It's very one-sided. I need to hear adult voices. If I can't have adult conversation, I need to at least listen to it. Sometimes Jack watches with me. So, no more Criminal Minds. But there goes the "no screen time" recommendation. It's just not doable, not if my sanity counts for anything.

I'm having troubles with breastfeeding. Not ready to give it up entirely yet, but doing a combination of both is giving me extra challenges. My breasts leak all over me, yet my baby doesn't want to feed on them most of the time. I have to pack formula with me whenever I go somewhere, yet I still need to wear nursing clothes to give him the chance to eat from me first. I'm cleaning bottles and a pump, and taking the time to feed him with the bottles and pumping afterwards.

And I try to read advice on the internet about how to make this more manageable. I want to read other mother's experiences. What I consistently find is lactivists piping in asking why use formula at all? Have you tried Fenugreek? Have you called a lactation specialist? Breast is best! None of which is remotely helpful.

Then there's the fact I'm not a baby person. I love children. I think they're great. I love spending time with kids, hours on end. I enjoyed babysitting as a teenager and I was good at it. I didn't choose to have a baby for the experience of having a baby. I'm doing this for a child one day. Caring for a baby is exhausting and demanding. I knew it would be hard, but living through it is the only way to really appreciate the fatigue.

I'm looking forward to going back to work. Mostly I think my son would be better off in a daycare through the week. I feel like I'm not the best place for him day in and day out. I'm not cut out for this. At a daycare he'd have a solid routine, socialization, a rotation of toys and caregivers who are talented, educated and experienced in his age group. Then in the evening he'd be with his dad and me, we'd have quality time and then on the weekends we would be able to have fun together. Working from home would help me stay on top of housework too, freeing up time at night like I used to be able to.

There just seems to be something unmotherly about this feeling that I'm biding my time till Jack is a child. The thought of hearing him call me "Mommy" brings tears to my eyes. But I'm so grateful to women who have the guts to share things like the above article. There's too many loud voices telling mothers to cherish every moment. There needs to be more saying, "It's okay to feel inadequate and bored with certain stages. It's normal and it doesn't make you a bad mother."

Movies For Mommies

Today was my first Movies For Mommies, which meant for the first time since Jack was born I've been able to go to the movies. The movies! I loves me some going to see a flick. It's one of my favourite things to do. I saw Man Of Steel at the Humber Theatre. There are several independent theatres that do MFM and this was conveniently located off a subway with an elevator. Elevators have become extremely important to me as of late.

As soon as I sat down my baby began to cry and I immediately felt like that mother. But after a feed, buddypants calmed down and slept a wonderful 90 minutes, enabling me to both enjoy the movie and feel gratitude that the other crying babies, for a time, weren't mine. The final 15-20 minutes were spent on my feet holding Jack and swaying and dancing, keeping him calm so I could catch the end of the film. And no one thought this was strange or disruptive because we were all in the same boat.

You wouldn't think a theatre full of babies would be a calming place to be but it was. Every time a baby cried out or cooed it wasn't annoying, but rather a reassurance that if your baby did the same thing it wouldn't be a big deal. Babies that carried on were carried out. There was a changing station at the entrance, which was helpful. There was an accessible bathroom that had tons of room for my stroller.

And I got out of the house. I have another outing on Wednesday where I get to meet other moms for coffee. I've been to this meet-up twice before and I've already started seeing familiar faces. I'm hoping to make friends, though I'm terrible at doing do. Keeping friends? Sure. I can do that. Making them? Well, that's always taken a lot of time. I never know when or how to progress a new acquaintance. In fact, all my friendships seem almost accidental or extensions pre-existing friends.

And it's not like I'm hurting for friends. The ones I have are wonderful and close. I can be myself and relax in their company. It's just there is a gulf now. I can talk to my friends about my baby, but sometimes I want to run by some things with people who've been there, or talk "shop" to someone in the know. Kind of like how work is sometimes only interesting to other co-workers and can bore people who don't do the same thing. I'm cognizant of this and so I really limit my baby talk around those who don't have one.

Around other new parents this kind of talk is free flowing. Daycares, anxieties, birth experiences, hard days, night time wake-ups, everything is okay. I'd really like a mom friend or two, someone I can relate to not just as a mother, but also as a person, someone on the same wavelength.

But even if these outings don't lead to new friendships, it does lead to a happier, healthier me. Reasons to leave the house are good for me. I've spent a week at home and it's pretty bad for my mental health. I don't think we're meant to raise our children in such solitude or isolation. Good thing I don't live in the burbs.

Stay At Home Mom Validation

The rain is unending. Why even bother wash your hair so you can look presentable when you're not going to leave the house and enter into the soggy mess that is the outdoors? I mean, I like that I don't have to water my zucchini and everything, but I would like to make a trip out with Jack at some point.

I did get to see my friends yesterday. The McPal house threw a tea party and the four of us (Tea party regulars) enjoyed the decent weather in the backyard amongst scones, sandwiches and custard tarts. It was my first visit with friends without my baby. I didn't ache with missing him either. I needed the break and it was guilt-free. I have a wonderful group of friends and spending the afternoon with them was restorative.

When I got home, the Dude was full of validation and praise for how I spend my days. Though I was only gone a little over five hours, about half the time I have Jack on my own each day, he was exhausted. Child care, he realized first hand, is challenging and makes one very tired. It's easier to go to work. At least at work if you need to take five minutes and clear your head or eat a snack, you can. At his job there is a catered lunch and designed time to sit down and eat it. With a baby, just going to the bathroom has to wait.

I sort of suspected that, despite his positive hands-on attitude towards being a dad and his willingness to give the nightly bath and change diapers, he didn't really get it. He thought going to work could be as tiring as staying home with a baby, and I knew this to be false, as I've had a number of different jobs in my life and none compare. But now he understands. I really feel he does. And this improves my mood.

The Dude's attitude has also undergone a slight shift. He came home with a headache, took some Advil and spent time with his son and gave me my break. Before, I think he would have said he needed to lie down, not realizing I was in need of relief.

At the three month mark is when things are supposed to turn a corner and a baby is likely to be more predictable in a routine and easier to take out. I certainly hope so. I love my boy and I like being home, but even I have my limits.

Hermit Mom

I haven't left the house in four days.

I am not evening kidding.

The entire week it's been rainy and gross, and I can tell you that while going out in dreary weather is a bummer under normal circumstances, with a baby and a stroller you have to disassemble to get in and out of your home, it's a nonstarter. Why bother? It's dry in here and the temperature is stable. Out there is a recipe for a terrible experience.

So I'm spending day in and out in jammies, pumping my breasts (Which have begun to produce a little more lately. Score!) and trying to discern a routine. At this point I want to know what's going on rather than react to Jack's cries. I want to know right away what his damage is so I can address it.

And lo and behold, I think it's starting to happen. I've realized he takes three naps a day lasting from 45 minutes to two hours. He eats every three hours. He needs a change every 2-3 hours. He likes to spend time staring off at things, but he sends signals when he wants interaction. When he starts to grumble now, I can almost always guess what he wants. So, I don't think all this home time has been a waste. When I'm out I'm not observing him. When I'm home, I pay more attention to the details.

I've been thinking about the Dude's role in all this. He's been the sort of partner I need. I've heard so many stories about husbands not pulling their weight, not partaking in the childcare enough, not doing housework. The Dude isn't home enough to do a lot of childcare, but when he is, Jack gets quality dad time.

The Dude does the bath routine, which Jack loves. He changes diapers. If he has to get up earlier to do something for the baby, he does it. He does the dishes and makes dinner. He does the yard work. He cleans the cat litter. On the weekends he takes the baby in the morning so I can sleep in, and then does a big clean after I wake.

Babies can strain a marriage, but I think with the right partner, and being the right partner, two people can make it work. Of course, having a mellow baby really, really helps. Jack truly is the kind of baby I'd always hoped I'd have.

Look at that little face!

Easy Baby In Da House

There is a certain isolation to being a new mother. Though I'm lucky I'm an introverted person and I can happily sustain long periods of time alone, there comes a point where I need conversation. The Dude is my first go-to. I start looking forward to him coming home around 4:00 or so. Sometimes he's not home till nearly 7:00. Then he's usually tired, I'm tired and Jack is not.

We've done brunch a few times, often with Buddy B and his fiancee. It's a nice thing to look forward to: an easy trip to a restaurant in the neighbourhood with friends, Jack's not too taxed, I get out of the house and socialize and then come home. I don't need much anymore, just some conversation and a reason to get dressed and I can feel as though my day has been very good.

Something kind of amazing happened the night before last that didn't repeat last night: Jack slept through the night. He's not even eight weeks old yet and he slept from 9:00 till 7:00. Like, seriously. Not at all what we were expecting. Getting that kind of sleep was unreal. I'd forgotten what it was like not to wake up and feed him. Thing is, my breasts were so full I watched the right one leak all over me while I nursed with the left.

Everyone assures me there will be a turning point around three months. I'll get out more, Jack will fall into a routine with naps and now that he's slept through one night, I'm beginning to see it happening. I can believe it.

He really is a good baby. I'm grateful for him. The baby fairies don't hand out wee ones like this to everybody. The kid sleeps and eats and burps and otherwise is fairly content. The Dude and I only want one. Not only can we not comfortably afford two, or really desire a big family anyway, but we're pretty sure that if we had a second child there would be some sort of a reckoning for this easy baby (And I mean comparatively easy, not easy generally).

I'm thinking once his naps are more predictable, I may try writing my novel again. I have gained significantly more life experience as of late and I think I'll have more now to put into my story. And hopefully, if all goes well, I'll have the time to do it.

Snuggles.

Amnesia

Something resembling a routine is developing around this place. Jack's getting a bath, fresh jammies and is put in his vibrating swaying swing to fall asleep around 8:00. He'll wake briefly, fall back asleep, and otherwise stay quiet and out until his one night feed at 3:00 or 4:00. It's not bad.

All the same, it's tiring. My feelings for my baby grow each day and I enjoy his smiles and little facial expressions. But it's not mentally stimulating to care for a newborn. Going hours and hours without a break or being able to eat when hungry, but rather when I can, is hard on the system. Trying to pump without an extra pair of hands to tend to a fussy baby is frustrating. When your baby only wants to nap on your lap all day, better hope you don't have to pee.

I'm not going to be a stay-at-home mom. Bless the people who love this sort of thing, but I'm not one of them. Though I value that I can stay home. I'm grateful for the parental leave laws in this country. Just... this isn't who I am. My baby and motherhood have been working their way into my identity, weaving permanence in my soul, but though I felt called to have a child, I don't feel the same compulsion to devote my everyday life to his care.

And yet I think at this super young stage the idea of not being the one to care for him would break my heart. It's strange. I need breaks, time away and I occasionally feel burnt out by the sheer magnitude of everything that's needed from me. Sometimes it's just my presence. Jack's becoming more aware of me and has developed more emotional needs that are mom-specific. In the earliest weeks, he didn't care who did what so long as he was fed. Now he prefers his mother to do it.

It's an intriguing thing to be needed, like, really needed. I've been or felt needed in various ways before, but this is the first time in my life that it's been a concrete and normal part of a relationship. I give and baby takes. If I get a smile, that's great. If not, no matter. Still have to give. It's not like anything else.

I find myself thinking about my son a lot, as an older child, asking me questions, playing at the park. I wonder how I'll remember this time. A lot of mothers say they get amnesia about this stage.

Breast Not Best

Breastfeeding sort of sucks. It's also very handy. And I like it, and also I really resent it.

Obviously I have some ambivalent emotions surrounding it.

I both breastfeed and formula feed. My son is on the big side and the two times I've tried to do boob only, he's lost weight. So to hell with it, right? I mean, despite the literature lactivists will write about supply and demand and how low supply is rare, I know it's happened to me.

There's cultural pressure to breast feed. I've had a number of loved ones tell me it's okay to quit and just formula feed, but I'm not ready. But it's hard researching the topic looking for tips and tricks only to read how breast is best and formula can't compare and it's just soooo important to breastfeed no matter what. When you're formula feeding, it can hurt your feelings and make you feel bad about yourself as a mother.

When I was in the hospital five days after Jack was born, my midwives were seriously worried I'd lose my milk, and maybe develop postpartum depression after everything. I managed to avoid both of those things, but the milk thing was actually the tougher battle. I've experienced hardships before. A traumatic birth wasn't the worst I've had. Worst I've had in my adult years, but not in life.

I can nurse my son when he wakes at 3:00 or 4:00 a.m. Luckily, he's falling asleep around 9:00 or 10:00 most nights and that one wake-up is all I have to tangle with. I can give him my breast, he takes his fill and goes back to sleep like a champ. Around 7:00 I can usually feed him again, though a bottle is often necessary as well.

And after that? Formula. Formula and pumping. It's sort of an imposition. I'm trying to reduce my feeding costs with breast milk, and it's physically much more simple to do. No bottles to fiddle with, boiled water, measuring scoops and burping afterwards. But God, it's a struggle.

It feels pretty rough when your own baby rejects your breast, sometimes even when it's full of milk. So on top of a feed, I have to find the time to pump so I don't lose what milk supply I have. And I have to take meds and herbs as well. I don't think I could maintain my milk without this rather tiring regiment.

When this all started I felt like a dud. Sometimes I still do. I couldn't birth my baby and now my body can't feed my baby. Being a father would be so much simpler. Dads can't do any of these things and so don't have to face bodily failures. Being a dad comes with its own set of concerns, but when you've just become a mother and you need artificial means to bring your baby into the world and keep it alive, you feel a sense of sadness. It's a loss.

So I'm looking for small victories. A bottle of breast milk a day is my new goal. I usually need a few days to get four ounces out of pumping, but now I'm trying to decrease the time to one day. More breast milk = money saved and health benefits.

There is a simplicity to being at home all day with a baby, but all that simplicity is rife with complexities.

An added example is leaving the house for a walk. No biggie, right? Well, putting aside the stocking of a diaper bag and changing and feeding Jack before leaving the house, I have to deal with a stroller that needs to be taken down the stairs in two parts after locking the three doors that lead into the apartment. I've gotten faster at it, but still. I also have to get myself ready to leave, and depending on Jack's mood, this could take some time.

Actually, I have to finish this up and pump now. Jack's asleep. I may not get a better chance.

Mother's Day

Usually on Mother's Day I feel a little introspective. I think about my mother and perhaps write about my feelings.

I wrote this in 2006:
My dad's 50th birthday fell on Mother's Day this year. Jamie and I took him out to dinner after dad took me to the gravesite.

It rained and we couldn't find the grave for what felt like forever. When we finally did locate it, it was as though it had been hiding on purpose because how could we ever have missed it?

I said a few words to Mom and didn't linger. I was cold and there isn't a lot to say to engraved stone. It chilled me to think of her down there. Sometimes I get something out of going, this time it didn't make me feel very good.

I've been feeling quiet all weekend. Just, unable to really talk because I don't have conversation in me. I want to talk about how I'm feeling but at the same time I don't. I've been feeling lonely.

I really miss my mother. I'm crying in my apartment and I can hear my sobbing echoing just a bit. It feels so empty. I can feel the loss pretty acutely right now. Sometimes that happens. Sometimes I just feel how bad it hurts to not have her around and how lonely it makes me feel.

There is no one like your mother in the world, no one who knows you like she does and loves you like she does. No one. I feel a little lost without that. Where are the phone calls and advice and hugs and encouragement? They're nowhere. They're dead.

It can make you feel so in need of something you know you can't have. No one can replace her or what she gave me and what I'm missing, no matter how close another woman is to me. I hate Mother's Day.

I wrote this in 2003:

Another Mother's Day has come and gone. For those of us without mothers, it can be a hard day or an easy day, depending on how you feel.

I have in the past ignored Mother's Day since my grandmother died. She was the last mother I had so why bother paying it any attention?

Today I fought back tears while I was vacuuming the second floor in the tower. It all came back to me. Her funeral mass mostly. Seeing the three priests, Father Stan from school, Father Whalen with the heavenly voice and Father Tim who had seen Mom through her illness to the end, praying over her body and for her soul and for us.

Girls from school who saw me choking out tears and hugged me while I was slumped over the pew. Seeing the head boy look at me and pass me without a word, making it obvious he was there on business alone, which did not surprise me.

Her coffin that I had chosen for her being wheeled out of the church with Aunt Debbie walking in between Jamie and I as we cried and watched. We were clutching each other as we watched the box move forward; it was unbelievable that it was holding the body of my mother.

My cousin David and I making eye contact and I knew that he felt bad for me. I knew everyone did. I also knew that everyone in that church, save the the two others in the aisle, were thankful that they weren't me.

My dad trying to push his way into the aisle, trying to make his place in the proceedings. Me pushing him away and continuing, not allowing him to join. He was not there, he had no right to walk with us. We were the closest family she had and the ones she loved most. I couldn't let him in.

Watching my mother being put into the ground. Only a hazy memory. The only thing I can say is that I know I was there.

Lying in my cousin Christina's bed at the reception. Everyone crowding around me. I know I can say anything I want. I could get away with anything. All I want is to go to sleep with the people I have around me. I feel so alone. I need comfort but no one can give me what I need. I barely know what I need.

And I blink back my tears on the second floor in the tower and keep vacuuming. I've paid tribute to her and I have to get on with my day. And then I have to get on with my life. And then I pray I will have children to bring this day some new meaning for me.

And now that day is here. I spent the day at the spa, relaxing and giving myself a chance to miss my baby. And I did miss him. When I got home, I was looking forward to seeing his little face, which has begun giving me smiles. The Dude had a video to show me of Jack' smiles that he took while I was out. My milk let down while I was watching it. Funny hormonal tricks show you in physical terms that you are attached to your little baby.

He's sleeping in a new swaying swing that we bought recently. It's been a dream this evening, saving us from the Fussy Francis he usually becomes these days between 7:00 and 10:00. He's six weeks old tomorrow and it's kind of hard to put that time into perspective. I can't believe it's been only six weeks, and yet his birth seems so long ago. It's a blur.

I told myself I wouldn't expect much from the first three months, that they'd be hard and unenjoyable. But I undersold the experience. I'm tired, but there's joy. Caring for a newborn all day can be tedious, but there's a relaxing rhythm to it, under it all. It's work, but there's meaning behind it and you can slowly see things change and develop. And I know it'll get better.

Stalled

I really need to get my ass out of the house.

There are certain things about me that are work-adverse. For example, in this current situation, to leave the house I have to organize my baby. He needs to eat, be changed, in clean clothes and the diaper bag needs to be stocked. Then I have to put him in the car seat (Which slots into the stroller frame) and carry the frame outside and down the stairs and unfold it. Then I need to carry the car seat down the stairs and put it in the frame. This all takes an hour. An hour before I can leave my home.

Jack does not care for being in the car seat at present.

So I mostly just stay here. I leave for appointments, but otherwise I wait for the Dude to be home because carrying the stroller stuff around is quick and easy for him, while I'm still slow because I'm weak from my recovery. Plus he can stock the bag while I feed the baby. He can shave half the time off what it takes to exit the premises. I'm envious sometimes of his general ability to leave efficiently. He's just faster, and I'm the one who's home all day.

Not that I'd prefer it the other way around. It wouldn't work anyway. If I'm working, the baby can't be in the house. So a lot of good that would do. Though the Dude is a nurturing kind of guy. He'd do well around here.

So, to get my sorry dilapidated butt in gear, I've signed up to attend a mom meet-up in a nearby neighbourhood next week. It's time I met some other new mothers. It's a weird thing to be, a mom. One day you aren't, the next you are. Frequently it doesn't occur to me that this change has happened. Oh, I don't forget I have a baby, but the addition of "mom" to my identity is what hasn't sunken in. I think of moms and I think of my mom, or other moms I know, not myself. I write about motherhood all the time, but in my day-to-day life it's been a slow mental shift.

Though I'm eagerly looking forward to Mother's Day. For one thing, I relish the thought of a day just for me in this house. For another, it'll be the first time since my mom died that the day won't be about pain and sadness. I'll have some joy. But it'll still have some sadness. I try not to think too much about what my mom is missing right now. That may be harder to do on Mother's Day. It usually is.