Wean-ee

So, after a lot of stress and love, Abraham weaned himself. A week after his 18 month-iversary, he pulled my shirt back over my breast when I offered it to him before nap. And again before bed. And again the next morning. And then I didn’t offer. And he didn’t ask.

It is bittersweet, but mostly sweet. We ended our nursing relationship on his terms, which, I believe, is the best way to nurse at all. It was for him, not me. I just received the benefit of hours of sweet baby time.

The only bitterness is selfish. I wanted to be a person who nursed a 3 year old. I believe in that, and I wanted to live it. I also wanted to hear what he called nursing. His (older) nursing friends say “Milks” or “Mommy Juice” or something, and I was curious to hear what he’d say. These things are not big deals at all.

He still puts his hand on my breast when he is tired or upset, which is sweet. I see it as part of the weaning process. He started his life inside of me, and he is slowly making his way away. I hope I can be present for him but let him find his own way.

Toddlers

Abraham busted his lip for the first time. He’s had skinned knees and assorted bruises, but today there was blood (only a little) and tears (many). He only runs from place to place, which means that busted lips are bound to happen.

I keep thinking about writing a post like “How to Fly with a Toddler” or “How To Avoid Tantrums (Most of the Time)” but I don’t think I need to. There are tons of bloggers doing that well already, and I don’t know that my readership (small, but mighty!) is looking for that. I don’t know that I want to be an “expert” about toddler-ness.

Which makes me think: why do I have this blog? What do I want to say publicly, to friends, family, and a few strangers?

I’m sort of a blogging toddler. I have been writing for about 2 years (ish), off and on. I used to keep a private journal. I kept a blog when I went to Thailand. Now I sort of bumble along, bumping into ideas, busting my lip when I post something possibly inappropriate, pointing out what makes me laugh or cry. Like a toddler, I want your attention and your feedback. Like a toddler, I want to know that you are there beside me, even if I’m just exploring for myself.

I don’t really have an agenda. It’s just a little space to play.

Why do you blog? Why don’t you blog? Let’s have a chat in the comments!

Something good

Abraham sits on the floor with a wooden spoon, 2 small mixing bowls, and an empty gallon jug of milk. He stirs the spoon around the bowl, picks up the milk jug and pours it into the bowl, puts it down, reclaims his spoon and finishes mixing. He is completely focused and completely open to play. (Now he puts the milk jug in the drawer of baking things).

This creative-drama teaching-mama couldn’t be prouder.

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Bubby, my maternal grandmother, swears she was the first one to play pretend with me, sitting on her porch, “eating” ice cream. Did that event lead to who I have become? Will Abraham carry the memory (probably not consciously) of this free play and continue to play as a child, teenager, and adult? I don’t even mean in the theatre, I mean in his whole life.

(now he is trying to balance the milk jug upside down in the other bowl)

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I see him working so hard, playing so hard. I observe him, narrate what he does, add in objects to compliment his play. But then it is time for a diaper change and he screams, throws his head back, and tries to escape my evil clutches.

And I think to myself, I must do this too. In what parts of my own life do I rear my head back and try to escape?

And I think he and I have the same reasons: lack of control. When we play, we are free. But then we have to change the diaper and leave the comfort of freedom behind.

It is so hard to be a baby. So easy too. I’m so grateful for the time to see him struggle and see him be free.

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12

Abraham is 12 months old. Until tomorrow.

Here are 12 things I don’t want to forget about him (inspired by Sandra Boynton’s Little Pookie)

1. He wakes with a smile. Immediately, he wants to look out the window, play with the alarm clock and cordless phone, and, if I’m lucky, snuggle.
2. He likes to feed himself. With a spoon.
3. He likes to screw lids onto jars. Or anything.
4. He loves to dance to music. He plays with his magic cube, plays the tabla, plays xylophones, claps when I sing.
5. He has discovered gravity: he throws things down the stairs, he pours water in the bath, he drops food for the dog.
6. He gets very excited about food. He yelps, flaps his arms, and giggles, reaching for whatever I’m preparing for him. And he eats everything. He cries for raisins, claps for hummus, and loves liver.
7. He has begun throwing tantrums. If he doesn’t get his way, for example, if we have do something terrible like puts coats on before we go outside (because it is winter), he arches back and screams.
8. He loves playing peek-a-boo chase. I go in another room and hide behind a chair or wall. I surprise him and he chases after me. I hide again, surprise, chase. Etc.
9. He knows what he wants and remembers things. We went to the park in early January on a warm day and I let him play on the toddler playground. A week later, we were at the park, swinging, and he turned, reached for the toddler playground, and whine-giggled (which is his way of saying he wants to play over there). And he played in the same way that he did the first time.
10. He still loves nursing. I was so nervous that he wouldn’t. That because I wasn’t making enough for him, he would tire of my low supply and go 100% bottle. But he didn’t.
11. He doesn’t walk yet, but he manages to get around without crawling. He sort of kneel-walks/hops. It is hilarious, especially when he dance-kneel-walks. 
12. He has become brave and very friendly. In a new place, he takes off to explore, looking over his shoulder to make sure I’m watching. And he approaches people, smiles, and waves goodbye. You can’t help but smile to look at him (and I’m not just saying that because I’m his mom). Love my Little Buddy.

Cloth Diapers

Over the past year, a few friends have asked about my cloth diapering experience:

I have a few different kinds. I have bum genius one-size, all in ones. One size means that they can fit a (large) newborn to a toddler, adjusting with snaps in the front to fit different sizes. I love that aspect of them, because I don’t have to buy more as Abraham grows. They are easy to change because they are one piece, like disposables. But they take FOREVER to dry. FOREVER. For this reason, I would not recommend using them exclusively. I hang them outside all day in the summer, and in the winter, I usually hang them overnight and then put them in the dryer with a load of other clothes, so I’m not wasting energy.

I also have some bum genius pocket diapers and one happy heinys pocket diaper. I like these a lot. I can stuff the pockets as much or as little as I need to. They all came with pads to put in the pockets to absorb pee, and you can add other pads or other absorbent materials too. I stuff them when the have dried and then they are still easy to deal with for my husband or a babysitter (or me; have you ever wrestled a one year old with a poop?).

I like snaps rather than velcro or aplix to close the diapers. Abraham can undo velcro, and I don’t really want him to change his own diaper (I mean, I do, but I don’t…).

I didn’t start using cloth until Abraham was 5 months old. I had a C-section and couldn’t keep up with the laundry anyway for a while. Then I was just exhausted. When I was able to keep up with the regular family laundry, I added in the diapers. I wash them every other night, so they don’t stink. I always rinse the poop off right away, but the pee can hang around for a day or two.

I use a disposable at night. With cloth I had to change him throughout the night, which would wake him and make him very sad. I figure cloth isn’t worth it if it stresses us out! I also use disposables when we go visit grandparents or other traveling.

I have some friends who use a little piece of cloth in the diaper as a liner, so they don’t get poop stains. I just hang them in the sun and they bleach out pretty well.

I have a large wet bag to keep the pee diapers in at home and a travel wet bag that comes with me.

I don’t always love dumping poops into the toilets or washing diapers every other night, but to me, it is worth it to keep his little tush in cloth.

Some people manage to make their own diapers or use a cheaper system, but I bought the diapers we have on ebay, which helped keep the cost somewhat lower.

Did I forget anything? Do you use a different system? This works for me, but it is not even close to the only option! Good luck!

 

 

Emptiness

Throughout the day, I have great ideas for blog posts: a story from NPR might inspire a mental rant that would be provocative to share, a personal reflection could bring dynamic comment conversation, an article might spark new insights for all of us (and possibly more articles…).

But then I do all the things (care for Abraham, care for everyone else, care for the house, care for any work on my plate) and then…my brain is empty. I can’t remember what I wanted to write about. It’s gone.

Isn’t this why I practice yoga? Yogascittavritti nirodhah. Yoga is the cessation of the fluctuations of the mind. Yoga is when the thoughts stop. And here I am, thoughts stopped.

But I don’t think that is what they really meant.

How is it that I could once wake up early, practice yoga, work all day teaching and creating theatre, go home for big conversations with roommates or yoga classes or craft projects, read a novel for fun, and then sleep peacefully? Now, I don’t do half of that in a day, but I struggle to remember to make a phone call to get my oil changed or to pick up a book at the end of the day.

I know, I know…I have an infant, don’t be so hard on myself. I’m not being hard on myself. I want to read, craft, create art, and practice yoga. And that is just solo projects. I want to spend time with my husband, talk to my far away friends (and close by friends!) and family.

But at the end of the day, I plop down at the kitchen table and mull over…facebook. Over pinterest. Over things don’t deepen my days. No offense to facebook.

But my brain is empty.  I don’t have the motivation to close Whitey (yes, my computer is named Whitey. He’s white. What would you name him?) and pick up my book/craft project/script. By 9 or 10pm, I’m not able to start a meaningful yoga practice.

So…what do you do? How do you, friends and readers, motivate yourself to do the things you love? That just sounds ridiculous – if I love them, why is it effort?

And please don’t tell me not to worry about it right now. I am not worrying, but I want to be a great mom for Abraham, a great wife for David, a great step-mom for Zoe and Nathan and I can’t if I’m not feeling like myself. You know?

Am I just writing in circles?

Best Supporting Actor

I am a sensitive person, perhaps oversensitive. I get upset for my family members when they are mistreated. I take it personally. It burns me up, consuming my mind, as I try to understand the logic or rationale behind someone else’s actions.

The other night, as I was angrily nursing Abraham to sleep (angry at a situation, not my precious nursling), I had a possibly life changing realization. Something I have known but finally sunk in.

It isn’t about me.

Do you ever watch a movie or read a book and feel like you are the main character? This happens to me a lot, I feel like I take on the emotional life of the main character. (Side note: I once took an empathy test, an online test to see if you have Asperger’s syndrome (I don’t) and I scored way above normal on empathy.) I think this is happening to me in real life too. I’m taking on someone else’s anger. I’m letting myself be hurt by actions that were not meant for me.

I have become the supporting actor in my own movie. My life isn’t about me.

That sounds strange to say, maybe even depressing, but after a moment, I found it to be freeing. My job here, in the movie now, is to support, is to let someone else’s story shine.

I had my chance (David said, when I had accomplished my career goal of acting professionally and burned out at 28, that I hit my mid-life crisis.) – I have had my dream job, I have travelled to amazing places and had great adventures, I have pursued my passions, I am experiencing true love.

As a mother to an infant, it is hard impossible to keep the starring role. A friend told me, after I quit my job (one of them…) after I realized I couldn’t keep up with it and a baby, that “Women could have it all, just not at the same time.” Maybe that isn’t true for everyone, but it is for me. I thought I could do all things, be all things, all at the same time. But I can’t. And it is ok. It is even really good for me to learn that lesson. Abraham needs me now in a way he never will again. I want to enjoy it, not rush through it.

As a step-mother, I definitely don’t have the starring role. Step-parenting is a supporting position. Again, it is ok. The kids need supportive adults in their lives. I am not their mom, but I am one of their parents, and I try to be present for them without being pushy. I’m waiting stage left in case they need me.

As a stay-at-home wife, I’m a supporting actor too. I’m obviously contributing to the family, taking care of keeping the house clean, full of food (sometimes even cooked food!), comfortable, and alive. Not literally, but you know…functioning for all of us. David comes home from work and talks to me about interesting physics he figured out (and that I don’t really understand), and I tell him how much dog hair I vacuumed up and the cute thing Abraham did that day. Not exactly world changing stuff from me, but if I weren’t doing it, our family’s world would be very different.

I’ve been reflecting on my personality lately, and I don’t even know if I am main character material. I am shy. I don’t like talking to people I don’t know. I don’t really like talking on the phone to anyone (except my family). I have passion, but not ambition. I am a quiet leader, preferring to lead by example than to rally the masses. This is not necessarily the make up of a main character.

I keep telling myself that in 5 years, Abraham will go to school and I can be a person again. I can begin to take my time rather than stealing it. I can really practice yoga again, make theatre, engage in my community. Until then, I’ll be here when you need me.

Blog Break

Well, it’s been a while.

I didn’t really know what to write. After my aunt died, I felt like any other writing would be trite.

I also feel like I’m on a merry go round, thinking about the same things all the time.

So how about this, to get back into the swing of things. How about a general update of what we have been Doing. Then, maybe next post, we’ll get around to what we have been Being.

Abraham freaking loves to be outside. He reaches and whines (yes, whines at 9 months…what can I do about that?) for the door and giggles when we go outside. He is content to run walk errands all over West Reading in his stroller (taking off his hat and laughing whenever he remembers he is wearing a hat), get carried in the Ergo when I walk with the Mamas, or play at the park. For literally hours.

We celebrated David’s birthday. I bought him a book. We went out for pizza.

Abraham and Nathan helps Daddy open his present

It snows. In October. We were actually in New York, visiting David’s family, that weekend. They lost power in their home around 2pm, so we lit a fire and played Settlers of Catan all night. Grandpa made lasagna in the gas grill.

We didn't even have out winter coats!

And for Halloween, Abraham and I passed out candy on the porch for a little while before bedtime. I wore the Lasagna Suit (that I made for a Young Playwrights’ Festival of yore) and Abraham dressed up as a Chef. That lasted about 3 seconds.

The Chef Prepares...to take off his hat.

I’ve also been working on my play, making dinner, washing diapers and other stinky laundry, teaching a drama club at the Boys and Girls Club, getting ready to teach a drama club at Reading High, and finishing up a yoga class series. And trying to sleep and read for fun. Not to mention yoga and crafts.

More significant reflection coming soon.

Up All Night

Oh man.

I love Will Arnett, who I will always think of as GOB from Arrested Development (the funniest show no longer on television).  And I love Maya Rudolph, especially in that movie, Away We Go. And The Blonde Lady is funny too.

They made a TV show about being a parent and working to much. And liking both parenting and working. And being a stay at home parent. And really wanting to go out with your partner and do fun things like drink to much and sing terrible karaoke (ok, David and I wouldn’t do that – we’d eat too many tacos and sing Sacred Harp Music, but you know).

Is it ok that I teared up at the end? I’ll blame it on breastfeeding hormones. This show is not super great, but really hits a nerve.

It reminded me of something a friend from my old congregation told me when I quit my job there. A previous employee, who had recently become a new mother, told him, “Women can have it all, just not at the same time.”

Have you seen the show? What do you think? Can women have it all? What does that even mean “it all”?

Woman

My good friend, the Incredible Exploding Head, just wrote a great piece about being a Woman. Mostly having to do with being a Mother vs. Not. She got me thinking about my own mother-ness.

I had a rough day. I’ve had a rough series of days. I shouldn’t: I have a sweet, funny baby who is very easy going, a devoted and kind husband, a comfortable home, some interesting work. Even friends. In town. Nearby!

But I have very little time that is my own. Which I expected when I decided to have a baby. But I didn’t realize how intense it would be to be needed all the time.

I think of myself as an introvert and an extrovert. I usually feel shy, not quite knowing what to say, but at the same time, wanting to be with people. I used to (wait, I still do) work/write at a cafe, not in my home office (what home office – ha!). I like taking classes. I like sitting in audiences. I don’t really like talking in front of people (acting is different…).

The introvert part of me needs alone time to reboot. A 7 minute shower every morning isn’t enough.

Most people don’t talk about this part of being a mother. The part where you stop being you.

I keep thinking to myself, when Abraham goes to school, I will practice yoga for real. I will start a theatre company. I will read books quickly. I will be me again.

This is a terrible approach. I am me. I am the same person who wanted to have a baby in the first place. If I put myself on the shelf (sorry for that rhyme), how can I be a good mother, dare I say my ideal mother, for Abraham? How can I be a good wife, step mother, friend, anything? Much less artist, teacher, leader…

I feel terrible every time I leave Abraham with a babysitter or even David, because I love leaving. I love going to the coffee shop with my laptop and writing. I love going to the yoga studio and teaching. I love meeting my friend for lunch and brainstorming theatre ideas for the company we want to get off the ground.

Which is not to say that I don’t love being with him. I do. I do so much. I love watching him discover the world. I love that when he cries a little, it shocks me because I think of him as a person not really a baby. I love watching him eat, sleep, poop, laugh, read…everything. But I love it most when I feel most like myself. Which is when I spend some time taking care of my, not him, not David, not anyone else.

I wish I could do both and not feel bad about either.

So, like the Head, who got my brain going in the first place (Head, you are so good at that. I miss you!),  I want to make the next part of my like pretty fucking cool. In Reading, PA.

I’ve got to figure out how to start.