From Newborn to Infant, Everything I Love

infantlove

Another trimester has passed.  And as much as I loved the newborn period, I love this one too.  I know for many it can be very tough; but this transition, from 3 to 6 months, from newborn to infant, are some of the sweetest memories for me.

I love how much you’re learning.  You play with toys and books, and reach for your paci all on your own.  I love the way you grab your feet, and the way you always stick the same two fingers in your mouth. All of the milestones you reached, while they make me so proud, make me only more aware of how fast you’re growing.  You learned to roll, you learned to sit, you learned to plank.  You’re on the verge of crawling and I’m going to be on the verge of tears if you don’t slow down.

I love that you love being worn.  How you’ll look all around at what’s going on, taking it all in.  And when you’ve had enough, you’ll snuggle into my chest, and drift off to sleep in the middle of a party, or the middle of the ocean.  I love that when you’re fussy, being put in the carrier always works to calm you down.  Your head next to my heart, a perfect pair.

I love the sound of your voice. The newborn sounds have faded away, replaced by long conversations of babble, and the most joyous belly laughs.  I love the way you talk to yourself in the mirror, and giggle out loud when tickled.  Even when it’s 5 am, your intense desire to talk amuses me.  I wonder what wonderful things you will say when you learn the magic of words.

I love the way you love your sister.  She absolutely steals the show when she’s in the room; your eyes follow her everywhere. I watched you watch her the other night as she got up from the dinner table.  Your face was overcome with sadness when she disappeared from your sight, and the tears started rolling and didn’t stop until she came back.  When she cries, you cry.  When she’s near you, you reach out to touch her.  I can already see how much you look up to her, and I hope you have that look in your eyes for a lifetime.

I love nursing you.  Your entire face lights up when I walk into your school at lunchtime every day.  You jump excitedly in anticipation of the cuddles and warm milk.  I love the way you touch my face, memorizing it until the next time I see you.  I already see that nursing is changing; you’re more distracted, you move your arms and legs voraciously, you blow raspberries on me and giggle.  I’ll miss the quieter moments.  I love the way you sometimes drift off to sleep, barely holding on, but still moving your jaw every few seconds to make sure I’m still there.  I love the way your milky breath smells.  It smells of baby.

I love your wide gummy smile.  Seriously, the gummy smile is the best.  It’s what makes you still look like a little baby.  I’m in no hurry for that first tooth to pop.  Oh how it hurt when I realized you were ready for solid food last week.  That you were about to start needing me less.  That I would no longer be the sole source of your nourishment.  When I carry you on my hip, my arm numb from the weight, I remind myself I’ve grown you, all of you, all 19 pounds of you, for the past 16 months, from womb to world.  And it’s one of the proudest accomplishments of my lifetime.

I love comforting and snuggling you in the middle of the night.  You’ve never slept through, but the only thing I care about is making sure you know that I’m here for you, and teaching you that sleep is a safe, wonderful place.  Just this week, while daddy was away, I held you in one arm and your sister in the other.  Her long legs were draped over mine at first, but then she was horizontal, and then upside down, and was what felt like miles away.  The tears rolled down my face as I realized how quickly she had grown up, and I held on to you just a little bit tighter, hoping to freeze these snuggles in time.  Because I’ll blink, and you’ll be a little boy with wild hair and a fierce penchant for asking why.

I love being your mother.  I’ve only known you for six months, but it feels like you’ve always been here in our hearts.  You’ve completed our family in the most perfect way.  But that word complete is so final, and I’m realizing that all of your firsts… will be my lasts.  There’s this undercurrent, this dull ache I feel, intermingled in the messiest of ways with all of the joy.  It’s bittersweet for me, but forever my baby you’ll be.

 

 

 

 

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The Beauty In Bedsharing

 

bedsharing

 

This morning, I slipped under my nearly 3-year old daughter’s covers to wake her up with a kiss and a cuddle, but was met with resistance.

Her: Noooooo mommy, I didn’t ask you.  It’s wake-up time, we can’t cuggle. 

Me: Just a little cuggle? {I try to assume our usual position, by slipping my arm under her neck}

Her: No, your arm hurts my head. 

Me: Oh… that hurts my heart.  I wanted to cuggle you.

Her: It’s okay mommy, I still love you.

My heart shattered into a thousand pieces.  Where was my little baby girl?  Where had she gone?  She allowed me the small concession of carrying her out of her bed… but it’s only a matter of time before she’s too big to even do that with.

I tried.

I tried to capture her smallness.  I tried to hold on to the last breaths of her babyhood. But try as I might, it has slipped right out of my grasp.  Despite my efforts to slow down and enjoy every moment since everyone told me it goes so fast… all I have left are memories and photographs.  But it doesn’t mean that I can re-live it.  Not really. 

Some of my favorite memories of her as an infant will always be of bedsharing.  She always started the night in her own bed, but after her first wake-up of the night, I’d scoop her out of her room and bring her into our cozy nest to feed her and quickly soothe her back to sleep.  And for the most part that meant that we all got more sleep… except for the times I’d find myself staring at her while she slept.  I’d watch her tiny chest move up and down, and memorize every little detail of her perfect little face.  I’d think to myself this is crazy, what are you doing, go to sleep. But those memories, in the dead of night, the ones where there aren’t any pictures – are the clearest in my mind’s eye.

The morning cuddles were always the best.  There was always lots of cooing and giggling, which eventually morphed into babbling and games.  She’d drum on my belly, or rub her daddy’s back.  It usually ended with a ticklefest involving pretend spiders.  On the weekends, we used to be able to trick her into sleeping in with us.  But now she bounds into our room at 7 am every morning exclaiming It’s wake up time! I slept in my princess bed all by myself. We can’t sleep, the sun is shining. I want to watch something. Now sleeping in means lying in bed with my eyes closed, listening to a Tiger on TV sing catchy jingles about life lessons.     

When she was a baby, she slept in the crook of my arm, her hand always on me.  I could feel the rise and fall of her chest all night.  Eventually she got bigger and then she slept next to me, but I still curved my body around hers, close enough to still hear her breath.  And then one day, she could talk, and she began making very specific requests on how I “cuggled” her.  This arm here, mommy.  Don’t breathe on me, mommy.

I find myself wondering when it’ll be the last time.  On average, she woke up twice a night until she was a year old.  And then once a night until she was two.  But for the most part, she’s slept in her own bed all night for almost the last year (a sentence I never thought I’d say).  But there is still the occasional wake-up because of a nightmare, or a noise, or just the request Mommy I want to sleep in your bed with you.  There was one night, about a month before her brother was born, when I got just such a request.  I willingly obliged, preparing myself for the chance that this might be one of the last times that I might share a bed all night with her.  I memorized her sweet breath on my face.  Her little arms wrapped tightly around my neck.  Her legs propped up on the side of my growing belly.  I tried to capture her smallness.

I know that if we offered it, she’d still want to sleep in our bed.  But now that her brother is here, he’s claimed her old spot.  I’m still holding on to the fact that she even wants to sleep with me once in a while.  If daddy’s out of town and she asks, I let her.  When it’s the weekend and baby brother is napping and I’m tired too, I let her.  It’s not the same anymore, since I have to face the baby, acting as the barrier between them.  But now she says heart-melting things like Mommy I want to be close, and she drapes her arm over me, acting as the big spoon.  She’s the big spoon.  How did that happen?

My only regret is that I didn’t start bedsharing sooner with her.  I had heard all of the warnings during pregnancy; that it was dangerous, that I’d never get her out of my bed, and that there was a short window of time in which I needed to sleep train her or else she’d never learn how to sleep.  Everything in parenting had been presented as a choice, except for this.

But I had no idea how strong my biological need to be close to her {and her to me} would be.  Every bone in my tired, aching, postpartum body screamed at me to pick her up and sleep with her. She was the furthest from my body she had been in 9 months; she was unsettled, and I was unsettled. If I wasn’t with her, I’d constantly wake up to check the monitor to make sure she was okay.  She only wanted to sleep in our arms or on our chests.  She flat out refused to sleep in the co-sleeper in our room.  She’d wake up the second we laid her down in her crib.  Parenting in the modern, Western world just wasn’t agreeing with me {or with her}.

Eventually, I gave in to my intuition, did some careful research on safe bedsharing, and took the plunge. And it just felt right. Of course, I didn’t need much “permission” to give in to it.  I shared a bed with my parents until I was two, and my brother did the same.  I witnessed bedsharing as the norm when we’d visit extended family in India.  We never had a crib in our house.  In fact, I never even saw a crib until I was thirteen years old and started babysitting.  So, it wasn’t that big of a leap for me.

I can’t talk about this topic without acknowledging that it’s mired in controversy.  But an army of 10,000 pediatricians couldn’t have kept me from sleeping with my baby.  It’s like the CDC’s recent recommendations against alcohol for all young women.  It’s one-size fits all, and is so condemning in its tone that it fails to do the most important thing: actually educate people.  We’re mothers, not monsters.  We have brains and boobs and biological instincts, so just let us use them already.

If half of us are even occasionally bedsharing, but lying to our pediatricians about it because their response is just don’t do it instead of here’s how to do it safely, then no one wins.  But to be fair, even though the American Academy of Pediatrics doesn’t support bedsharing, it is supported by The Academy of Breastfeeding Medicine, the USA Breastfeeding Committee, La Leche League International, UNICEF, the WHO, and even the Breastfeeding section of the American Academy of Pediatrics (how’s that for a mixed message).  Just read anything by Dr. James McKenna and you’ll know where I stand.  Every family is different, and bedsharing isn’t for everyone. But it can be safe, is entirely natural, and the bottom line is: it worked for us.

After I went back to work full-time (which coincided with the dreaded 4-month sleep regression), bedsharing became a necessity to get a good night’s sleep.  After being apart all day, she missed me, and I missed her.  There was no way that I was going to spend precious time fruitlessly bouncing my baby back to sleep in her room for half an hour, only to have her wake up when I put her back in her crib, when she would peacefully fall asleep in my bed in 3 minutes flat.  Putting her down to sleep initially is a different story… but as long as the waking happened after I was ready to go to bed, I was fine with it.  As soon as I stopped treating her night-wakings like a problem, they stopped being one.

And now I just have these beautiful memories with my daughter, who is no longer a baby. But my son is a baby, and has been in my bed since the day he was born.  So I’m soaking it in and am recognizing all of the beauty in bedsharing…

There’s beauty in the fact that despite the early loss of my nursing relationship with my daughter, bedsharing restored our bond.  Those first 10 weeks of pumping every 3 hours meant that I lost precious time that I could have been holding her.  I made up for it by snuggling her and soothing her back to sleep in my bed.  When she was old enough to use sign language, she’d wake up in the morning, and sign for milk.  I’d sit up in bed and pump her a fresh bottle, while she clapped her hands with excitement and anticipation.

There’s beauty in the fact that it lets me better take care of my kids when they’re sick.  When my daughter went to bed with a low-grade fever, I was able to keep her close and feel her body heat enough to know when it spiked in the middle of the night so I could do something about it.  And when my son was congested and having difficulty sleeping, I could position him to be more comfortable so he could breathe.

There’s beauty in the fact that I sometimes get the privilege of catching a smile flash across their faces or hearing a laugh escape from their mouths.  What wonderful dreams they must have.

There’s beauty in the fact that every time my son startles awake, I don’t have to feed him.  I simply lay my hand on his chest, with my other arm touching the top of his head.  All it takes is my subtle touch, the awareness of my presence, to soothe him back to sleep.  It’s how we survived the fourth trimester.

There’s beauty in the fact that when my son does need to nurse, there’s no crying. It took me several weeks to even learn what his hunger cry sounded like, because I honestly never heard it at the beginning – he was always close enough to get the milk flowing before the tears were.

There’s beauty in the fact that when my son wakes up in the morning, his entire face lights up with delight as we lock eyes – the way he looks at me sets my heart on fire.  He does a whole body stretch like he’s had the best sleep of his entire life. He latches on to nurse, but unlatches often to smile a gummy, milky grin at me.

There’s beauty in the fact that our mornings start together.  My daughter creeps into our bed in the morning, telling us about her dreams. She pokes and prods at her baby brother, he babbles back at her, she scratches her daddy’s back, kisses are doled out, we all tickle each other, and start our days with smiles on our faces and joy in our hearts.

So when I look back on this season of my life, I’ll always the cherish the beauty that bedsharing brought to our days {and nights}.

 

 

 

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The Fourth Trimester: Take Two

fourthtrimester

I love the newborn period.

There.  I said it.

Not something you hear every day, huh?  Normally you hear stories of intense sleep deprivation, aching nipples, a questionable amount of time since the last shower, and a lot of crying.  And if I was talking about my first child, that might be pretty accurate.  But I’m talking about my second child.  And with a second child comes the confidence of an experienced mother.  A mother who knows what to expect, and more importantly, what not to expect.  And that, I think, makes all the difference – for expectation is the thief of joy.

I expected nothing from my baby this time around. Nothing besides the expectation that he would act like a newborn baby. 

I did not expect that he would eat for a certain amount of time, or at certain intervals.  I just fed him on demand, for however long he wanted to, as frequently as he wanted to.  I trusted that he knew what his body needed to grow.  I didn’t freak out when he wanted to nurse every 15 minutes for 4 straight hours right before a growth spurt.  As a result, I have a healthy milk supply, and a thriving baby who’s become efficient enough at nursing to down 5 ounces in 5 minutes if he’s hungry.

I did not obsess over having a huge freezer stash of milk.  My body responds too well to a pump; it means that daily pumping for a week put my body into an uncomfortable oversupply.  So, I pump once every 5 days, just to have a bottle in the fridge.  If we don’t use it, on the fifth day I freeze it and then pump a fresh bottle.  He’s taken about 6 bottles so far, just to ensure that he’s amenable to them when I go back to work.  I have enough in the freezer for an emergency, and have taken to heart the mantra feed your baby, not the freezer. 

I did not expect that he would eat at certain times of day.  Like I said, I fed on demand, and I didn’t even try to predict it.  To not plan my day around having to pump this time around meant I could go anywhere.  I just left the house whenever I wanted to, without regard to the time.  If he got hungry, I nursed him.  In parking lots, in dressing rooms, in restaurants, on walks, at the park, wherever.  And it felt so freeing to be unchained from the pump this time around.  Have boobs, will travel.

I did not expect that he would take scheduled naps. I didn’t stress myself out about “nap times” and fighting to get him down to keep on a schedule.  I just followed his cues, and whenever he got fussy after a period of awake time, I put him down and he went right to sleep.  Except for the few times he didn’t, of course, in which case I held him, bounced him, rocked him, nursed him, or whatever else he needed from me to drift peacefully off to sleep.  I didn’t worry about holding him too much or spoiling him, because those things aren’t possible. All in all, he’s been a wonderful napper, and all I had to do was listen to him and let him set his rhythm.

I did not expect him to sleep long stretches at night on his own.  Over the last 12 weeks, it always seems like the first question that people have asked me is how is he sleeping? How many times does he wake at night? Truthfully, I have no idea, and I don’t care.  He sleeps with me, and when he stirs, I stir.  I nurse him right there in the bed, and after he latches, we both drift right back to sleep.  There’s rarely any crying, I don’t have to get out of the bed, and I don’t have to spend a bunch of time getting him (or myself) back to sleep – it’s quite literally, dreamy.

I did not expect that much of myself.  I let my husband wait on me hand and foot for the 3 weeks that he was off on paternity leave.  I didn’t prepare a meal, I didn’t wash the dishes, and I didn’t feel guilty about it at all.  Instead, I took a shower every single day. I took a nap with my son every day for at least the first 6 weeks.  I let my body heal from birth.  I didn’t care about losing weight right away; I know my milk supply dips when I cut calories, so that’ll just have to wait – all in good time.  I didn’t worry about how much I “accomplished” each day.  Snuggling my son while watching 6 seasons of The Good Wife is accomplishment enough for me.

This feeling of freedom and ease with motherhood did not come easy or automatically.  I remember going through all of this with my first, where every decision about every aspect of her life had to be carefully considered and decided upon.  It made the newborn period stressful – when everybody has an opinion, and you’re not quite sure what yours is yet because the sheer number of decisions and the total upheaval of your pre-parent life is just so overwhelming. This time – there are no decisions to be made, just instincts to follow.

And I feel so free. 

And I don’t mean to make it sound like it has been easy.  On the contrary; my neck and shoulders are constantly sore, it’s frustrating to always eat in a hurry with one hand, the dynamic of parenting two children can be tough, and I really don’t get much done.

But I know this too shall pass.  

Unfortunately, it will pass.

The only times I’ve cried have been about how fast he’s growing and how fast it’s all going.  I’m writing this post as I watch my son on the baby monitor; it’s the first time I’ve put him down to sleep for the first stretch of the night in his crib.  I used to put him in the bassinet in the living room – but he has started spinning in his sleep (he has already rotated 90 degrees since I began this post), so the bassinet is officially too small.  And it’s the first of many things that he will outgrow.

And now the fourth trimester is over.  And I’ll never have a newborn again.

The only thing I’ve expected is change.  Change coming at me so exceedingly fast that it’s a blur.  Where one day, his hands in his mouth means he’s hungry, and the next day it means hey, I found my hands!  Where one day he fits curled up on my chest, and the next day I’m putting away the tiny clothes forever.  Where one day he’s looking off into space at blurry shapes, and the next day he’s staring into my eyes, smiling his mega-watt, heart-melting smile.

So, forgive me if you think I take and post too many pictures of my kids.  Because I’m having a moment.  Like, some of the best moments of my life.

 

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