There is Nothing I Don't Miss

Over the past few weeks, I've seen a few posts on Facebook to the effect of, "What did you expect to miss during the quarantine that you don't?" 

The first time I saw one, I paused and considered, waiting for a revelation. What had seemed important to me before that was now trivial? The "aha" moment I anticipated didn't come. A new, minimalist perspective did not awaken in me, as I sort of expected it to.

The truth is, there is nothing I don't miss.

There are some things I don't miss as much as I thought I would. I don't miss taking the kids on outings as much as I thought I would - but a part of that is that they don't seem to miss it as much as I thought they would. I thought we'd go stir-crazy, but it's actually been...fine.

I, of course, miss the obvious things. Chatting at preschool pick-up, browsing Target, taking the kids to a playground or library. Sitting outside at a restaurant on a warm day, chatty and relaxed, not worrying about dinner or dishes. Oh, and not calculating every move when I go to a public place, and not wearing a suffocating mask. And, boy, could I use a haircut. 

But, I also miss unlikely things like squeezing in frenetic errands during school time. Dragging Mister P to the grocery store or Costco, because of the traditions we had woven into these trips. The questionable sanitation, but undeniable fun of bouncy houses. I even miss the morning hustle, because its cacophony culminated the blissful calm of two kids at school.

Maybe...I don't miss the kid junk scattered all over the back of the car. Or paying almost $3 for a gallon of gas. Not that it matters too much, considering I'm down just half a tank over the last two months.

The perspective that has changed for me is that I've been reminded how important it is to celebrate human relationships. I was keenly aware of this my last year of high school; in fact, I wrote a college entrance essay about it. I knew that my time with my school friends was fleeting and coming to a close, and I wanted to hug that time close. Since the pandemic, I've realized how much "friend-time" (and family-time) I'd been putting off until later...when we're not so busy, when it's more convenient, when we get around to it...and here we are, with so much time, and not able to spend it together. 

I think about Mister P's last morning of preschool. I ran around, doing a thousand errands with my last 2 hours of unencumbered free time for who knows how long. It felt necessary. One of my stops was for a coffee at a local coffee shop, where I saw a group of moms from a class that had graduated from our preschool - I knew most of them. I imagine they will always be thankful they spent that morning together.  I wonder if I should've spent my morning differently. Probably. If only I’d known.

So, when the world comes safely back online, I’m doing all the things and seeing all the people. Hopefully, with a renewed sense of joy and gratitude.

This, too, shall pass...

Right around one month in to this quarantine, I noticed a shift. At first, it was just at our house. Mister P was especially sensitive and needy, wailing over seemingly little things and wanting to talk to someone almost every waking moment. I was getting tearful everyday, alternating between being lonely and wanting to be alone. Then, I saw it in my Facebook feed, too - lots of parents reporting that their kids' behavior was breaking down, and moms admitting their sadness, as well. I looked at our family, and looked at my friends and acquaintances online and realized that one month seemed to be some sort of milestone for a quarantine - and maybe other types of stressful times, as well. Did the novelty wear off? Were realizations sinking in?

I'm sharing what I noticed to let you know that, if you felt like things starting to fall apart around the middle of April, you, for sure, are not alone. 

I'm hesitant to share what continues to make me tearful everyday, when I know that others have far worse situations. Our family has so much to be thankful for, always, but especially now - Kevin is able to work from home, I am able to wrangle/teach the kids, our immediate family is low-risk, we have a yard for the kids to play in...I'm well-aware. 

Friends, I'm super-sad about my little boy missing his last months of preschool.

We have been a part of the amazing community at Forest Hill Nursery School for the past four years. It is a cooperative preschool, and as a stay-at-home mom, I have loved the chance to be in the classroom to see my kids socialize and learn. I love all those kiddos, the teachers, the routines, and the other parents. For the last two years, I've been on the executive board, and, maybe most of all, I have loved being able to work with grown-ups and use the grown-up part of my brain. 

Since Mister P is my baby, I know all the things he is missing now. Getting psyched for kindergarten. The field trips. The class parties. The special year-end traditions. Coming into the part of the year when the kids are mature enough and close enough to really play together and flourish. These kids have always loved to play together outside after school, no matter the weather. The last day they played together, Friday, March 13th, was a warm, sunny day. If I had known how likely it was to be the last day, I would've let him play until it was time to get Miss A off the bus. 

He doesn't really know what he's missing. But I do. And I cry for all those special memories that we won't make. I know, I know - we are making other memories. And, it's just preschool, and in the long run, he will remember very little of it, anyway. Here's the thing - I'm really sentimental; I would've cried, anyway. But this is not how this stage of our life was supposed to end. I want those end-of-year rituals to give me closure, to help me transition to the next part of this road to adulthood.

But, as I sit here, crying, I think of the high school seniors who are missing this most special part of their high school career. I know not everyone has a good high school experience, but I did, and this would have devastated me. And I think of the essential workers and the medical personnel, and people who can't weather this as well...and people who were suffering before this, like the homeless and refugees...and I get frustrated with myself for feeling so sad. We will move on and be okay, but not everyone will. I guess we (I, really) need to make the best of our situation, and do we what we can to support others.

The Other Side of the Doorway

I look at the bouquet of flowers on our dining room sideboard that I bought during my last grocery store trip last Friday. Just something to brighten things up during our two-week quarantine. I feel like I bought them in another lifetime. It was the same when, yesterday, I pulled a receipt out of my pocket from eating lunch out with Mister P last week after shopping at Costco. Or when I look at the shirt I bought there a little more than a week ago, when closing school seemed like a vague possibility, but not something that I really expected to happen; at least, not so soon. These things are like relics from "before," and I wonder when everything will be from "now."

I have a vivid memory of, a few days after Miss A was born, standing in our kitchen, overwhelmed and delirious with exhaustion. I had the distinct feeling of having walked through a doorway that I could look, but not pass, back through. I saw an enormously-pregnant, but relatively well-groomed woman using her brain at work, casually shopping, laughing with adults, cooking, and chatting with her husband after dinner. I missed being her so much, I cried. I wanted to go back through the door, but here I was. I could only look.

I feel like we all have passed through another doorway. I'm not sure what this new dimension holds, yet. It seems so unsteady. I didn't know then, either, but I know now that that moment was the lowest, or close to it. I guess my fear is that we are not there, yet, or even close to it.

Well, I Guess This Is Growing Up

I've wanted to write a COVID-19 post since last week, but have had too many unrelated thoughts tumbling through my brain to come up with anything cohesive. I'm not certain this will be be cohesive, either. But, I'm able to tie in a post that I've wanted to write since before I stopped working seven years ago, so, at least, there's that. 

When I worked at Howard Community College, I participated in a program called Step-Up, where volunteer faculty and staff provided life-coaching for students. For about two years, I coached a young woman who was 19 years-old. One day, she told me about a weekend trip she planned to take with her friends - her first trip without any "adults" (in quotes since a 19 year-old is technically an adult, anyway). I remember thinking about what a milestone that type of trip was on the road to becoming a Grown Up (tm). And, it got me thinking about when, really, does one become a Grown Up (tm)? From the very beginning, kids are on a path towards independence, but at some point, they cross a threshold and become a Grown Up (tm).

So, for me, it certainly wasn't turning 18. Going to college? A little, but not really. I was still mostly financially dependent on my parents, their house was my permanent address, and I didn't have to cook my own meals. Moving from Pennsylvania to Maryland, renting my own apartment, and paying my own bills? Maybe that was it. But things have happened since then that made me "grow up" more...getting a full-time job with benefits...settling down with partner ...buying a house...having kids...

I think I thought I was done "growing up."

Dealing with COVID-19 with school-aged children and aging parents is a new, unique "growing up" milestone. The stratagizing and planning. Trying to maintain a sense of calm and normalcy that we've taken for granted. Finding the balance between being honest and earnest (like, really, please, wash your hands and do NOT PUT THINGS IN YOUR MOUTH), and not making the kids feel anxious or scared.

A friend commented how the world feels like it did after 9/11...surreal and full of uncertainty. How were we supposed to feel? What were we supposed to do? I remember that. But now, even though maybe we have a little more control (do we?), almost 20 years, a mortgage and two kids later, I feel like more is at stake and I am worried about more. Twenty years ago, I would've looked at this current situation with more curiosity and less anxiety. Now, I don't like not knowing what will happen. I don't like not being able to plan into the future. I'm worried about kids' education - more other kids than mine. I'm worried about small business owners, low-wage workers, and health care professionals. I'm angry about our Administration's incompetence and wonder how/if things could have been different.

This is a new world for us. I don't know if we're ready for it. I think this will be more than our children's generation's lunar landing or Challenger explosion. Even though the world changed after 9/11, I think this will have an even greater impact. I hope we rise from the ashes on the other side of this.

Nursing Dreams and Dream Feeds

Tonight is Kevin's last "dream feed" with Abby.  A dream feed is a bottle you sneak to your baby in her sleep, right before YOU go to bed, with the hope that the little extra will be enough to keep them asleep the rest of the night.  We didn't really start off with that intention.  At the beginning, when we gradually weaned to breastfeeding from full-time bottles, and were still trying to get in 9-10 feedings a day, Kevin wanted to hold on to this one.  It was one less nursing session I had to figure out how to fit in, and Kevin loved this special daddy-daughter time.

When I mentioned in an online mommy-group that we were still doing dream feeds around six months, some gently mentioned that most babies dropped the dream feed around this time.  Kevin practically turned pale when I told him this.  At this point, Abby was sleeping through the night, while most breastfed babies wake at least once during the night for a feeding for at least the first year.  "So," I told Kevin, "maybe the dream feed is like, her night feeding, so you might as well keep giving it to her."  We agreed to wean her off of it around a year.

Abby is nearly 14 months old, now.  We've kept it a little longer than originally planned, because our girl had some other plans.

See, I had planned to breastfeed at least until I get pregnant again, if I do.  Which, if things go as we have planned, would be around 18 months.  I figured she'd probably wean herself around then, anyway, since my supply would most certainly drop.  I always intended for her take the lead, though, and while I don't love the idea of nursing while pregnant, I would've tried it for her.  I imagined we'd drop a feeding every couple of months until we were down to one or two, and gracefully stop.

After a feeding, around 2 months

She did take the lead.  She surprised and confused me by weaning during her eleventh month.  It was very unusual, because it was early (before 12 months), and abrupt.  Both of those usually signal a nursing strike (where a baby won't nurse for a few days for some reason, then hops back on the train).  Around Thanksgiving, she began biting more often than not after nursing...then at the beginning of nursing, repeatedly, so no nursing actually happened.  Within a few days, it was every feeding except for the morning one, and then it was that one, too.

I tried for weeks.  All time, at first, then once or twice a day, then every few days.  I tried every trick in the book to discourage biting.  I was firm, I was calm.  I offered her a teether, I fake cried, I put her down, I left the room.  As it stretched from a two-week, "Well, maybe this is just a long strike" into Christmas, I had to accept that our nursing relationship had ended.

This was the last time she fell asleep after nursing.
 Mid-September.

I think you may have to be a mother, but maybe not, to understand how devastated I was.  I want to tell you, in case you've been through it and you can tell me I'm normal, or in case you're going through it and I can tell you you're normal.  I loved nursing, once we got the hang of it.  I know not all mamas do, and that's okay.  I loved the calm, the sweetness, the excuse to just "be" with my baby.  It was special to nurture my baby in one way no one else could.

When I wasn't sure if she was striking or weaning, I was almost as emotional as I was postpartum.  I'm sure it was partially hormones. But a lot of it was also the "not knowing," and the intense feeling of rejection every time she would bite me or turn her head away.  One of the worst things was, she had just learned the sign for milk, and would do it.  I'd offer her the breast, and she'd bite.  But she kept asking, and it broke my heart.  I don't think she thought the sign meant what I thought it meant.  I cried a lot, and I cry thinking about it now.    I would think crazy, irrational things like, "She doesn't love me," or, "I bet she never did like to nurse."  I had to stop trying, because I couldn't take her refusal.  I was so heartbroken.

I'm mostly past it, now.  Although it happened in an unusual way and at an unusual time, I know it's just the first of many things that I'm going to let go of as a mama, as my baby girl grows up.

Which brings us back to the dream feed.  When Abby's first birthday rolled around, we still didn't know what she was doing with this nursing business, so we thought it would be good to continue the dream feed to make sure she was getting enough milk.  Now that she's pretty well established with cows' milk, I'm weaning off of pumping, and her daddy is weaning from the dream feed.  He's been gradually skipping more nights in between feeds for the past few weeks.  At first, we thought she'd wake up hungry, but not a peep.  Not a single time.

I know it's a little the same for him.  Probably without the crazy hormones, though. But that special, quiet, daddy-daughter time that has become so familiar to him.  How he still holds her like a tiny baby when he feeds her, although she has grown so much since he started.  How he has cuddled and snuggled her the same way before putting her back into bed, although it's been months since her head would rest comfortably on his chest.  He will have to let go of this, too.

I didn't have any pictures of him giving her a bottle, so here's just one of their first pictures.

Our little girl still needs us.  She'll just need us in new ways as she grows up!

The Lady with the Baby, Reprise

I realize I haven't written about any fall holidays, Abby's birthday,or Christmas.  In light of my last post, though, I'm inspired to write about an incident that happened about a month ago, right after Thanksgiving.  Festive posts to come soon!

Last February, I wrote a post about people's reactions to tiny babies. Maybe it's because Abby was/is particularly adorable and charming, but I suspect most people with small babies have people say these types of things to them.  It usually opens with something about how precious/adorable the child is, then sometimes follows up with some vaguely ominous warning about the future.  "They're cute until they start talking back."  "Just wait til she starts moving." "Can I trade my teenager in for her?" I usually just smile and nod, because what can you say?

The Sunday after Thanksgiving, Kevin and I went with friends to the Christmas tree lighting in Bel Air.  Afterwards, he, Abby and I had dinner at a local restaurant.  Sitting near us was a large group of what appeared to be an extended family, including two preteen girls.  Abby was being very charming (as usual), and was smiling and waving at everyone.  As we got up to leave, one of the mothers at the table turned to us to tell us how adorable Abby was.  I smiled graciously and thanked her, but then she added something unusual.

"It just keeps getting better and better," she said.  "My girls are so much fun.  Did you see that dance routine they did? (We had, and it was awesome.) They made that up while we were waiting in line to check out on Black Friday. People always tell you to enjoy while they're babies, but things are just so good now."

I thanked her.  It was so refreshing to have someone say this.  I had already sort of figured out that each stage has its own challenges and rewards, but to hear this offered up by a stranger was a gift.  I understand the message to "enjoy them now," but why does it so often have to be followed by, "...because you might not enjoy them later!" Which is more or less the implication.  I know my sweet girl might not always be sweet, but she'll always be MY girl and doing something wonderful.  Or developmentally appropriate that will eventually be something wonderful, in any case.  :)

Past and Future Travels

I've been looking for inspiration to write a post, lately, and was ready to just do a, "Look! Abby's Still Cute!" post (in case you're wondering: she is) but came across something tonight that rekindled an idea for something I've wanted to write about since January.  I wanted to write about what it was like, after giving birth.  How so many things, physically, mentally, and emotionally, were unexpected and unexpectedly hard.  And how it seems like no one talks about it.  Or, if they talk do talk about it, it just doesn't sink in to the expecting-parent brain, because it's clouded with gleeful anticipation for the coming bundle of joy.

That's not the post I want to write today, not entirely.  I have a laundry list of weirdo things that I experienced postpartum, and today I just want to touch the tip of the iceberg of one of them.  

Before I gave birth, I thought that I was probably predisposed to Postpartum Depression (PPD). I've never been Depressed (with a capital "D"), but have had bouts of melancholy and a little bit of a family history.  I wasn't too worried about it, though, because I knew I would be willing to get help.  Also, there's a difference between knowing intellectually that you might get Depressed after giving birth, and another actually going through it.  Having said that, I still don't think I had PPD, just a serious, lingering case of the "Baby Blues."

I'll write another time about how I cried at EVERY. THING.  One day, a brochure for Viking Cruises came in the mail (We get these all the time.  I don't know why.)  As Abby slept, I sat in the living room, flipping through the pages that described fanciful cruises through exotic European ports, and started sobbing.  We loved to travel.  What had we given up by having this baby?  We would never get to go on one of these cruises; never see these beautiful places.  I felt a tremendous sense of loss for our old life.

Tonight, I went into our craft room to find some thread, and I stumbled upon my travel journal.

Artsy picture taken at Cafe Cubano in San Francisco with a tasty cafecito on the side.

This is a blank book my friend Liz gave me for Christmas from a market in Budapest when we visited her grandma there in December 2000.  Since I had just finished six-weeks student-teaching in London and spending weekends traveling through Europe, I decided to use the journal to keep track of where I had traveled and wanted to travel.  

I still use it to make plans for our trips, listing attractions and restaurants I'd like to visit, then going back and making notes about what we thought about them.  I also include super-helpful things like this highly-accurate map of England and Scotland:

When I came across it tonight, I flipped through it and stopped at the last filled in page from our trip to Germany.

And it's funny, because Nuremburg wasn't even the last place we went.  Like so many things, time caught up with me and I never finished planning the trip. The rest of it just...happened, I guess.  No more notes.

And that's the last big trip we took.  Our Baby Moon to Amish Country didn't even rate a page heading.

And that made me a little misty-eyed.  Remembering that trip, and thinking, as I had when I perused the Viking Cruise Brochure, that it would be a long time before we'd have a trip like that, again.

Then, I glanced up, and on the desk I saw this box of holiday cards, with a bold message on the front:

The best is yet to be.  It is here now and it keeps coming.  For all the challenges, sacrifices and exhaustion, I am generally happier than I've been in a long time.  And, while Kevin and I might never be the same "Us" we were before, I'd like to think that we still have the "Best Us" ahead of us.

PS. Here is proof that Abby is still cute:

Our Breastfed Baby Girl

Our little angel baby was four months old on Saturday!

It's hard to believe that this wiggly, 13lb chunker with the chubby cheeks and double chin is the same little newborn who struggled to reach her birth weight by the third week (the goal is by two weeks).

 

Look how big her diaper was on her!

I am so proud of her; so proud of us, for fighting through our eating challenges.  Those first few weeks were rough - the problems latching, the nipple pain, the hour to an hour and 45 minute feedings.  Those two days when I couldn't wake her up to eat for more than three minutes before she fell back to sleep, and sometimes couldn't wake her up at all. The waiting for weeks to get an appointment with the ear, nose, and throat doctor and pinning so much hope on that getting her tongue tie clipped would solve all of our problems (which it didn't).  I would whisper to her all those hours at night - "We're two smart girls.  We can figure this out."  

I remember when the lactation consultants advised me to pump after feedings to keep my supply up, and I only had a hand pump at the time, so 15 minutes on each side added up to a half an hour.  After trying to feed her who-knows -how-long.  Before they told me I didn't have to do it at night (OH THANK GOD), I sat, pathetic in a bean bag chair, pumping away and longing for sleep.

When she didn't gain her birth weight back until her third week, another lactation consultant looked grave, and got us on a plan to pump and bottle feed.  I know I already posted about this, but I was so relieved to have a plan, rather than just, "Eh, give her a syringe of milk if it seems like she didn't eat enough." LIKE I HAD ANY IDEA! But, at the same time, I was so scared that if we bottle fed, she wouldn't breast feed.  However, there were two moms at the support group who had been in the same boat we were, and they had chubby, healthy four-month olds.  So I had faith.

And now, here we are, with our very own chubby, healthy four-month old.  We've weaned her off of bottles (save for special occasions and a night time one with Daddy), weaned her off a nipple shield, and gone down from an hour, to 45 minutes, to around 20 or sometimes even less.  So, I'm here to say to moms struggling with breastfeeding their babies:  Hang in there.  You and your baby can do it.  Get help, and there may be more than one way to reach your breastfeeding goals.  When I told Lactation Consultant A that Lactation Consultant B had told us to pace bottle feed, Consultant A looked stern and said that she would've had us use a Supplemental Nursing System (SNS), where Mom hangs a bottle of milk around her neck and tapes a tube to the nipple for the baby to get extra (these are the same people who had us using a syringe and never mentioned an SNS).  Consultant A said she'd never seen a pace-bottle fed baby transition successfully to nursing.

WELL, HERE IS ONE:

I see that a lot of women find the SNS or syringe feeding to be what they need to help them and their baby get through their feeding challenges, so I don't mean to trash those methods. I just want to say that different approaches will help different people, and to find what seems to work the best for you and your baby.  I couldn't be happier with how things worked out for me and my little girl.

I'll write a follow up post with information on some local breastfeeding support groups.

The Lady with the Baby

When I wrote what I thought about being pregnant, I mentioned that everyone is nice to you.  I've discovered, though, that as the mother of a newborn (or nearly newborn), people are still really nice to you.  Or, I should say, they are nice to your baby.  People see our charming little baby and say things like, "Oh look, how sweet/precious/adorable/awesome (we did actually have someone tell us she was awesome)," and I have to remember to be polite and say, "Thank you," and not, "I know," which is what I'm thinking.

Women dragging toddlers and preschool children look at me pushing little Abby Bear, and they aren't thinking, "Gosh, I sure am glad my child can walk and feed himself and use the potty and sleep for six hours in a row."  No, they are thinking, "Gosh, I miss when he was that small."  I can see the wistfulness in their eyes.  And I think, "Do you really?  Do you really miss planning your day around feedings that are two hours apart?  Getting no more than 2.5 hours of sleep in a row?  Not being able to figure out why your precious little one is screaming her head off and not knowing what to do about it?"  However, I'm sure there are a thousand challenges that toddlers and preschool children present that I have no idea about, that when I have children that age, I might shrug and say, "Maybe I do miss it."

Therein lies what I am realizing is a paradox of parenthood.  For every hour of sleep I long for is someone saying "It gets easier."  And, although I still wonder WHEN, I can still see that it already has.  Kevin and I say things like, "We can't wait until Abby ________."  Sleeps more than three hours, laughs, is more interactive, can tell us what's wrong.  We can't wait to take her to the playground, have tickle fights, go swimming, try "grown up foods," etc.  But I am keenly aware that for every "can't wait until" that comes to pass, we lose something.

A couple of times a week, Abby and I go to a breastfeeding support group that we affectionately refer to as "Baby Breakfast."  This week, at one of them, I realized that Abby is no longer the tiny baby there.  We first went when she was only five days old, and I looked at several month-old babies like they were giants.  But now, I see babies who are even three weeks old, and born weighing more than Abby, and think they look so tiny.  And while Abby is certainly still small enough for snuggles, and will be for awhile, she's already gotten so much bigger.  The tiny baby phase is fleeting, and I try so hard to be conscious of that.  I don't want to spend so much energy "waiting until" that I don't appreciate how precious she is now, and at every stage, and how she will only pass through each for a short time.

"The days are long, but the years are short."  I try to remind myself of that during every long day.

Lessons Learned at the Beach

In the days, weeks, and well, even months leading up to our vacation this year, I've felt overwhelmed, haggard, and tired.  In addition to relaxing last week, I tried to take some time to consider how I might be able to feel a little more peaceful and energetic in my everyday life.  Now, I was on vacation, so I didn't really think that hard, but here are some things I figured out on vacation:

• Go when you have to go.
• Plan ahead so you have room to be spontaneous.  

• Live in the moment.

• Go to bed early.
• Take time to think about yourself.

• Stretch in the morning.
• Take time to think about nothing!