Crawlspace

2009-10-31T17:31:00.002-04:00

Boo!

You know what's scary? An entire month without a blog post! Themes this month have been: feeling isolated, wanting to live better, feel better, eat better and be better; have more of an impact. Being sick for the last half of the month has probably inspired some of these feelings. I caught myself hoping I could buy a little inspiration, visiting a power yoga studio nearby for a heated workout and, afterwards, stopping next door for a raw vegan lunch (I got the Prana Burger; pretty tasty). The owner authors http://super-mom.com, which resonated with me a bit, and while I'm not ready to commit to the raw vegan lifestyle, it did get me thinking about how to expand my family's food horizon. Pretty much everything we eat gets processed through the stove, and relies heavily on dairy. I bought coconut and dates this morning to enliven our palates, and made tempeh reuben last night for the first time in a while. It was good. My formerly compartmentalized life is really, finally, wholly integrating: I'm leading my company's wellness program and the act of designing it has made me sit back and wonder what it really means to experience wellbeing.

In my role as leader, it has 1,000 different meanings, since we have 1,000 different employees. How much more personal and individual does it get than the body? But to me, wellness means that my body feels good. And ever since we moved, I've noticed that I'm seeking new ways to make that happen. I think it's simply next on the list; I have a wonderful husband, wonderful child, wonderful house, wonderful job, and have you met my cat? But now it's time to take it to the next level. When I vision myself in a few years, I am more powerful because I cook and eat well, and I am disciplined. I don't know what that means yet, though. I am not very Zen about it, more anxious, like, "do I have to give up red wine?" I'm definitely not giving up chocolate. But I want to get smarter about food so that my child can benefit from the final, ultimate line of my parenting philosophy: Respect her body completely.

2009-10-02T17:17:00.009-04:00

Hanging With Baby

I took the day off from work today with that above subject line named as the reason in my email reminder to my boss and my employee. They wished me a happy "Peony day" ...and now that I've had it, I think I should have many of these days. They are slow, sensory, fun, and silly.

We took the commuter rail downtown into Boston, bought pink beribboned boots for her at Puma, ate lunch and watched fountains and birds together, tried on the baby winter coat at Patagonia (so cute, but didn't buy; not quite warm enough), listened to hip hop at Bodega, had Starbucks chats over juice boxes, played and laughed out loud in a children's book store where we bought the book CAT, and this after she spent long time yelling what sounds a lot like "Hi Dog!" at the puppies in the pet store. (The book DOG is now on order for us.) On Newbury St., looking down at her sleeping in the carrier on my chest. Looking at art in a gallery---she gazed upwards at huge paintings of grapes. Later at Starbucks we tried grapes, but she spit them out dramatically. Also a no-go on kiwi, which she tried for the first time. Sometimes we think she just likes spitting things out, though.

The best part is just how easy it is to be sensory again---we stood on a bridge over the highway and cars and trucks zoomed under us and she kicked and yelled and we could have done it for a long time. I spent a good part of my adolescence doing that (minus the kicking and yelling, but with the pleasure and wonder--where are they going? Who are they? Woah, here comes a truck!) but I haven't done it in years. Just being in the moment: she's hitting the window of the train with both hands as highway cars and graffiti tunnels zoom by. She's peering over the top of the seat at the rider behind us and smiling a huge grin until he is simply forced to smile back; her two bottom teeth are an irrestible invitation to smile. We're sitting on some grass in front of Boston Public Library, eating fresh mozzarella and basil while pigeons fly within inches of our faces. We're watching in a pet store as a pug and a dachshund wrestle and bite with joy, and their frenzy captivates her and makes her flinch when their bodies get near. But she kicks kicks kicks when a standard poodle, loose in the store, gets near, and we have to get low enough for gentle petting, which she has mastered.

People always tell me that time flies with a kid, "blink and you'll miss it," "it's over before you know it," "It's just weekends and vacations and then they are eighteen," but people have been telling me this or variants of it my whole life. I remember my grandfather Hilbert musing that life after 25 just flies. I was so curious about it; I wondered about it for about 15 years, until I turned 25, and then I waited with baited breath to feel like life was just about over. I'm now 33 and I don't feel it yet.

As a parent, you become more acutely aware of time passing because your child grows in some new tangible way every moment, it seems, and it's hard to forget that at the same time, you're aging. But on the other hand, time can get as slow as molasses. Today the time between 12 and 3 was so long, I really couldn't believe it. Between 12 and 1, under the sun, eating lunch, laughing with stranger after stranger about my baby and something she did (sneeze, look at sunflowers, smile)--it was slow. And certain sights, smells, temperature, humidity, puts me in Costa Rica, Cobbs Hill, the 490 overpass, the Co-op, the Andes---like it happened yesterday afternoon. Then again, Peony and I passed Sonsie on our walk and I remembered each of the four distinct times I'd gone there, and I was shocked---each time seemed like from a different lifetime.

Time is malleable. Routine speeds up time. Take time to be in time.

2009-08-14T13:25:00.002-04:00

Dawn

It's 4am and my husband just brought her in from her room. I can see her open, dark eyes and feel the wet tears on her face in the hushed pale gray of our bedroom. From the crook of my arm, our baby reaches one hand up to touch my cheek. I touch her cheek back. We look at each other in the soft nighttime morning light for what feels like a long time. I can make out her long eyelashes and serious mouth, a pensive look. When I'd put her to bed the previous evening, she was exhausted but still cried for a few minutes. I hate it when she lies in her bed and cries. The cat and I assumed a position near the baby's door, at a back window, where we watched bats catch mosquitoes in our new backyard. The crying ended after a few minutes. But at 4 it started up again; an insistent yelling call that she needed us. I don't know how to fix her process of learning to sleep, but I never want her to seriously believe that I won't be there for her, at least for a long, long time.

2009-07-21T09:39:00.002-04:00

Fine Motors

Those little hands, reaching, stretching, fingers always working, exploring, pushing, pinching. My little climber nurses, face buried in the breast, eyes closed tight, but all the while she is reaching out, feeling for the book or newspaper I might be reading, and if her finger or toe touches it, even for a second, it stops there, to investigate, to crinkle it, to push it. She lifts her hand into the air and moves each finger around in space. Sometimes her eyes pop open and she throws gang signs my way. I throw a couple back at her. Arm extended, hand bent at the wrist, index finger, middle finger, and thumb straight, the other fingers folded.

While in the highchair eating, or more often, it seems, refusing to eat what she doesn't find tasty, she will gaze idly at her hand and touch index to thumb, then middle to thumb, then third finger to thumb. Her lips make a little oval as she concentrates. This morning, our treasure trove of finger puppets discovered while packing to move, she laughed and flapped her arms and pulled a duck, a coyote from Peru, and other new friends off of her daddy's hands and held each one, inspecting it very carefully. Our beauty is already cultivating an internal life, one where she mulls things over, watches things move, and often turns away from whatever is going on so that she can create space for herself to consider, focus, and learn.

2009-07-16T09:11:00.002-04:00

No Mas(h)

Our precocious little eater was downing a couple bowls of mushy cereal a day along with some fruits and vegetables we mashed with a fork. We were always pretty lax, something I realized when my 6-month-old stuffed a huge piece of barbequed red pepper in her mouth at a friend's house and we reacted not at all. Table food is good! But we still worked on getting typical baby food down her gullet twice a day, like good parents.

Then we took her to the pediatrician. "YOU only eat cereal once a day, right?" he asked in his critical way with one raised eyebrow. "Why does she have to eat it twice? And she should be eating lunch." All of a sudden the whole world opened up for Peony. She was eating off our plates, and a beautiful, unpredictable range of likes and dislikes opened up. Spicy spinach with garlic and hot sauce? Loves it. Give her more. Roasted potato? Pass it over here. Veggie sausage? Can you please feed it to her faster? You are taking too long. Favorite food? Oh, delicious mushroom quiche that Mama made....please let's have some more of that. Organic raspberries from the CSA box---who knew they could be this good? Just keep popping them in her mouth whole, please.

On the other hand, cereal mash starts to look worse every minute. The only thing that saves it is delicious banana. Lunch at school is good as long as she gets to have mac and cheese (organic, Annie's, yum). She likes bread, but not quinoa; lentils don't help; please stop trying to give her brussel sprouts; yes she will eat all your sweet potato, thanks! And it goes on. Now I have The Joy of Cooking open on my lap, trying to figure out how many different things I can jam into a quiche (collard greens; tomato; goat cheese) so my baby has something for lunch. Meanwhile, two little white scrapy teeth have surfaced. When she stands between your knees, one hand on each leg like some independent woman, tall and straight, you can see them just a little bit inside that huge, proud smile.

2009-07-09T08:31:00.003-04:00

The Education of My Daughter

There is something about looking down at that small round face, with its button nose right in the middle, and orange-slice shape of a smile, and glittering bright eager eyes that absorb everything and invite every stranger within a fifty-foot radius to come over and say hi, and big pink cheeks that need a torrent of kisses, that makes me think of the future in a much bigger and broader way than I ever have before. This past week, traipsing over Vermont's rocks and streams and ferns and ponds, sometimes in the rain, my handsome husband carrying the little bean of our lives, I was awash in thoughts of her future, and how I could best contribute. Starting with the button nose and thinking outward from there, I concluded, while feeding her breadcrumbs on a summit of Mt. Mansfield, with its immense eastward vista over the Green Mountains, and later, sitting on horseback and watching a spotted fawn run behind its mama, that there were six basic categories I wanted her to master by age 18 or 19.

1. Literature and Art

2. Mind and Body Are One Focus

3. Languages and Travel

4. Outdoor Adventurer

5. Mathematics

6. Music and Dance

If she could pursue all six of these simultaneously starting at age 5 or 6, I think she'd have a high capacity for self-knowledge, happiness, and the ability to tenaciously pursue her own dreams and ideas while learning from, listening to, teaching and collaborating with others.

Thinking about it more deeply, I realized that I have specific philosophies about how to approach each category, as well.

Literature and Art, for instance, are not things you can really master in breadth without extensive graduate education. But if you take the time to go really deep with a few artists and writers, you can learn to analyze, understand and relate to other people's expression, and make your own art, too. Maybe even teach it. So I thought that one writer or artist could be the focus each year.

From there, I expanded on the approach to my basic six categories, including an advanced flow from the initial idea that would probably not happen until she was in her teens.

1. Literature and Art
GOAL: To be able to analyze and relate to artists, and to create own art. Depth not breadth.
SAMPLE YEAR/LESSONS: Issa > Haiku and Impact > Japanese culture > Illustrate hiaku > Write haiku > Teach haiku
ADVANCED FLOW: Write, produce and star in own play

2. Mind and Body Are One Focus
GOAL: To build skills in the defensive arts, and nurture a discipline of focus
SAMPLE YEAR/LESSONS: Gun range + advanced archery = daily target practice
ADVANCED FLOW: Brazilian jujitsu

3. Languages and Travel
GOAL: Fluency in 2 languages by age 18, travel experience with language connection, deep understanding of what it's like to be somewhere with no language connection
SAMPLE YEAR/LESSONS: Travel to France & Polynesia; meet other Francophiles in Boston; watch French films
ADVANCED FLOW: Learn and teach variants of chosen languages

4. Outdoor Adventurer
GOAL: Building confident independence and applied knowledge of biology and geology
SAMPLE YEAR/LESSONS: Climb a mountain every week for a year; apply one different context to mountain per climb (such as plants, animals, rocks, supplies, trails and off trail, gear, speed, orienteering, etc.)
ADVANCED FLOW: Be able to teach, debate, and motivate for sustainability

5. Mathematics
GOAL: Develop mastery of complex math and how to apply it
SAMPLE YEAR/LESSONS: Model different economic indicators & results--trade stock over multiple years
ADVANCED FLOW: Answer this question: How can you apply math to succeed in business?

6. Music and Dance
GOAL: Know rhythm, know beat, in her bones, and be able to compose
SAMPLE YEAR/LESSONS: Learn keyboard
ADVANCED FLOW: She's #1 in a breakdancing competition

7. All the while: Unstructured Play Time

So, I sound like a public school parent from hell, right? There are a few things missing from this list (like basic history, for instance) that kind of jump out at me, that she will need to learn at school. And she'll live near a good public school, so, that's good. But to be able to apply her knowledge and make it work for her as an adult (and an adult in a time when certain kinds of information, like basic history, are very easy to obtain, and certain skills, like flexibility, analysis and the ability to motivate, are very valuable), I think she needs a complex education. The way that this framework is valuable is that everything else that she does, like say, soccer, is taking away from one of these categories. Maybe that's OK, but it's just something to recognize. I don't know how to make it work yet, but I have a little time. She just started to crawl last night.

2009-06-27T09:24:00.003-04:00

Babies

Oh, my gosh, the little mite is growing and growing! I continue to be actually obsessed with her. Watching Gran Torino last night it was almost impossible to stop thinking about Peony. She climbs now, which makes every encounter with her mean that you are now her personal monkey bars. It's fun, and silly. I love having a baby so much that I can't imagine not having a baby, and what's more, I can't imagine stopping at two of them. But would it be good for my job, my marriage, my finances and my body to have another one right now? Or to have more than two? Very questionable, I think. It's an odd place to be. My mom says that's when many women get a puppy.

As she grows it seems that she just gets better and better at expressing her love and delight. Her cheeks are huge and beautiful, she hugs and kisses, shes laughs and laughs, and her joy...well, let's just say it's contagious.

2009-06-15T18:34:00.003-04:00

Joy & Celebration

We went to Matt and Naomi's really sweet, really wonderful wedding last night. I felt so lucky to be there. The rabbi asked everyone to start by doing this great thing: taking a big breath in, closing their eyes, and exhaling until all the worries and stresses they brought in with them were simply gone. He said, "I want Matt and Naomi to be able to look in your eyes and see only joy and celebration reflected back at them." So, how was it that yours truly congratulated her friend the groom only to have him say, "Are you alright?" Yes, of course, I insisted, hoisting the baby to my other arm. "Are you sure?" he then asked. I can't lie, so instead I chanted back at him, "joy and celebration! Joy and celebration!" and proceeded to tell him how great his wedding was.

Of course I wasn't alright. I don't know why. I closed my eyes, I exhaled, and I still felt the same. I felt tension in my upper body. I felt tired from teaching two hours of fitness classes that morning. I felt worry that my husband wasn't madly attracted to me. I felt sadness that Peony wasn't feeling good and would surely get tired soon, or cry during the ceremony. I worried we couldn't leave before the dinner was served or Matt and Naomi would feel annoyed, and yet if we stayed Peony would feel very tired. I felt badly that I couldn't fit into my dresses the way I wanted to and had nothing to wear and then ended up wearing something that I couldn't easily breastfeed in and made me totally self-conscious.

Weddings used to be the most fun thing ever---drinking, dancing with Blue till all hours, the wearing of all the make-up. During the ceremony, the rabbi said, "In marriage, the first thing you have to do is take care of yourself." Blue looked at me with love and compassion. "I'm trying, I'm trying!" I whispered, hiding my toes so no one could see my lack of pedicure. "The second thing you do is take care of your spouse." Strike two. All I could do was look at the beautiful baby in my arms.

2009-06-09T09:30:00.004-04:00

Dance Party

One thing has seriously slipped since my return to work 8 weeks ago: music appreciation hour. I want my baby to participate without self-consciousness or hesitation in that most human, most physical, most connected of experiences: making, listening to and dancing to music.

Looking through my notes in her "First 1000 Days" book recently, I was struck by all the music she heard in her first month. I had to scribble names in the margins so the artists could all fit. But since starting back at work, I've brought her home, exhausted, and never even turned on the stereo. Mostly we've just tried to focus on getting her fed 100% breastmilk as long as possible--and sleeping through the night in her crib (getting there! Last night was the first night when eleven hours of sleep happened with ZERO crying...and a drowsy-but-awake-baby to start!).

As a very young person, she had an astonishing response to great music. She would stop fussing and listen completely to Don Cherry. Her face would transform as different sounds entered the atmosphere, and she would react with her whole body.

In the past two months, her interest level in music has not lessened. But what's she exposed to now? Me singing (good), her teacher singing in Arabic (good), or creepy commercial jingles (bad, bad, bad). Last night while she was nursing, the ice cream truck trailed slowly down our street, sending its transfixing slot machine sounds floating through our kitchen. She tore her little head off the breast to look in that direction and I had to coerce her back to the nipple. When we want to distract her for 30-60 seconds so we can eat or put something away, we push a button on what my husband calls the "nuclear" option: the electronic Baby Einstein music player I am ashamed to have bought her myself (thinking it could soothe her in her crib). This thing is evil: it takes beautiful classical pieces and converts them to dinky one-note lullabies, setting her up for a lifetime of commercial programming. And it effectively distracts my daughter.

Every weekend, I vow to get her both outside AND listening to live music, but usually only succeed in getting her outside. Now and then we get lucky---we catch a cello in the subway or a belly dancer in a restaurant (ODELLA!), but too often, I totally fail at this goal.

Well, now she can sleep through the night. And soon she'll be eating solid food. So the time has come to recommit to music. Real music, interesting music. Live or not. This morning I put on my favorite old track from Basement Bhangra (which made her look around at the speakers to try to figure out where it was coming from). Then she heard Suga Suga by Baby Bash (and I got to ask her, "Suga Suga, How you get so fly?"). Then Walking with a Ghost by Tegan and Sara (which made her bend her knees while standing and laugh). Then Radio Nowhere by Bruce. Then Moon Rocks by the Talking Heads (more laughing...that's my girl). Then...the piece de resistance...The Way I Are. We danced. And then something by Nas, which she found totally absorbing. And then it was time for her morning nap.

The challenge is for me to branch out a little more in my knowledge of layered, complex and interesting music. It takes time, but what could be more worth it than my little dancer?

2009-05-25T20:26:00.011-04:00

What a Glorious Feeling

My little beauty is lunging for the food on our plates, putting crusty bread in her mouth, holding her own cup, acting hungry after breastmilk feedings, and in general displaying an unquestionable desire for solid food. Today I read that a baby is ready when she opens her mouth for a spoon, and extremely ready when she closes her mouth around the spoon. Curious, I handed Peony a spoon. She took it in her hand, brought it to her own mouth, and closed her lips around it. OK, OK, she's ready. I get it. But the research seems pretty consistent about waiting until she's six months old; starting earlier gives her a higher risk of diabetes, obesity, allergic reactions, and so on. And the American Association of Pediatricians recommends 100% breastmilk until age six months, so that's what we've been doing.

On her half-birthday, June 22nd, small sweetie will get the rice cereal for which she's been waiting so passionately. And maybe some bananas. It doesn't seem right that her first food be so bland. I might add a little cinnamon. And maybe some kosher salt. And can it be brown rice cereal?

We're finding the right highchair, bowl, and spoon in anticipation of this new chapter in our lives. Highchairs, there are many, and she road-tested the Svan pretty well...but BPA-free bowls seem to be hard to find and then, when found, lacking a little in reasonable functionality. No one needs overkill. I could maybe go for the ThinkBaby set but she doesn't need a bento box, you know?

In the meantime, she's been growing in leaps and bounds, and it's just beautiful to see. She's started sitting up by herself in the last week---amazing! The soles of both feet together in a perfect little yoga pose, and her arms up for a lovely balance. AND she sleeps through the night! Well, she did once, when I mumbled through my sleep to Blue that we should "give it a couple minutes" at midnight, and she cried herself back to sleep. Poor baby, but she did sleep until 5, so she probably wasn't that hungry. We bought Ferber's "Solve Your Child's Sleep Problem" five days ago and it has changed our lives. I think we're about a month and half late on this boat, but at least we're on it.

She also continues her interest in dancing by tearing herself away from nursing to watch George Sampson do his amazing Singin' in the Rain dance on Oprah. Since then we're been watching his dance, which won the final prize on Britain's Got Talent '08, every day on YouTube. You just can't discount those street dancers. He is awesome. I loved his dance so much that I bought the Gene Kelly remix by Mint Royale, and it's great, but listening to it, I realized that the energy in his dance doesn't come from the music...it comes from him. At almost 33 now, I am fascinated by watching certain magnetic personalities sparkle briefly and then age...it really happens, doesn't it? Those closest to you glow and beam and get more beautiful with time as they blossom and crackle with fire and energy and the nature of your intimate connection, but when someone is more at a distance from you, and you can see them shine, then age, then change, it's a stunning thing. That must have happened to me, too. I think I knew it when I was fourteen; I was at a special point that I will never return to again. Mortality: not for the faint of heart! Living long enough to truly grasp aging means an enhanced ability to recognize the power of the youthful peak. I think that's why his music is a perfect foil; there's something bittersweet about how young, strong and vital he is, because it doesn't last---but dance is a fantastic way to express that reality.

Anyway, I'm sure that's what Peony was thinking when she first started watching George. Either that or she just likes the Gene Kelly remix.

2009-05-09T08:57:00.005-04:00

Hometown

In a haze this week of excitement and hope: a beautiful house stands by the river in Newton, with a greenhouse and just the right yard, the bedrooms I always hoped to find at the top of staircase, a sunroom, wooded conservation land, the right street. No garage and no shower. Promptly decided we couldn't afford it, but then I couldn't sleep that night deciding in fact this is exactly what we should invest in and take risks for, so we put our own home on the market and got a full-price offer within 48 hours. Which led to another nearly sleepless night. But this time tentatively joyous. No signatures, but contracts in the hands of attorneys.

Anyway, there will be more time later to blog about a bat house, a river boat, a bike trail, a place where I can write my heart out and raise my children. Something else has been drifting up through the ether, though, through the blissful run of projects at work, my baby and her loving caretakers, trying to remember if we fed the cat, midnight nursings, and it's actually outside of all this. It's the Globe. Yeah, the precarious life of the Globe, close to death, revived for the moment, but having bled out all these years, and it makes me really sad. In college I read the Globe as much as I could, but when I moved to Boston I started reading the Times instead. It seemed more substantial. And it was, in fact, because the Times ~~ate~~ bought the Globe and made it a series of reprints and ads. But even though I stopped reading it, I didn't stop mourning it.

A community paper with smart writers (so, sigh, that excludes the Herald) is so valuable. In the wake of the Globe, who will keep the Meninos of our time honest? Who hunts down wrongdoing and makes it transparent? Where does transparency live at all, in fact? Bloggers? Fine, but which one relaces the Globe? Because I still get all my news from nytimes online and let me tell you, I never read about Boston.

2009-04-25T10:42:00.004-04:00

The Philosophy

I always knew I had a parenting philosophy, but it wasn't until we pulled Peony from one daycare center and placed her in another that I was able to put it into words. The new center asked for one, for one thing, which is a damn good sign. So here's what I wrote:

Provide gentle challenges--reward persistence and achievement and trying
new things--aim for more than just "safe and happy." Lots of love and hugging.
LOTS of outdoor time and natural stimulation. Minimize electronic stimuli,
plastics, commercial influence, as much as possible. Respect her body
completely.

I'm happy with that. We'll see how it stacks up when I have more than four months of experience as someone's mama, but so far, I think it's right. For me there is a big emphasis on respectfully moving out of your comfort zone, every day if possible. That's how I live now. And that's probably why I like being a fitness instructor: I get to do that for other people all the time. Probably not every child loves to live that way, but when Peony was three months old, she watched a train roar by ten feet away from us, giving her little body a huge jolt in my arms, and afraid I'd overdone it, I asked Blue to look at her expression. "She's smiling," he said, and I knew I had a child a lot like me: OK with getting out of her comfort zone because new things, sometimes, new things really pay off.

2009-04-18T08:43:00.003-04:00

Back to Work

As if I ever stopped working. Having a baby is 24-7 work, such a test of endurance and patience for a nursing mother that you can't even imagine it until you've experienced it. Going back to work is a little bit of a break from that, much easier and more comfortable, but none of that mattered on Monday, when I was a forgone wreck. My husband called me at 9:40, after we'd left our baby with strangers. "How is work?" he asked. "I don't know," I said. "Are you not inside the building yet?" No, in fact, I was sitting, nearly catatonic, inside my car, doing nothing, thinking nothing, trying not to cry. I could not believe that I was going to be away from her, and worse, that this was the beginning of being away from her all the time, and how insane it seemed.

Underneath my big-picture angst was another, more immediate problem: the care wasn't good. I could tell immediately. A new general manager was on the premises, and she was irritable and laden with attitude. She seemed not to know that Peony was starting that day. In fact, no one seemed to know, even though we'd just stopped by a couple weeks before. I wanted to tell someone, anyone, about her needs, like her blocked tear duct and her hemangioma, or the things that make her happy, like standing, but I couldn't communicate with any of her caregivers, who speak little to no English. I went in a few hours later, to nurse her on my lunchbreak, and she was crying her heart out. No one near her was going to comfort her; she was just sitting in a swing, alone. That was a heartbreaking moment, especially given how good it had felt to be at work: hugs from everyone, warm faces, a new desk by the window, real clothes that actually fit, blow-dried hair, makeup, and strategy, projects, and details to consider. I was just starting to feel excited when I found her crying: hey, this could work. And then seeing her: wait, this isn't working at all.

So now, as we seek alternate care, there's so much to consider. You stipulate to everyone that you don't want plastic toys and instead amass a nice collection of wood toys painted with organic dyes, and then she spends most of her time in day care with cheap plastic toys that she jams in her mouth. You research Exersaucers and decline to have one since they are proven to delay walking, but at the day care there are four of them, always filled with babies. You strip the lead paint from your windows, but she spends most of her time in a place about which you have no knowledge or control of the levels of lead paint. A family day care we considered has a TV time during the day, even though we try to limit the TV she sees. A nanny seems wonderful or dangerous, depending on how secure you are with letting your baby be molded by someone else. I want a 1:1 ratio, sure, but I want it with someone fabulous or no one at all.

Stressful.

I think before we actually met our baby, we just didn't know how to evaluate caregivers. We followed questions that other moms provided, but didn't know why we were asking questions like, "Do you hold the babies alot?" Now I know why. She's an alert, sentient being who we treasure more than words can describe. Not a little blob who sleeps all day, but a vivid and aware person.

A person just now waking up from her nap.

2009-04-03T13:53:00.003-04:00

Here We Go

"First train ride, or what?" asked the gruff conductor. Peony looked up at him from her front carrier, where she was attached to me as I slid into my seat. I nodded. He gave a sort-of smile and tipped his conductor hat. I gave her a squeeze and we rolled off through the misty woods to Concord. She loved the train---well, she loved looking at the people on the train and the metal grille under the window. Not so much out the window. I saw a deer as she fell asleep on my chest. In Concord, we disembarked and walked to a pond, then got lunch for Mommy, then bought a bonnet for the baby.

I am trying to pack in the outdoor adventures these days as we wind down sixteen weeks of maternity leave. Walks with other moms and trying out the stroller, walking alone with the baby strapped to my body, walking home from downtown, walking huge loops around the northern suburbs. We walked to Davis Square the other day and I bought her ruby colored sunglasses with rhinestones in the corners. We walked to my work, too, and had lunch with my boss, who Peony showered with smiles and love and hugs, and then walked to her daycare, where we toured the rooms yet again and saw the sleeping babies, crying babies, playing babies, and babies getting held. It was cramped, but there were lots of arms to hold babies, and that's all I cared about right then.

She likes other people...she likes me most of all, but she likes watching other people. She fussed until I held her facing outwards the other day on the bus, traveling home from the doctor's negative pregnancy test result and heating up in our coats in the early spring sunlight. It was hard for the bus passengers to ignore her: she looked at each one so openly and full of heart, her dark eyes wide and her little mouth open; the old woman, the tough guys with headphones, the teenage girl with the Jonas Brothers backpack and busy texting fingers. Each one had to look back, and maybe even smile. "She's taking it all in, huh?" say strangers everywhere to me, or commenting on her alertness. She is alert, and she has been for months; she is curious, and I rarely see her distracted from her curiousity. The other day I was looking at her in my husband's arms, stressed and consumed by the discomfort of her little growing body, and I said, "It's so hard being a baby, isn't it? You know, you won't always be a baby, and it's going to be a lot easier when you're a big girl. Your body just has to grow right now." Her whole body fell quiet and her eyes softened as she listened, and she looked at me like she had traveled through the whole universe to come join our family, and she knew she was in the right place, in the now instead of in all time. In yoga, Barrett asked to us to assume prayer position and imagine what we were most grateful for, and my body was flooded with love and power for Blue and Peony, my two beautiful beings, almost actually of my heart.

2009-03-17T12:22:00.003-04:00

Midwest

Being in the Midwest last weekend reminded me of all the conflicted feelings I have about that part of the country. On Sunday morning I slipped out of bed and left my husband and baby girl asleep, excited for a short adventure. It was warm for 7am and the sky was streaked with a light pink. Orange glowed in the West before the sunrise. The faint outline of the Sears Tower under the smog. Car keys in hand, I stood in the middle of the hotel parking lot, smelling the familiar chemical odor of Midwestern air. It makes breathing feel heavy somehow. "I'd be happy to drive you there if you want," said a front desk staff person when I asked about the nearest Starbucks. His tone was genuine and kind. I drove myself anyway. Speeding by a cop and then having to catch my breath imagining getting ticketed in my in-law's car; a McDonald's on every corner; deciding not to lock the car in front of Dominick's. Everyone in there was nice. The teenager staffing the in-store Starbucks apologized for the lack of muffins and we chatted. There is more space and time and warmth in the Midwest, but more abuse, too, more ugly development, more smog, more body fat. I pondered this as I drove back to the hotel. That part of the country is where my family comes from, and where my daughter's family comes from, too, although I have removed myself and been removed. At least, I keep trying to remove myself. The old conflicted feelings popped up, and not just for what lies outside. Memories in disbelief of the trailer court where my relatives lived, guns and children, general aimlessness and childish fights between adults. My husband's family is very different, and his aunts and uncles and grandparents accept my baby with a loyal, kept passion that is entirely tender and pleasurable. I am so glad for that. And yet visits there still posit me as an outsider to his parents, and for the first time, I actually felt in the way, like I was blocking the light of my daughter from falling entirely onto his parents. And perhaps I was blocking, since there's a darkness that falls in the other direction, and that is what the Midwest means.

2009-03-07T17:19:00.002-05:00

Homes

We drove out to Weston today to check out a single family house. There were a lot of twisty roads, beautiful snow-filled fields melting to reveal old cornstalks and horse jumps, and tall trees one month from first bud. Finally, the little blue house. On the market for 148 days. A BMW in the driveway: Realtor #1 was on the premises. We parked the Geo as a Mercedes SUV pulled up behind us. Ah, Realtor #2. We couldn't help but laugh, remembering our old house-hunting days and the glitz and glamour of realtors. Why? How? And apparently still lingering despite the times. A lady in suede boots hopped out and introduced herself to my husband as I pulled Peony out of her car seat. "Ooo, how old?" asked the realtor. "Eleven weeks on Monday," I said. "I can't believe there is a house in Weston that is this cheap!" she exclaimed. We went inside.

Standing around the family room, Realtor #1 said apologetically of the owner, "She really likes to decorate for the holidays. I guess right now it's St. Patrick's Day." The house was clearly loved, and every little nook and cranny had some beach detritus or shiny plastic shamrock on display. "This is sooo affordable...a great way to get into Weston," said Realtor #2. She fiddled with her diamond earring and tugged down her fur vest. We looked in the three little bedrooms, the neat and tiny kitchen, and the big living room. The ladies tottered down the basement steps in their subdued three-inch heels. We gaped at the huge oil tank and thousand year old furnace, a true relic. I'm not going to live here, I thought to myself, so I didn't look too closely or worry too much about the details.

But later I wondered, why not? There were people walking around the rural neighborhood in the warm air, but in our more urban neighborhood, we'd seen almost no one outside. There was a floor plan we could work with, a usable kitchen, decent floors and good yard space. Excellent schools and a nursery school on the corner. Good commutes to work and walkable public transportation. If I lived there, would I always be reminded of what I didn't have? Or would I just be happy?

Driving home, we mused about how nice it would be to not have upstairs nieghbors and to have a bedroom removed from a five-car driveway. How much we could do to make it ours.

And now I'm left wondering.

2009-02-17T09:09:00.006-05:00

Other Voices

When I nurse my baby, I hear my mother's voice telling me how, as a baby, I always had to make eye contact with her when nursing. How I never slept more than two hours for the first six months. How needy and demanding and sensitive I was. She loves me very dearly, but these things were always presented as facts about who I am, how different I am than my brother, and how much self-sacrifice it took to have me. Later in my childhood, I was alone a lot, and looking back as an adult I often quietly assumed that was excusable given how much of a pain I was, how much time I took, when I was a baby.

But now that I have my own baby, I can't even hold her in a way so as to make eye contact while breastfeeding. I can't figure out the logistics of how my mom must have held me. So, if she's demanding it, I don't even know. She goes through growth spurts of not sleeping more than two consecutive hours over many days, and that's tough, but sometimes she sleeps longer. Is she a better baby than I was? I found myself telling a friend yesterday that yes, she is a better baby. But I also already plan to be careful about constructing the narrative of her babyhood for her someday. I want to tell her about how loved she is, how many places she goes, and how awesome we think she is. Even when it's hard, I don't want to tell her how hard it is. I want it to be less about who she is innately, and more about what we experienced. As an adult I have often used the anecdotes of my baby-neediness to prove how demanding I can be, and now that I have my own baby, I think that's a shame. Those are the parts of me that were told to me, and they may or may not be all my own fault. What if I had a mom who really wanted to make eye contact with me and made sure that she could? What if the idea of self-sacrifice makes her feel good even when it makes me feel bad? Where do these things come from?

I'm not actually saying that I was an easy baby---I bet I wasn't. But pregnancy and infancy are experiences made up of so much more than what's actually happening in the moment. Recently I have heard my husband's mom's voice in his baby-nurturing voice, the voice he uses to soothe Peony. It made me wonder if my nurturing voice echoed my own mom, so I listened...and yep, it sure did. That's OK; that's how we learned the concept of nurturing! How incredibly lucky we both are to have been so carefully and lovingly cared for in our first years of life.

I also hear a lot of other voices from the moms around me, young and old, as I care for my little family. Here is advice I got from other moms that I have found holds true in baby-care. Not all of it was what I wanted to hear at the time, of course.

While on maternity leave, be sure to take a shower every day, just so you feel human.
Get outside every day with your infant, even if it's you running into Starbucks while your husband waits in the car.
The sleep deprivation is insane. Sleep whenever you can.
Pump breastmilk whenever you can---save up those ounces to give her a bottle and yourself a break now and then.
Unfortunately, make sure you have both Preparation H and stool softener when you come home from the hospital.
Wouldn't you rather be held than put down? Give her time to get used to the crib.
Forgive everything with your husband in the first couple months---you guys are just going to be tired and stressed.
Don't sit down to breastfeed without something to drink, even if it's tap water you grab while the baby is fussing.
The first couple months are rough. But it really does get better.

It doesn't paint a pretty picture. But it helps!

2009-02-13T09:12:00.003-05:00

It Takes Life to Love Life

As soon as I finished that last post I took advantage of a rare moment of quiet to look at some past entries, and found an old one with a good message.

http://cedargretchen.blogspot.com/2005/08/its-official-i-got-laid-off.html

This morning, Lucinda gets my priorities into focus.

2009-02-13T08:44:00.002-05:00

Circumstances

I knew my upstairs neighbor was expecting a visitor from his past. I could tell because he had placed a mannequin on his front porch, put his own bright orange jacket on it, and twisted strands of Christmas lights tightly around its neck until it looked both like a threat and a desperate cry for help. I paused on my way inside, looked up there, and wondered how we'll ever sell our condo. He feels like he's being strangled and tries to make it a statement about how quirky he is; I feel like I'm being strangled and try to look away, but can't no matter how hard I try.

For the millionth time this morning, after a night of bad dreams about scary neighbors, I asked my husband how we could move. Moving seriously limits us in the long term, considering our financial hopes and goals---and where we live now Is. Absolutely. Perfect. Except for one thing. The upstairs neighbors.

For a long time I have tried to quiet the sad mantra that wormed its way into my brain in childhood: Something always has to be wrong. This belief is crippling and unhealthy, and though many others believe it and repeat it, I've noticed that the people who don't believe it tend to be a lot happier. I want to be like those people.

Another trap of resignation: I also tell myself it could be worse. Sure, their dogs are too many, too loud, and far too aggressive. Yes, they care not for the common areas and leave poop in the backyard. Indeed, these people are home almost all the time and almost always loud---there are few moments when we don't know where they are in their condo or even what they are doing, if it involves talking or watching TV. Yes, they wake up the baby nearly every day. But couldn't it be worse? They go to sleep early, still feign caring about what we think. It could be worse. But still.

So we look at our options for the gazillionth time, but none of them feel good. What we want for right now is to stay here, grit our teeth through any hardships, and emerge in a couple years with a healthy nest egg. The problem is, I am tired of my teeth hurting.

2009-02-05T08:23:00.006-05:00

It's In Moments

Scene:
Bathroom, just after a wonderful warm evening bath. I am still in the tub, and my baby daughter is lying on her towel on the bathmat, being toweled dry and dressed in her pajamas by my husband. Now all dry and warm, she looks over at me and dazzles with a killer smile. And she coos, a kind of gurgle ending in a long vowel. I coo back, a clear high pitch. And she answers, in the same high pitch. I do it again, and she answers again, with gusto. Blue and I look at each other and laugh, and Peony and I repeat. And repeat. Each time she brings her voice up louder and louder. She arches her back to get the sound out, lifting her chin and taking a few seconds to really try to form the vocalization. It is so wonderful, so much more wonderful than I could have imagined parenting might be. I actually have the thought, "This might be one of the happiest nights of my life." Her beautiful voice experimenting with sound and communication, her eyes sparkling with pleasure, talking to her mama, right at the beginning of her life, moves us both to tears. Later, Blue mentions how much more special it was because we were both there, sharing it together. I think about being in his arms in a river in Costa Rica at the beginning of our relationship, and how we didn't know we had this experience in front of us. But I remember crying on the plane back home, telling him how I wanted a home and children with him. I love him so passionately, and this moment is part of our love affair. And yet, it's something else, too; something outside of us. A different person, learning what she can do. Those happy eyes, excited by her new strengths. Every day, a stronger girl.

2009-02-03T13:36:00.003-05:00

This Morning's Milestones

Baby: First day in gym day care! Mama: First boxing class p.p.! First workout on a rebounder since 3 months of pregnancy! O joy! Things went well for both of us. It feels so good to sweat and to move. I usually wish it was a more anonymous experience, since members and fellow staff alike all know me, but today it felt nice to have so much recognition, coaching, and encouragement. Teanna held the heavy bag for me as I pounded it for 2.5, then 5, minutes. "Am I doing it right?" It had been so long. "Yes!" she said. "Look at your endurance--better than my advanced class!" I balanced on the Rolo board; I got pushed and coached and pummeled by Joanna; I took VJ's advice on the Stepmill; I shined and sweated and felt excited and happy and strong. My baby cried a little, and got held a lot, but stuck it out for an hour in that day care, cared for by two women named Maria. When I left her there, she was looking into the face of one of the Marias, her eyes bright with stimulation and curiousity. "Enjoy your workout!" said the other Maria. And I relaxed.

That kind of positive energy further reinforced my conviction after a tumultuous weekend: it's time to only hang around people who are kind to me, inspire me, and make me feel good. On both days, by happenstance, I spent time with people who just don't seem to like me. It doesn't matter what I do or how many years pass. Usually I grin and bear it, but I can't right now. Feeling bad is too much of an imposition in these days of 24/7 responsibility for my little peony. I don't have room in my heart.

My experiential tips for brand new moms:
1. Hang around people who are good to you.
2. Find a new mom's group and go. If the people are good to you.
3. Work out, and make sure you sweat. But don't do it until it sounds good. Then do it every day.
4. Don't stress about those moms who do whatever you just can't right now. For me, reading literature while breastfeeding, not sleeping during the day, cooking delicious food, and sewing clothes for my baby are all out of my reach. It's not exactly OK with me, but my baby seems pretty happy, so something is working.
5. Lactation consultants all say different things, but sticking with one who works for you is really valuable.
6. Buy comfy, warm loungewear you find attractive! Nothing fits post-baby.
7. Remember this: "The first couple months are rough." But I hear it gets easier after that.
8. Keep a long view of things while savoring the moment. Your body will not always be like this: Comforting. You will get nights with your husband again: Comforting. But also, she won't ever be 6 weeks and 1 day again. She won't ever hear herself make that noise for the first time again. Be present. It's fleeting.

In short, it's hard to be comfortable when you have a newborn, both physically and emotionally, so make your life as comfortable as you can. But stay aware.

And someday, you'll have a night like Peony did last night: 5 hours and 15 minutes of straight sleep--a new record. A new milestone!

2009-01-22T15:04:00.005-05:00

Marking the Milestones

Breastfeeding in public by myself! (Well, and the baby.) Driving all the way to the gym! Taking a Mommy & Me class! Shoulder exercises! Eating a civilized lunch! So many new-mama milestones today. After lifting weights, though, I am newly tired. And yet determined to bundle Peony and take her for our walk. After all:

www.my-calorie-counter.com The webs free Diet Log

Sigh. I swore I'd never add one of these things, but maybe trying to move the butterfly closer to the right will motivate me. Or maybe just wanting to wear regular clothes again will motivate me. I wonder if it will automatically update? It might!

My sweetie was so good during Mommy & Me. She lay on her back and smiled at me!! Except for when she was crying. But even then I just popped her in the Bjorn and kept doing squats. I felt so lucky to have my girl with me. Which was nice, because last night was the first night I felt some nostalgia for the old times, the just-two-of-us times. Just a little. She was uncomfortable and couldn't be easily consoled, she was either nursing or fussing from 5pm to midnight (and is now refusing a bottle), and she wouldn't let me put her down all day, so by midnight I felt done. I started thinking about travel and movies and cuddling and all the things I loved so much with my husband, and how scary it is to read and hear about kids being a challenge to relationships, and how much I treasure my duck and don't want us to resent each other. And yet being married parents is a whole new challenge we have to rise to meet. It's only been a month, and we're doing pretty good, but I am jealous of the ease with which he leaves the house. (See prev. entry.) He makes it looks so....easy.

It's breastfeeding. It's so good for my girl, and so worth it, but so painful and messy and lengthy and consuming, and it keeps me tied to her unpredictable hunger pangs. Not what I expected. We're getting the hang of it and my mentors keep telling me "it gets so much easier," so I cling to those words. Already, though, it is 100 times easier than when we started, and I'm so proud she's 100% breastmilk. Hell, I'm web-ticker proud.

2009-01-15T16:51:00.002-05:00

The World Looks Inviting Again

"You!" I said to my husband. "Coming into the house and then prancing right back out! Using a car to go into the world! Having all those 'experiences'! Using that thing they call a 'door'!" He asked if I was just maybe going a little stir-crazy. It's 17 degrees outside, I have a baby strapped to my chest, I am still in my bathrobe at 5pm, and I haven't been outside since Tuesday. Not stir-crazy yet, but maybe the edge of it. Just stir.

I took our little pea blossom to Target on Monday. After that we were going to take a girl's trip to my new mother's group. But baby cried in Target. I thought it was understandable---Target kind of sucks sometimes. Bad lighting and shoppers with attitude. And they had no cute onesies that fit her. But she even cried in the warm car. I took her home and cuddled her, which makes her very happy. Not all babies are happy when they are held or cuddled or worn in a sling, so Peony's ability to be reassured makes me grateful. But still. It made me wonder just how I'm ever going to get out there. I don't need to go far--just far enough to forget about my annoying neighbor and feel like there's a reason to take a shower. We're talking Starbucks.

When it's warmer, and by that I mean at least 25 degrees, then the small one and I shall venture out into the world. Although I took her to Starbucks when she was two weeks old and a fellow mother loudly told me to "take her home and put her in an incubator." She also told me P. was hungry, which she was not. It stressed me out, but then again, the tadpole is going to invite all kinds of comments from the general populace, and I must take them with ease. I didn't learn to do that perfectly in pregnancy, but now that I am a bona fide mama, I think it's going to be necessary.

2008-12-18T11:42:00.003-05:00

Only 8 more centimeters and it's time to push

"I hope you don't mind if I say this, but you look ready to go," said my co-worker the other day. Her happy tone made it entirely different from the chattery chickens in the gym telling me I "look.....ready to pop." Thanks, ladies. Go cluck elsewhere and leave me alone to lift weights. This morning my neighbor asked me, but when exactly? Do they know when? No, they don't know. It's one of life's great mysteries. But it's true that I'm anxious for it to happen...not that it has to happen today, but just to know that I could hold my healthy baby by Christmas would make me seriously happy. My wise OB made more of a prediction than I would have expected, as I lay back on the table this table this morning. Two centimeters dialated and a week from my due date. "I don't know, but I would guess within the next 10-12 days." I looked at the calendar. By the 29th? That sounds great. "But I don't know," she repeated. I know, I know. And I didn't even ask her for a prediction.

With a full-term baby living inside of me, everyone looks like someone's kid. The Cape Teen in a terrible Herald headline? Someone's kid. That young woman in the wheelchair in the cafe? Someone's kid. The old vets talking trash about Bush? Someone's kids. It's strange. Someone's kid is going to come out of me, and whoever it is (though I feel like I already know), it's going to be my responsibility. My OB said, "It's like you have a very important meeting, but you have no idea when it's going to happen."

She also said, "You can't think your way into labor."

And, "All you have to do, for this to happen, is get out of the way."

This morning I woke up in the dark, reached through the covers, and held the hand of my sweetie. Soon it will be winter, with longer days, drives to Western MA in the snow, and life with our baby.

2008-12-03T08:50:00.002-05:00

The Narrowing and the Opening

During the last nine months, my world has been getting narrower in ways I didn't intend. I have NOT been working on my play with Geneva. I have NOT been learning FORZA from Sean. I have not been getting my certification to teach spinning. I have not been going out dancing with Kirsten. I have not been traveling out of the country with my husband. I have not been attending Misty Tripoli workshops. I have not been house-hunting. I have not been wearing boots and dresses.

On the face of it, none of these things needed to stop just because I'm pregnant. There's no reason on earth why I shouldn't be going to book readings with Toni. Or seeing bands with Blue. Or visiting New York to see the Catherine Opie retrospective at the Guggenheim. In fact, I've done more than I expected in some ways---this is the first week I'm not teaching fitness classes, for instance, and I am at full term as of tomorrow. Blue and I traveled all over New England and the mid-Atlantic states until I was seven months. We even rode our bikes together more than we did last summer, probably because I wasn't busy doing all those things listed in the first paragraph.

This is the point where someone pats me on the knee and says, "But you've been growing a BABY." I know, I know. I'm beyond happy and excited about it. I don't mean to imply that I feel deprived. Only that I have a very rich life, and by putting things on hold, by cutting down my focus to work and home only, I feel a little more insecure and clingy at work and home. And now I'm slowly cutting down my focus to home only. I am obsessing about work more than usual, thinking of details and personalities in the middle of the night. It would be nice to have some friends, art, or travel to obsess about instead, but my body just isn't into it right now. It's busy.

Also, I think I've been having contractions.