It's now been over 13 weeks since Veronica was born. It seems like these 13 weeks have simultaneously lasted forever and flown by. So much has happened. So much has changed.
As I reflect upon my pregnancy and the past three months, the one thing I'm grateful for has been support. Support from my husband, from my family, from friends, and from my students. It is now clear to me that bringing life into this world is quite a group effort. Sure, I could have done it without the support, but it would have been downright miserable.
I don't see how a woman could do this truly alone. Those first weeks with Veronica I was so grateful that my mother-in-law lived so close and my husband was there at 3am to take her for an hour so I could get some sleep. I was thankful for the many people who contacted me via facebook. Friends whom I haven't seen in years sent me private messages offering advice and sympathy. There were messages asking me how I was doing, asking how breastfeeding was going, and reminding me to leave the house. People stopped by with dinner. Friends emailed asking if they could come over (sometimes they couldn't).
Some of the most supportive were from friends who had also had children. They'd lived through it too, and I'm so very appreciative that they reached out to me.
(Facebook made it so much easier- a special thank you to Mark Zuckerberg.)
I never really understood before and therefore, probably wasn't as good a friend as I could've been to others who had babies. So, to all of my friends who may have felt I was distant or not supportive- I'm sorry. I was just ignorant.
The message everyone reiterated was that it really would get better. The baby would sleep more and regularly. She wouldn't need to eat every 2 hours. I would leave the house. I would no longer be stuck on the couch at the mercy of whatever crap was on tv at 2am (Holly's World and some Kardashian Krap if you're interested) Those thankfully few weeks of "why the heck is she crying so much?" would end.
And despite shingles and chicken pox, it has gotten much better. Maybe it's because I'm getting more than 3 hours of sleep in a 24 hour period and maybe it's because I can eat a meal? It could also be because I wake to find a little girl smiling and cooing at the ceiling fan and she now hugs me a little bit when we go to change a diaper early in the morning and she talks to the purple hippo hanging from her bouncy chair.
For whatever reason, I'm so glad everyone was right.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Friday, May 27, 2011
Self Soothing for the Spartan Baby
I fondly remember the anecdote/historical fact from High School World History (thank you, Mr. Wallace) that in Sparta, mothers would expose their newborn children to the elements, and if they fought off the wolves with their bare hands, they would be considered fit enough to be Spartan. I may have forgotten the exact truth details, but, at the very least, my interpretation of it is still the same. Clearly, they wanted strong children who would need neither binky nor lovey to comfort them. They wanted the epitome of self-soothers.
When I get dressed, I place an awake Veronica in the middle of my very comfortable, cloud-esque bed, replete with warm, soft comforter. She enjoys the ceiling fan action. She often falls fast asleep.
I contrast this falling "fast asleep" to what happens when we put her in her pack-n-play bassinet or crib. The pack-n-play directions strongly cautioned me not to place a sheet in there lest it wrangle loose and suffocate the child. I did anyway, but the fact I still think about my decision tells me I'm a wee bit nervous. My in-laws' pack-n-play, purchased 7 years ago for their other granddaughter, has a noticeably softer mattress. Mine features a comfortless slab. And the crib! The mattress is firm. The sheet is tight, and there is neither pillow nor blanket in the crib, per "experts'" advice.
Next, the books tell me to lay her down when she seems tired in order to learn to "Self Soothe." Sounds like a recipe for success.
On my bed, she puts a thumb in her mouth and is off to slumber. In her crib, she yanks at her ear, gnaws at her fist, and complains to the mobile...and then collapses into sleep.
The rational, un-paranoid side of me rolls her eyes, remembering that somehow we all got here without spartan cribs. Then the new mom voice, however, whispers to me, "except for those babies that did not get here, you do not want your baby to be one of those, do you?" Then I quickly snatch the soft blanket from Veronica's innocent little hands.
It reminds me of Sparta- teaching my child to self-soothe in the cold, heartless world. Comfort is a sign of weakness! Suck it up, babe. Life ain't no bed of roses! Better you learn now, 'cause by time you're two, we'll have you sleeping on the concrete of the back yard patio with a canteen.
I wonder if thousands of years from now, when babies safely sleep suspended in environmentally controlled bubbles, if world history teachers will tell stories about 21st century Americans who made their children sleep on their backs on cold, hard surfaces, and the students will gasp in horror.
When I get dressed, I place an awake Veronica in the middle of my very comfortable, cloud-esque bed, replete with warm, soft comforter. She enjoys the ceiling fan action. She often falls fast asleep.
I contrast this falling "fast asleep" to what happens when we put her in her pack-n-play bassinet or crib. The pack-n-play directions strongly cautioned me not to place a sheet in there lest it wrangle loose and suffocate the child. I did anyway, but the fact I still think about my decision tells me I'm a wee bit nervous. My in-laws' pack-n-play, purchased 7 years ago for their other granddaughter, has a noticeably softer mattress. Mine features a comfortless slab. And the crib! The mattress is firm. The sheet is tight, and there is neither pillow nor blanket in the crib, per "experts'" advice.
Next, the books tell me to lay her down when she seems tired in order to learn to "Self Soothe." Sounds like a recipe for success.
On my bed, she puts a thumb in her mouth and is off to slumber. In her crib, she yanks at her ear, gnaws at her fist, and complains to the mobile...and then collapses into sleep.
The rational, un-paranoid side of me rolls her eyes, remembering that somehow we all got here without spartan cribs. Then the new mom voice, however, whispers to me, "except for those babies that did not get here, you do not want your baby to be one of those, do you?" Then I quickly snatch the soft blanket from Veronica's innocent little hands.
It reminds me of Sparta- teaching my child to self-soothe in the cold, heartless world. Comfort is a sign of weakness! Suck it up, babe. Life ain't no bed of roses! Better you learn now, 'cause by time you're two, we'll have you sleeping on the concrete of the back yard patio with a canteen.
I wonder if thousands of years from now, when babies safely sleep suspended in environmentally controlled bubbles, if world history teachers will tell stories about 21st century Americans who made their children sleep on their backs on cold, hard surfaces, and the students will gasp in horror.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Mary Ellen
My Aunt Barb, Mary Ellen's mother, is fond of saying "We come from good stock." It brings a smile to my face even in the saddest of moments.
Today, Saturday May 21st is my cousin's memorial in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and I can't be there. It pains me because there is no where else in the world I'd rather be.
I love Mary Ellen so deeply, as do so many other people. Living across the country from her, I didn't get to see her daily, or even yearly. I didn't get to know her as well as either of us would have liked. I dearly treasure the moments we had together.
I admired Mary Ellen. I remember visiting her when I was 11 years old as she was working on her master's degree. She was a role model, intelligent, beautiful, and vibrant, someone whom I could look up to. She exuded a sense that everything was going to be ok, that life was not only worth living, but worth celebrating. I was proud of her then, as I'm proud of her now.
I always remember Mary Ellen smiling, which is not to say that she didn't struggle, but that I associate her with positivity and sincerity. I remember the way she danced at my wedding, the joy she took in the beauty of her garden, the love with which she spoke about her mother, the fun and laughs we had while sharing good food and even better conversation, her generosity in which she opened her heart and home to friends and family,...I remember so much that inspires me to be better, more forgiving, more accepting, and happier.
After my mother's funeral, she hosted a lunch in her honor. I will never forget the warmth and love I felt. It was the same warmth and love I felt emanating from her whenever we were together. Sitting in her house that day, I felt comforted. I felt accepted. I felt surrounded by peace.
She worked hard to cultivate this peace in her life and to share it with the world. My Aunt Barb told me that she was spiritually ready to leave this life, but I certainly wasn't ready for her to do so. I understand that this is my challenge to face, to accept.
In the meantime, as my heart heals, all I can say is Mary Ellen is a prime example of "coming from good stock," and I am so very proud and grateful to share it with her. I'll miss her forever, and I'll always keep her memory close to me.
Today, Saturday May 21st is my cousin's memorial in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and I can't be there. It pains me because there is no where else in the world I'd rather be.
I love Mary Ellen so deeply, as do so many other people. Living across the country from her, I didn't get to see her daily, or even yearly. I didn't get to know her as well as either of us would have liked. I dearly treasure the moments we had together.
I admired Mary Ellen. I remember visiting her when I was 11 years old as she was working on her master's degree. She was a role model, intelligent, beautiful, and vibrant, someone whom I could look up to. She exuded a sense that everything was going to be ok, that life was not only worth living, but worth celebrating. I was proud of her then, as I'm proud of her now.
I always remember Mary Ellen smiling, which is not to say that she didn't struggle, but that I associate her with positivity and sincerity. I remember the way she danced at my wedding, the joy she took in the beauty of her garden, the love with which she spoke about her mother, the fun and laughs we had while sharing good food and even better conversation, her generosity in which she opened her heart and home to friends and family,...I remember so much that inspires me to be better, more forgiving, more accepting, and happier.
After my mother's funeral, she hosted a lunch in her honor. I will never forget the warmth and love I felt. It was the same warmth and love I felt emanating from her whenever we were together. Sitting in her house that day, I felt comforted. I felt accepted. I felt surrounded by peace.
She worked hard to cultivate this peace in her life and to share it with the world. My Aunt Barb told me that she was spiritually ready to leave this life, but I certainly wasn't ready for her to do so. I understand that this is my challenge to face, to accept.
In the meantime, as my heart heals, all I can say is Mary Ellen is a prime example of "coming from good stock," and I am so very proud and grateful to share it with her. I'll miss her forever, and I'll always keep her memory close to me.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Shingles!
So it's been two weeks (?) since my last post. I've had a good reason for my absence. I developed a lovely case of shingles which if you haven't had, allow me to be the first to not recommend, especially postpartum.
It did wonders for my mood, energy, and general sense of well being. Once I learned I could nurse with the antivirals (side effects including headache, dizziness, and, of course, drowsiness), I learned I couldn't nurse on one breast because the rash decided to appear there. Great. So now, feeding has gone from a 20-30 minute, relaxing ritual to a 40-60 minute affair of pumping, nursing, prepping bottle, and bottle feeding. Oh yeah, burp!
On a positive note, this did allow me to watch "Wills and Kate" and the parade of hats which accompanied their nuptials.
I've still yet to find out if Veronica has contracted chicken pox. The "C-pox" apparently appears 10-14 days after exposure, and we are about to hit 14 days since the first symptoms appeared.
::crossing fingers::
I know that if she does get them, it'll be a mild case. Still, who wants a sick 8 week old?
Did I mention that Kevin never had the chicken pox??
However, now that the anti-virals are coursing through my blood, and the rash is, for the most part, crusting over as expected (yum!), I can say that this was far more tolerable than the UNBEARABLY ITCHY full body allergic reaction I had to antibiotics after giving birth. That lasted two weeks and was pretty much untreatable, save for a steroid cream, unless I was to stop nursing.I think I cried every night as the itchiness flared to epic levels.
So, two weeks penicillin rash combined with two weeks of shingles means that I've been an itchy gimp for half my child's life.
Let's hope this doesn't continue.
I had big plans for writing a witty satire of Cee Lo's "f*ck you" dedicated to the Shingles, but my creative juice is just gone.
The one line I did draft while seizing an opportunity to take a long, hot shower while Kevin tried to calm a fussy baby went something like this:
That pretty much sums up my crummy attitude for the past two weeks. I'm hoping for a shiny, happier Shannon soon.
It did wonders for my mood, energy, and general sense of well being. Once I learned I could nurse with the antivirals (side effects including headache, dizziness, and, of course, drowsiness), I learned I couldn't nurse on one breast because the rash decided to appear there. Great. So now, feeding has gone from a 20-30 minute, relaxing ritual to a 40-60 minute affair of pumping, nursing, prepping bottle, and bottle feeding. Oh yeah, burp!
On a positive note, this did allow me to watch "Wills and Kate" and the parade of hats which accompanied their nuptials.
I've still yet to find out if Veronica has contracted chicken pox. The "C-pox" apparently appears 10-14 days after exposure, and we are about to hit 14 days since the first symptoms appeared.
::crossing fingers::
I know that if she does get them, it'll be a mild case. Still, who wants a sick 8 week old?
Did I mention that Kevin never had the chicken pox??
However, now that the anti-virals are coursing through my blood, and the rash is, for the most part, crusting over as expected (yum!), I can say that this was far more tolerable than the UNBEARABLY ITCHY full body allergic reaction I had to antibiotics after giving birth. That lasted two weeks and was pretty much untreatable, save for a steroid cream, unless I was to stop nursing.I think I cried every night as the itchiness flared to epic levels.
So, two weeks penicillin rash combined with two weeks of shingles means that I've been an itchy gimp for half my child's life.
Let's hope this doesn't continue.
I had big plans for writing a witty satire of Cee Lo's "f*ck you" dedicated to the Shingles, but my creative juice is just gone.
The one line I did draft while seizing an opportunity to take a long, hot shower while Kevin tried to calm a fussy baby went something like this:
You say the sleep deprivation wasn't enough,
Shingles, f*ck you,
and this rash too.
That pretty much sums up my crummy attitude for the past two weeks. I'm hoping for a shiny, happier Shannon soon.
Monday, April 11, 2011
The Marathon
My friend Kelly made an accurate statement about these early weeks of motherhood. "It's a marathon, not a sprint."
Since I've never run a marathon, I can state without authority that there are two components to a marathon-- the physical capability and the mental fortitude.
The physical ability to survive and somehow function on 1 hour of sleep is really no problem, similar to pulling an all-nighter during finals week in college. Sure you can do it. Even zombies somehow eat.
It's your mind which begins to break. You realize that you're completely exhausted and tired of being needed. You realize your husband, although loving and helpful, will never be able to fully substitute for you. There is no equity, as much as you both may want there to be. He may agree to take the baby for an hourto let you get some sleep, but the baby will still cry and beg to eat. Your breasts will begin to hurt. You are hypersensitive to every noise from the baby, making it impossible to rest anyway...and once the baby finally settles down, despite the fact you said you never would, you check every 20 minutes to make sure the little one is still breathing while dear hubby snores soundly in bliss.
Clearly, he is not as hypersensitive as you.
It is at this point you begin to compile a Letter to God on how this whole process could really be improved and how ridiculous it is that as the mother you had to suffer through morning sickness, exhaustion, the mood swings, bloating like a beached whale, the pain of labor, pushing an 8-and-then-some-pounder out, and all the other little inconveniences no one tells you about (like sitting down after having a baby) only to have to be the sole feeder and primary 24 hour caretaker of a little being. Really, be it by evolution or design, it could be done better. Why can't we be penguins?
The physical capability is there. An hour of sleep feels like a day at the spa. It's the mindset which is harder to change, and changing it is the essential component to staying sane.
After a few days, I decided to just camp out in front of the TV. Turn on the most mind-numbing, guilty pleasures (All, unsuprisingly, on E! I've kept up with the Kardashians and even delved into Holly's World). Relax. Let go of pre-conceived notions of what "should" be happening. Be thankful that my baby is healthy enough to ask for food. Be glad that she's eating frequently enough to grow. Recognize this is just how it is. Accept her. Accept me. If I've got to stay up all night, I might as well just "float like a cork."
It's not unlike adjusting to a new culture but without the potential stomach issues.
And finally, enjoy the feeling as she falls asleep nestled in your arms...so calm. So sweet. So, so relaxing...you can't help but nod off...until you startle yourself awake in a panic that you'll smother her, that is.
Since I've never run a marathon, I can state without authority that there are two components to a marathon-- the physical capability and the mental fortitude.
The physical ability to survive and somehow function on 1 hour of sleep is really no problem, similar to pulling an all-nighter during finals week in college. Sure you can do it. Even zombies somehow eat.
It's your mind which begins to break. You realize that you're completely exhausted and tired of being needed. You realize your husband, although loving and helpful, will never be able to fully substitute for you. There is no equity, as much as you both may want there to be. He may agree to take the baby for an hourto let you get some sleep, but the baby will still cry and beg to eat. Your breasts will begin to hurt. You are hypersensitive to every noise from the baby, making it impossible to rest anyway...and once the baby finally settles down, despite the fact you said you never would, you check every 20 minutes to make sure the little one is still breathing while dear hubby snores soundly in bliss.
Clearly, he is not as hypersensitive as you.
It is at this point you begin to compile a Letter to God on how this whole process could really be improved and how ridiculous it is that as the mother you had to suffer through morning sickness, exhaustion, the mood swings, bloating like a beached whale, the pain of labor, pushing an 8-and-then-some-pounder out, and all the other little inconveniences no one tells you about (like sitting down after having a baby) only to have to be the sole feeder and primary 24 hour caretaker of a little being. Really, be it by evolution or design, it could be done better. Why can't we be penguins?
The physical capability is there. An hour of sleep feels like a day at the spa. It's the mindset which is harder to change, and changing it is the essential component to staying sane.
After a few days, I decided to just camp out in front of the TV. Turn on the most mind-numbing, guilty pleasures (All, unsuprisingly, on E! I've kept up with the Kardashians and even delved into Holly's World). Relax. Let go of pre-conceived notions of what "should" be happening. Be thankful that my baby is healthy enough to ask for food. Be glad that she's eating frequently enough to grow. Recognize this is just how it is. Accept her. Accept me. If I've got to stay up all night, I might as well just "float like a cork."
It's not unlike adjusting to a new culture but without the potential stomach issues.
And finally, enjoy the feeling as she falls asleep nestled in your arms...so calm. So sweet. So, so relaxing...you can't help but nod off...until you startle yourself awake in a panic that you'll smother her, that is.
Om Veronica
There is something about having a child which makes you re-evaluate yourself, your life, and your interests. This blog has sat abandoned for what has become years instead of months. It became a small, but ignorable, pang of guilt. I'd loved blogging, but Facebook came around to let me share interesting news items..and I was hit by a severe case of writers block accompanied by an extreme existential funk.
The funk hasn't cleared. My career is...not. I'm pursuing a masters degree in a field I enjoy but fear will lead nowhere. I'm working barely part time in an enjoyable job but which is essentially the same position I had 8 years ago. Had all my work and development and professional growth been in vain?
Admittedly, I did not fight the funk very hard. I cannot explain why.
A year ago I grappled with anxiety knowing that I've done my best at school and work, but felt like a failure for never really being able to define what I wanted to do with my life. I was jealous of friends who had jobs which took them around the world or challenged them with interesting projects.
Was I wasting my life?
Then I got pregnant...which is where you'd expect me to say everything came into focus, and I realized the purpose of my life. Not true-- but it's been a compelling journey, not at all what I expected, and it's mostly forced me to look at who I am, who I want to be, and not what I am. Motherhood, which started well before birth, caused me to question whether or not I was living the lessons I wanted to pass to my child.
And the answer has been yes and no.
It has also inspired me to write which I've missed so much. This may evolve into a "mommy" type blog, a turn off to some surely, yet I hope it keeps some people's interest.I'll most likely document what's going on with Veronica, who has taught me much in the way of patience in her 6 weeks of life.
Mostly, I hope it allows me to express myself and resurrect a part of me which has stagnated.
The funk hasn't cleared. My career is...not. I'm pursuing a masters degree in a field I enjoy but fear will lead nowhere. I'm working barely part time in an enjoyable job but which is essentially the same position I had 8 years ago. Had all my work and development and professional growth been in vain?
Admittedly, I did not fight the funk very hard. I cannot explain why.
A year ago I grappled with anxiety knowing that I've done my best at school and work, but felt like a failure for never really being able to define what I wanted to do with my life. I was jealous of friends who had jobs which took them around the world or challenged them with interesting projects.
Was I wasting my life?
Then I got pregnant...which is where you'd expect me to say everything came into focus, and I realized the purpose of my life. Not true-- but it's been a compelling journey, not at all what I expected, and it's mostly forced me to look at who I am, who I want to be, and not what I am. Motherhood, which started well before birth, caused me to question whether or not I was living the lessons I wanted to pass to my child.
And the answer has been yes and no.
It has also inspired me to write which I've missed so much. This may evolve into a "mommy" type blog, a turn off to some surely, yet I hope it keeps some people's interest.I'll most likely document what's going on with Veronica, who has taught me much in the way of patience in her 6 weeks of life.
Mostly, I hope it allows me to express myself and resurrect a part of me which has stagnated.
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