One part of parenting that I have really enjoyed is getting to breastfeed my babies. I love that I always have something ready for them to eat - something that I can't forget to buy or pack. I love that I have a surefire way to soothe a hurt, or put a tired baby to sleep (eventually) With each child, I have thought about how interesting it is to have this unique relationship with my child. My mom used to say that she thought that she better understood each of her children, as babies, and what we were trying to say we needed, because of all the time she spent cuddling us and watching us while we nursed. I don't know how it would be without the nursing, but she may have been on to something.
Now, in honor of Mom, I have decided to compile my own ABC Book of Nursing. I want to capture some of the many ways a baby nurses. This is a work in progress - I will add to it here as I think of more. Please consider suggesting a few below in the comments section!
A - Asleep. One of the best parts of nursing. Asleep could be the baby, or me, or both. There is really no other nap I can think of in my life more satisfying than laying down with a nursing baby. She sleeps hard, and I sleep hard, and we get to cuddle the whole time. Yay, oxytocin!
B - Bedtime. I have come to recognize the tired baby cry, which is very different from the hungry baby cry. This nursing involves just holding them still and quiet while they settle themselves and soothe themselves into sleep and can be laid down. Sometimes it takes 5 minutes; sometimes it takes more than an hour. It can be tempting to get frustrated by this stage, especially when I want to be up doing something else right at that moment. But I have to remember, if I worked as hard all day, learning what they learn each day, I would probably need help getting to sleep, too.
C
D
E -
F
G - Gymnastic. This is the late-toddler stage, acrobatic nursing. It generally involves attempts to place baby's feet above baby's head without letting go. In fact, a full 360 is the coups de gras. While it can make me smile, it is also the stage most likely to make me think of weaning, I must confess. I try to bear it with patience, since my Mom told me I was the worst for this, but I have seen so far that I am not as patient as my own mom was.
H
I
J
K
L- Luxuriating. When I get up in the morning before Helen is ready to be done nursing and awake, I carry her around with me. She lays across me sideways in a completely languorous pose. She throws her top arm up over her face to block the light, but she uses her bottom arm to gently stroke the bare skin on my side - her way of reminding me, amidst the bustle of serving breakfast and packing lunches, that in her mind, we are still curled up together in a dark, soft bed.
M
N
O
P
Q
R
S - Snacking. As my babies get mobile, they find nursing a necessary evil. They are hungry, but there are so many things to go explore in the world. If allowed, they will stop in for a quick fix, then crawl or toddle off, only to be back for another nip in a few minutes. Anyone who nurses by the clock might completely miss this delightful stage - don't do it!
S - Spurting and Spraying. Especially in the first month or two, as the milk supply adjusts to the baby demands, it is not uncommon for the baby to start nursing, then let go and pull back, only to be sprayed in the face as if with a fire hose full of milk.
T - Tentative. This is the brand-newborn. Minutes old. Their little eyes blink open, startled with the world where they are. Then, they find the breast and relax. Whatever else is going to happen to them from here on out, they know they will not be facing it alone.
U
V - Voracious. This is a stage I love. It seems to me that it hits between 2 and 4 months. All of a sudden, these wee little sleepy bundles wake up, and they wake up hungry! Add to their furious growth spurts that they are gaining head control and neck strength, and it can be quite startling the way they lunge for the breast, piranha-like. My babies also nurse at the stage with a distinctive sound - something akin to the sound the Cookie Monster makes when eating cookies. All I can say is, "Thank goodness they don't have teeth yet at this point."
W
X
Y
Z
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Germ warfare
Spring is sprung around here this week! After one of the oddest, mildest, Michigan winters I can recall, I expected to get hit with a hard, cold spring. Instead, plants are shooting up, and John and I dug out sandals to go to his swim lesson this morning. (Okay, so at 50 degrees, sandals may be pushing it a bit, but it felt great.)
Unfortunately, I have heard that we may suffer this summer from our mild winter. Predictions are for a nasty allergy season, because things didn't get killed. Time will tell - John has already started an allergic cough, and he doesn't usually get one. Fortunately, our asthmatic Maggie is doing fine - the maintenance inhaler she takes now seems to help a lot.
CAUTION: the rest of the post contains graphic descriptions of bodily functions. Read at your own risk.
We suffered this week from what felt very much like winter - the stomach flu hit our house. In a break from tradition, this one started with Mom. I woke up feeling a bit "off" on Monday morning, and after a coupld of hours I was headed back home to bed. Actually, the couch, which was my first mistake. Jeremy was able to cover my lectures for the day, but that left me in charge on the home front. I was vomiting regularly, including every time I rolled over. So, how to keep a busy 13-month-old safe? (And incidentally, why is it, again, that there aren't substitute moms that we can call in, like substitute teachers, to take over when mom is sick?)
I hauled up our play yard-fence from the lower-level playroom. It is a hexagonal-shaped structure, similar to a series of baby-gates, that is free-standing, and can be squashed into different shapes. Seems like a great plan. We keep it in the playroom to put Helen inside of, because she likes to be near the kids when they are down there, but try as I might, I can't keep them from dropping marbles, legos, and other choking hazards about the room. So, the yard is supposed to be her "safe place," with only baby toys inside. The only problem is, she hates it. If someone else gets in first, then puts her in with them later, she will sometimes tolerate it, for a short time. Otherwise, she clearly understands that it is jail. She is generally a very quiet, content baby - but not when we put her in jail.
So, I had this brilliant idea, born of desperation. I set myself up on the couch with a phone, vomit bowl, mug of water (hoping that I might be able to drink it eventually) and blanket. I hauled up the play yard with one hand, holding the vomit bowl in the other as I went. I put the yard right next to the couch, so I could reach over the edge to her. I had originally planned to open up one side of it, so it would be like I (on the couch) was inside with her. But then I realized that she would climb over me to the end table by my head, and spill the mug and drop the phone in the vomit bowl. So, plan B. I closed up the yard into a hexagon, then I put in some toys she hasn't seen in a while, smiled encouragingly, and plopped her in. She screamed instantly.
Fortunately, I was sick enough that this didn't actually bother me. I dozed on and off through her screaming, knowing that she was at least safe, if mad. Until I opened my eyes to find that she was learning how to climb out. At this moment, I confess I was less excited than usual that God has gifted us with a gross-motor-skills-precocious child. She had her feet up the grid to about 18 inches off the floor, and was leaning over the top of the gate from her waist down. To be honest, I was too sick to worry about her simply falling out - I was sure she would survive. But if she got out while I was dozing, then there could be a safety issue. I was sleeping in fits and starts, but like the dead when I was out.
So I did what any good nursing mom does - I tried knocking her out with breastmilk. Thanks be to God, it worked this time. She snuggled in next to me on the couch, and nursed and napped with me for quite some time. I thought I had made it. I slept blissfully in short stretches. During one of the times I woke up to vomit (right over her sweet little head, poor sleeping thing), I phoned Jeremy and he agreed to get John from preschool over his lunch break between teaching his classes and mine. While not recommended as great all-the-time parenting, I knew John could happily survive one afternoon glued to computer games, so he would be fine at home.
Then, the problem. My hips were starting to ache from lying on the couch in the same position for so long. And then, I threw out my back during some violent projectile vomiting, while twisted at a funny angle trying to keep the bowl above the sleeping baby's head. [This is something nobody ever warned me about getting older - I could throw out my back by vomiting? This is truly an indignity of aging.]
My whole body was screaming - there would be no sleeping now. I had to move. Gingerly, I flipped my head to the other end of the couch. No dice. Helen popped awake, and after her long nap with me, was more than ready to be awake. Back in the play yard? Well, I couldn't sleep anyway (screaming back) and so I let her out to play for a while. I was doing okay, just lying still. And then, of course, she pooped. It was inevitable. I knew it would happen. But I confess, I honestly calculated how many HOURS until Jeremy would be home again, before I summoned the courage to go change her. Thankfully, she followed me upstairs, so I only had to lift her to the changing table. This effort, of course, led to vomiting, so I held her with one hand while neatly hitting the bag in the diaper pail. I am sure I didn't imagine that she wiggled even more than usual for that diaper change, but I eventually got her clean and down on the floor. I went to wash my hands, which was a convenient place for some projectile vomiting into the toilet. Unfortunately, I wasn't expecting the force, and made a mess that would have to be cleaned up. Now, I have Helen running around somewhere, an open (dirty) toilet - which is a siren's call to Helen to play in it - and I have to get across the hall to where we keep the bleach wipes. All without any more vomiting. I am not really sure how that all happened, but somehow, I got the toilet sterilized, my hands washed, the dirty diaper in the garage, and found Helen before she played with anything dirty or dangerous.
After that, it was all kind of a blur. But I did call on Jeremy again - I begged him to come get Helen and take her along to pick up the older kids at school. From that point on, I slept like the dead for many hours. This was helped along by moving to my bed, where my aching hips, at least, felt much better than they had on our 17-year-old couch. By late that evening, I could keep down enough water to take motrin for the wrenched lower back, and all was good.
So really, reading back over this story, I have to give a shout-out to my awesome husband. I can't have a substitute mom for the day, but he pulled through as dad and mom and professor, as well as any one superhero could manage.
And, spring is in the air. Winter germs should be gone soon. Except, James woke up today with stomach flu.
Postscript. Jeremy just read this post and reports that I didn't do quite as well as I had thought. Apparently, when he got home at lunchtime with John, and I was sleeping on the couch thinking she was safe (or perhaps sleeping on the couch thinking I was awake and watching her), he found a scene of mild mayhem. He reports: Helen had climbed up to the table and found an open bag of Cheerios. (It was just the bag liner from the cereal box - we don't know if she got it out of the box or she found it that way.) She was walking around feeding herself happily. When Jeremy walked in, she squealed and ran away, swinging the bag over her head and scattering Cheerios to the four winds and every part of the house. (He says it was her "playful" squeal - the one that means, "I know I am not supposed to be doing this, but it is fun. It is even more fun if you catch me doing it, so I will let you notice and then giggle and run away fast.")
Unfortunately, I have heard that we may suffer this summer from our mild winter. Predictions are for a nasty allergy season, because things didn't get killed. Time will tell - John has already started an allergic cough, and he doesn't usually get one. Fortunately, our asthmatic Maggie is doing fine - the maintenance inhaler she takes now seems to help a lot.
CAUTION: the rest of the post contains graphic descriptions of bodily functions. Read at your own risk.
We suffered this week from what felt very much like winter - the stomach flu hit our house. In a break from tradition, this one started with Mom. I woke up feeling a bit "off" on Monday morning, and after a coupld of hours I was headed back home to bed. Actually, the couch, which was my first mistake. Jeremy was able to cover my lectures for the day, but that left me in charge on the home front. I was vomiting regularly, including every time I rolled over. So, how to keep a busy 13-month-old safe? (And incidentally, why is it, again, that there aren't substitute moms that we can call in, like substitute teachers, to take over when mom is sick?)
I hauled up our play yard-fence from the lower-level playroom. It is a hexagonal-shaped structure, similar to a series of baby-gates, that is free-standing, and can be squashed into different shapes. Seems like a great plan. We keep it in the playroom to put Helen inside of, because she likes to be near the kids when they are down there, but try as I might, I can't keep them from dropping marbles, legos, and other choking hazards about the room. So, the yard is supposed to be her "safe place," with only baby toys inside. The only problem is, she hates it. If someone else gets in first, then puts her in with them later, she will sometimes tolerate it, for a short time. Otherwise, she clearly understands that it is jail. She is generally a very quiet, content baby - but not when we put her in jail.
So, I had this brilliant idea, born of desperation. I set myself up on the couch with a phone, vomit bowl, mug of water (hoping that I might be able to drink it eventually) and blanket. I hauled up the play yard with one hand, holding the vomit bowl in the other as I went. I put the yard right next to the couch, so I could reach over the edge to her. I had originally planned to open up one side of it, so it would be like I (on the couch) was inside with her. But then I realized that she would climb over me to the end table by my head, and spill the mug and drop the phone in the vomit bowl. So, plan B. I closed up the yard into a hexagon, then I put in some toys she hasn't seen in a while, smiled encouragingly, and plopped her in. She screamed instantly.
Fortunately, I was sick enough that this didn't actually bother me. I dozed on and off through her screaming, knowing that she was at least safe, if mad. Until I opened my eyes to find that she was learning how to climb out. At this moment, I confess I was less excited than usual that God has gifted us with a gross-motor-skills-precocious child. She had her feet up the grid to about 18 inches off the floor, and was leaning over the top of the gate from her waist down. To be honest, I was too sick to worry about her simply falling out - I was sure she would survive. But if she got out while I was dozing, then there could be a safety issue. I was sleeping in fits and starts, but like the dead when I was out.
So I did what any good nursing mom does - I tried knocking her out with breastmilk. Thanks be to God, it worked this time. She snuggled in next to me on the couch, and nursed and napped with me for quite some time. I thought I had made it. I slept blissfully in short stretches. During one of the times I woke up to vomit (right over her sweet little head, poor sleeping thing), I phoned Jeremy and he agreed to get John from preschool over his lunch break between teaching his classes and mine. While not recommended as great all-the-time parenting, I knew John could happily survive one afternoon glued to computer games, so he would be fine at home.
Then, the problem. My hips were starting to ache from lying on the couch in the same position for so long. And then, I threw out my back during some violent projectile vomiting, while twisted at a funny angle trying to keep the bowl above the sleeping baby's head. [This is something nobody ever warned me about getting older - I could throw out my back by vomiting? This is truly an indignity of aging.]
My whole body was screaming - there would be no sleeping now. I had to move. Gingerly, I flipped my head to the other end of the couch. No dice. Helen popped awake, and after her long nap with me, was more than ready to be awake. Back in the play yard? Well, I couldn't sleep anyway (screaming back) and so I let her out to play for a while. I was doing okay, just lying still. And then, of course, she pooped. It was inevitable. I knew it would happen. But I confess, I honestly calculated how many HOURS until Jeremy would be home again, before I summoned the courage to go change her. Thankfully, she followed me upstairs, so I only had to lift her to the changing table. This effort, of course, led to vomiting, so I held her with one hand while neatly hitting the bag in the diaper pail. I am sure I didn't imagine that she wiggled even more than usual for that diaper change, but I eventually got her clean and down on the floor. I went to wash my hands, which was a convenient place for some projectile vomiting into the toilet. Unfortunately, I wasn't expecting the force, and made a mess that would have to be cleaned up. Now, I have Helen running around somewhere, an open (dirty) toilet - which is a siren's call to Helen to play in it - and I have to get across the hall to where we keep the bleach wipes. All without any more vomiting. I am not really sure how that all happened, but somehow, I got the toilet sterilized, my hands washed, the dirty diaper in the garage, and found Helen before she played with anything dirty or dangerous.
After that, it was all kind of a blur. But I did call on Jeremy again - I begged him to come get Helen and take her along to pick up the older kids at school. From that point on, I slept like the dead for many hours. This was helped along by moving to my bed, where my aching hips, at least, felt much better than they had on our 17-year-old couch. By late that evening, I could keep down enough water to take motrin for the wrenched lower back, and all was good.
So really, reading back over this story, I have to give a shout-out to my awesome husband. I can't have a substitute mom for the day, but he pulled through as dad and mom and professor, as well as any one superhero could manage.
And, spring is in the air. Winter germs should be gone soon. Except, James woke up today with stomach flu.
Postscript. Jeremy just read this post and reports that I didn't do quite as well as I had thought. Apparently, when he got home at lunchtime with John, and I was sleeping on the couch thinking she was safe (or perhaps sleeping on the couch thinking I was awake and watching her), he found a scene of mild mayhem. He reports: Helen had climbed up to the table and found an open bag of Cheerios. (It was just the bag liner from the cereal box - we don't know if she got it out of the box or she found it that way.) She was walking around feeding herself happily. When Jeremy walked in, she squealed and ran away, swinging the bag over her head and scattering Cheerios to the four winds and every part of the house. (He says it was her "playful" squeal - the one that means, "I know I am not supposed to be doing this, but it is fun. It is even more fun if you catch me doing it, so I will let you notice and then giggle and run away fast.")
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