Hindsight, Volume 2

Alright, so we've already established that I've got to learn to tone down my crazy, germaphobe ways the next time around. What else have the past 8 months taught me about what I'll do differently? Let's see:

I will use the overnight nursery at the hospital. Okay, in my defense, I didn't just wait the usual 9 months for a baby-- I waited 2 years & 9 months. So, when that little guy finally popped out, you can imagine how reluctant I was to turn him over to anyone, including the hospital staff. But my labor started at 10pm on a Friday night. I stayed up all night long timing my contractions before I was finally admitted to the hospital at 3am on Saturday morning. And once I was in the hospital, the pain of the contractions coupled with my excitement did not make for a sleep inducing combination. I did not sleep, at all. And then, after Camden was released from the special care nursery, I couldn't imagine being separated from him any more than I had to be, and so I asked for him to room-in with Matt and me. That night? I got a total of 30 minutes of sleep. I'm not even kidding or exaggerating. Between Camden's day & night confusion and the hospital staff constantly barging into the room to check my vitals or his, there was just no time for sleep. So, yeah. Next time, I will take advantage of having an overnight babysitter. There will be plenty of time for bonding over sleepless nights at home.

I will not swaddle more than a month. Hello, my name is Kerri, and I am a swaddling addict. Don't worry-- at 8 months old, Camden is mostly swaddle free. But it was not an easy road to get to this point. It started out innocently enough: the hospital swaddled Camden in that cozy newborn blanket and I continued with that blanket once we got home. See?
But he quickly outgrew that blanket and so I switched to the velcro swaddling wraps. Soon he was busting out of those in the middle of the night. Instead of taking that as a blatantly obvious sign that he was done being swaddled, I decided to purchase the ultimate swaddling mechanism-- the Miracle Blanket. And so my poor child became accustomed to having his arms pinned down while sleeping and then whenever I tried to "wean" him from the swaddle, he'd look at me like I was insane. Woman, what are these limbs doing flailing around?! Don't you know they're supposed to be strapped down so I can get some sleep? Swaddling, I hate you very much.

I will pack away the parenting books. Okay, I'm going to give myself a break here-- I don't think it's bad for a first-time parent to study up. Quite honestly, I had no idea how often to nurse, or when to feed a baby solids, or how many naps a 6 month old should take during the day. But these books should only be used as a guide, not the be-all, end-all Bible of parenting that most of them claim to be. As mothers, we have instincts for a reason.

I will not compare my child to other children. Motherhood can create unique bonds between women that might not exist otherwise. But it can also lead to an annoying desire to compare, and thus, compete. I'll admit- I got caught up in the Compare Game when Camden was a few months old and it was becoming obvious that he was allergic to sleeping through the night. I'd read mommy message boards and see the boasting posts "Little Joshua slept for 25 hours yesterday!" Okay, I might be exaggerating a tiny bit, but you get the point. Then when Camden would wake up for the eighth time that night, I'd be close to tears-- not because I was truly bothered by his night waking, but because I'd feel like his night waking was abnormal & that I must be doing something wrong as a parent since other people's babies sleep through the night. And then one day, I just got over it. As long as Camden's happy and healthy, then I am doing my job as his mom. And those braggy people are just irritating anyway. If your awesome daughter never cries, walks when she is 6 months old, starts reading at one year old, changes her own diaper, and sleeps like a dream--- good for you! But I have a feeling you're going to have a hellion on your hands when her teenage years roll around.

I will realize that everything is a passing phase. Don't get me wrong-- after going through infertility, I really do try to appreciate every single moment of this whole parenting thing and I think I do that remarkably well. But there were plenty of times along the way that I got anxious about things that, in hindsight, were just a phase. Next time around, I will know that the early "survival mode" days don't last forever. I'll understand that my body will heal & feel normal again (well, relatively normal anyway). If I choose to breastfeed again, I'll know that bleeding nipples get better and that latching goes from a complicated and frustrating ordeal to a natural act that takes a split second-- all in time. I'll know that the sleepless nights eventually end (right?!) and that I won't always be covered in spit up. I'll know that the cries and whines of the earliest days will soon be replaced by gummy smiles and squeals of laughter. And I'll know that it all happens way too fast.

Parenting Fail

This morning, Camden and I were hanging out with Matt in the bathroom while he got ready for work. I glanced at Camden's bouncy seat which has been sitting in our bathroom for months now and said to Matt, "You know, it's time to retire this seat. He's too big for it. I'm going to stick it upstairs in his closet."

Don't get me wrong-- Camden doesn't still use his bouncy seat like he did in the first couple of months of his life. He certainly doesn't sit in it and stare at the animals dangling from the arch overhead. In fact, I don't even bother putting the animals on that seat anymore. The only time he uses the bouncy seat is while I shower. I strap him in it, hand him a few toys, and jump in the shower. He's only a few feet from me at all times & I can easily see him from the shower door. This has worked well for us over the past several months.

Then came today. Even though just hours earlier I had mentioned to Matt the need to retire the seat, I strapped him in it one last time while I took a quick shower. As I closed my eyes to wash the shampoo out of my hair, I heard a loud, ear-piercing scream followed by hysterical cries. My heart racing, I jumped out of the shower to find Camden completely toppled over, lying on the floor, still strapped into his seat. We have a rug on the bathroom floor, but of course Camden just missed it and landed on the hard tile. I scooped him up quickly, shampoo still in my hair, and hugged him tightly while his sobs faded to whimpers.

Within minutes, he was smiling and playful again, but I am still racked with guilt. Why on earth didn't I stash that seat in the closet upstairs like I told Matt I was going to do earlier today? And why am I still using an infant bouncy seat when I have an extremely active (and strong!) 8 month old anyway? Close to tears, I called Matt, my mom, and my sister and asked them to reassure me that I am not the worst parent in the world.

Anyone else want to share their not-my-proudest-parenting-moment to make me feel better? Or you can tell me what a moron I am for not packing away a newborn bouncy seat like 4 months ago. Either way.

Hindsight (aka: What I'd do differently)

I realize that writing this post is probably a bit premature, since I'm sure there will be a lot of other items to add to this list as time continues to march on at an unbelievably fast pace. But I was talking with my sister the other day and was reminiscing about the earliest days of motherhood and I had to laugh at my neurotic, bordering on obsessive-complusive ways. And I started to wonder: what will I do differently next time around? Turns out, there are quite a few things. I guess that's not surprising, really, since being a new mom is the ultimate humbling experience with a whole lot of trial and error involved.

Towards the end of my pregnancy last year, the big H1N1 scare began. Everywhere you turned, the media delivered basically the same message: Are you pregnant right now? Sorry about your luck. You are destined to die from H1N1. Hospitals were on lock-down; only immediate family members were allowed in the labor and delivery wards and no children were allowed at all. I spent the last several weeks of my pregnancy quarantined in my house & using hand sanitizer obsessively if I did (God forbid) happen to venture outdoors for a doctor's appointment or a trip to the grocery store.

Now, I'm not saying I wouldn't have been a paranoid new mom anyway. I'm sure I would've been, but probably to a lesser degree without the H1N1 scare fest. When Camden was born, I breathed a brief sigh of relief because, according to the media, I had beat all the odds and not only survived my pregnancy but delievered a healthy baby in the middle of the worst flu season in decades. That relief was short-lived, however, because oh my gosh, now I have this tiny, helpless being with a weak immune system & the germs are EVERYWHERE!

It's a wonder I didn't lose my mind in the first couple of months of Camden's life (well, lose my mind completely anyway). I spent those months holed up in my house, terrified of taking my little bundle of precious cargo anywhere. I might as well have built him a bubble to live in. When friends & family came to visit, I was filled with mixed emotions. I was glad to see other humans permeate my isolated existence, but I also felt my stomach twist in knots if a relative so much as sniffled and then reached to pick up my perfect blonde baby. I left a value-sized bottle of hand sanitizer sitting out on the coffee table & it was an unspoken rule back then that if you wanted to so much as lay a finger on Camden, you must first bathe in hand sanitizer.

I don't remember when exactly my paranoia subsided & I started to allow Camden to see the light of day outside of our home. As the weather started to get warmer & Camden started to get bigger & began to receive his vaccinations, I didn't feel the need to sprint out of a room with him if someone dared to sneeze. I wouldn't say I'm completely cured of my neuroticism, however. I'm still not a fan of Camden sharing a drink with anyone other than his daddy or me. And I still cringe when I see him put his mouth on the grocery cart handle but it doesn't launch me into a near panic attack anymore. It's a gradual process of learning to relax and let him be a kid-- within reason, of course.

So, Baby Dos, whenever you may join our family in the future, I can promise you a couple of things: I will allow you to leave the house before you are 2 months old. When a friend or family member wants to hold you, I won't feel the need to breathe into a paper bag. They'll still be required to wash their hands, of course, but I'll no longer have a barrel of hand sanitizer doubling as the centerpiece on our coffee table. In short, I will be more laid back. Not careless, but not obsessive. Not sloppy, but not neurotic.

Stay tuned for Volume 2 of Hindsight (aka: What I'd do differently).

To Camden (8 month edition)

Dear Camden,

Eight months ago today, I held you in my arms for the first time. After all of the doctor's appointments, negative pregnancy tests, tears, and frustration, there you were-- a dream realized with ten perfectly kissable toes, patchy blonde hair, and a little monkey's nose. As you screamed your lungs out (or, I guess more accurately, grunted frantically), all I could do was stare at you in amazement. You were here, at long last. And I loved you from the very minute you were placed on my chest.

At 8 months old, you:

• Eat solids 3 times a day. You mainly eat Stage 2 Gerber food (the chunks in Stage 3 foods are still a bit much for your gag reflex) & Mommy's homemade sweet potatoes & avocado.
• Are long & lean like your daddy. You wear size 6-9 month onesies & rompers, but size 3-6 month shorts. You need a baby belt! One day you will love your lightning-fast metabolism.
• Can go from laying down to sitting up & you like to practice this skill when it's bedtime or naptime.
• Crawl! You learned to crawl 3 days before you turned 8 months old.
• Love your Jumperoo, blocks, Elmo cell phone, the laptop, the real phone, Coke cans, & Maggie's dog food bowl.
• Normally take 2 longer naps a day, and sometimes a catnap in the late afternoon.
• Are getting the hang of your sippy cup & love to drink water.
• Don't care much for being held anymore. You either want to crawl or hold on to someone's hands while you walk around. You're Mr. Independent!

Happy birthday, McNooch. I love you to bits & pieces.

Love,

Mommy

PS- I'm sorry we zapped you on your birthday.

And we're crawling!

It's no secret that Camden isn't exactly a superb sleeper. Still, the kind of night we had the other night was downright awful- even for him.

That night, Camden went to bed at around 8pm. He went to sleep easily, with minimal fussing. I thought we were in for a good night (or, a good-by-Camden's-standards night anyway). Around 10pm, Camden woke up and fussed for me. This is not unusual and I went in to nurse him back to sleep. Only, he wasn't interested in nursing which is unheard of in Camden Land. I mean, normally all you have to do is say the word "boobie" to this kid and he gets a super grin on his face. Not that night, though. He was not having it.

For the next two hours, Camden tossed and turned fitfully. And moaned and groaned. Then tossed and turned some more. He'd give up every once in a while and simply stare at the ceiling with wide open eyes. Thinking he might be sick, I felt his forehead and cheeks. They were cool to the touch. Wondering if he might be teething (because isn't that always the answer when you've exhausted the list of other possibilities?!), I gave him a small dose of Tylenol. No dice. He was still just as restless.

Just after midnight, I took him upstairs to sit with Daddy (who was still awake, watching Sports Center) in the theater room. Camden sat peacefully next to Matt, mesmerized by the lights on the theater screen. But when Matt brought him back to bed a half hour later, the tossing and turning resumed. And it lasted until 1:45am when he finally fell into an exhausted sleep.

Here is Camden hanging out with Daddy in the theater room. For the record, that is a sleep sack he's wearing-- not a dress.

I was a zombie the next morning but was more confused than irritated by what had happened the night before. I sat on the floor next to Camden as he played with his blocks and racked my brain in an effort to determine the cause of his sleep strike.

And then it happened. Camden pushed himself up on his hands and knees, looked at a block that was just beyond his reach, and started to crawl towards it. My eyes widened and my mouth flew open as I turned to yell for Matt, who was sitting in the recliner, to look. But Matt had already noticed and was smiling down at Camden as he reached his destination and picked up the absentee block. I could feel the tears flooding my eyes (because I am that cheesy) as I clapped my hands and congratulated Camden over and over again.

Now, I have heard from a couple of sources that babies often have very disrupted sleep when they're about to hit a new milestone. This was true of Camden in the nights before he started sitting up independently and, I realized in that moment, was true of Camden again right before he started crawling. Why sleep when you can mentally rehearse your big crawling debut instead?!

Now, being that I'm a first time mom, I didn't know what to expect when Camden started crawling. He had been rocking back and forth on all fours for a couple of weeks, and I just expected that one of these days, he would suddenly take off and be an unstoppable crawling whirlwind. It hasn't been quite that dramatic (yet). His crawling is very slow and cautious right now. But whenever he reaches a destination, be it the laptop (a personal favorite of his) or Maggie's tail (I believe we have a future pet harasser on our hands), he beams with pride.

And, as is the case with every new milestone he reaches, I am also filled with so much pride-- but I'd be lying if I said there wasn't the tiniest touch of sadness too. This baby of mine, who was not so long ago turning flips inside my belly, is crawling. This baby of mine, who I rocked to sleep countless nights, is crawling. This baby of mine, who was just a dream for the longest time, is crawling-- and growing up.

Snips & Snails & Puppy Dog Tails

I don't think there is anything much cuter in this world than watching little boys with their daddies. From the moment the ultrasound tech proclaimed "It's a boy!" and Matt practically did cartwheels of joy across the room, I've daydreamed about witnessing the special daddy/son bond develop. For the first few months of his life, like most babies, Camden was pretty exclusively a momma's boy. Because most of his time back then was spent alternating between eating and sleeping, he always wanted his food source close by. No milk producing boobies? Then put me down, thank-you-very-much.

And then one day, Camden woke up to the world around him and became more than just a sleeping lump attached to my boob. He started observing. He started imitating. He started laughing. He started becoming a little boy. And that little boy began realizing that his daddy is pretty darn cool, even if he lacks the ability to lactate.

Our daily routine involves following Matt out to the backyard each morning before he leaves for work and watching him water the garden and plants. I hold Camden's hands as he walks around the yard, following his daddy's steps and observing everything his daddy does. When it's time for Daddy to leave for work, we stand in the driveway to wave goodbye and I watch as Camden's smiling face turns into a very stoic, serious expression as Matt drives away. And when Matt walks in the door at the end of the day, I've never seen a tiny face light up so quickly. This kid adores his dad.

I know it's just a matter of time before the two of them are out in the backyard playing catch, or heading off to a Little League game together. There will be Cub Scout meetings, nights camping out in our backyard, and roadtrips to Major League baseball stadiums. I can just hear Camden's little voice saying, "Daddy, I want to help!" or "Daddy, can I come with you?" as he follows two steps behind the man he'll spend his life looking up to.

This father/son bond is a pretty awesome thing. An added bonus? When it comes time to chat about the birds & the bees, I get to hand the reins to Matt. Because, you know, I wouldn't want him to miss out on that bonding experience either.

*****
And because it's been too long since I've posted a picture of Camden, I just had to squeeze this in. I was asked to help out at my old job for the afternoon earlier this week and I was (thankfully) able to bring Camden along with me. He was an excellent co-worker. We spent our time eating puffs and applesauce, dancing to the radio, jumping in the Jumperoo, and answering the occasional phone call. But being a working man at 8 months old took its toll on Camden as evidenced by the picture below:

Breastfeeding Reflections

I was at the dentist yesterday & was talking with the pregnant hygienist while she cleaned my teeth (side note: don't you love how they try to carry on a conversation with you while they have eight different instruments shoved into your mouth? I don't know how they expect you to offer more than a "ummhmm" or "ahhh" as contribution to the conversation). Anyway, she was telling me that she plans on exclusively pumping for a couple of months, then probably switching to formula when she returns to work.

"You nursed, right?" she asked me and removed the torture tools from my mouth momentarily so I could respond.

"I'm still nursing," I replied and watched as her eyes widened in an oh-my-gosh-is-she-some-kind-of-glutton-for-punishment-freak kind of expression.

And so, while she finished cleaning my teeth, I started to reflect on my (almost) 8 months of breastfeeding.

Let me start by saying that I was never one of those "forumla is evil" types. When I was pregnant, I decided I'd give breastfeeding a try, but reasoned that I'd probably end up switching to formula somewhere along the line. And this might be lame, but my main reason back then for giving the whole breastfeeding thing a shot? Watching my sister breastfeed my two oldest nephews. If she had been a formula mom, chances are I'd be a formula mom too. I guess you never really outgrow that whole learning from your big sister thing.

When Camden was born, he spent a couple of days in the special care nursery at the hospital. My earliest memories of breastfeeding include waking up every 3 hours during the night, and Matt pushing my wheelchair down the hall to the special care nursery, where I'd attempt (unsuccessfully) to get Camden latched on to my boob. I can't even begin to tell you how many nurses touched my boobs over the course of our hospital stay. I'd try to get him latched on for a minute or two, and when he'd start flailing and crying in frustration, I'd call one of the nurses over to help me. It became commonplace for these strangers to grab my boobs and shove them into Camden's mouth. In fact, if we went back to visit today, I highly doubt any of them would recognize me with a shirt on. They knew my boobs better than they knew my face.

By the time we came home from the hospital a few days later, Camden was latching better, but we had entered the bleeding, cracked nipples phase. That phase is just about as fun as it sounds! I remember feeling relieved when he latched by himself but then bracing myself for the pain that would follow. I'd grit my teeth and wince for the first 30 seconds until the pain subsided. Then, when he was done, I'd reach for my trusty Lanolin cream (lifesaver!) to rub on my violated nipples. And I'd think: surely, surely this has to get easier. Surely the AAP wouldn't recommend women to torture themselves this way for an entire year.

Then came engorgement. Oh, engorgement, how I loathe thee. When Camden started "sleeping through the night" (5-6 hour stretches) when he was around 6 weeks old, I'd roll over and feel like I was laying on a boulder. My formerly small A-cups would inflate to porn star sizes and be rock hard to the touch. I'd often be seriously tempted to wake him to nurse during the night back then, just to give me some relief. (These days, I'd welcome engorged boobs if it meant 6 hours of uninterrupted sleep at night! Funny how things change.)

And then one day, breastfeeding just became easy. Second nature, I guess you could say. It didn't happen overnight, but it was a gradual process until one day I realized that making it to one year was no longer a lofty goal that made me cringe, but a likely possibililty that made me happy. And proud.

There are still days when I get irritated by breastfeeding. These days usually occur when Camden is so distracted by a new environment, or a conversation, that he pulls off my breast to check out his surroundings. This often results in a large wet spot on my shirt, as my milk continues to flow while Camden satisifies his ever growing curiosity. Try as I might, I just don't think I'll ever be able to bring the wet boob look into style.

And, of course, there are nights when we're in the middle of one of our nursing marathons and I think longingly of a bottle of formula. And yes- I wonder if I'd have a baby who sleeps through the night if I'd been a formula mom.

But those days (and nights) are few and far between. When they say breastfeeding creates a bond between mom and baby? So true. There is nothing quite like looking down at those big blue eyes staring up at me while he nurses. Add in the smiles and the hair stroking and I could melt. Even if breastfeeding didn't save money, even if it didn't offer so many health benefits for Camden, it would still be worth it to me- just for those moments.

The 4th in pictures

Our weekend was filled with BBQ, sunshine, family, cook-outs, pool time, flag cakes, rum smoothies, Old Navy flag shirts, cousins, grandparents, brownies, beer, sparklers, laughter, & fun. Proof that Camden had a busy and exciting holiday weekend? Last night, he fell asleep standing straight up in his Jumperoo. Just as it should be. Happy birthday, America.