Labels

I feel the need to start off with a caveat because I am hyper-aware of those who will eye roll at the extreme lameness of what have done. So yes, I am aware:

-the interwebz is not in need of another blog.

-no one needs two blogs

-and, goddamnit, the world certainly does not need another mommyblog (a term, by the way, I find degrading and ridiculous. I'm a fake a writer, but would you call a real writer a mommy-writer? Would you call someone a MommyLawyer? A DaddyDoctor? Same goes for Mompreneur. Punch Me.)

Think of it this way:

Two people are instructed to answer the sentence starter "I am" with three descriptions.

One sheet looks like this:

I am...a receptionist
I am...a cook
I am...a sister

And the other:

I am...compassionate
I am...stubborn
I am...self aware

Definition of Self through career and relation to others is a very, very Western Trait; the owner of sheet two is much more likely to hail from somewhere in Asia. Broad vs. Narrow socialization and all that.

Anyway, the same characterization lends itself to parenting.

"Mr. Imperfect," I said, as we loaded up to attend a workshop on babywearing, "don't mention we don't cosleep. Hmm, do you think they'll judge me if I breastfeed with a cover on?"

"Uh, okay? And...no?"

"Oh, and for the love of God, DON'T tell anyone I had an epidural!"

Labels, people:

Attachment parenting, Ferberian parenting, Crunchy Mom, Natural Parent, whatever. Stay-at-home, work-at-home, work-outside-the-home, etc.

Unlike the "I am" sheets, I don't have research to back me up, but I'll bet this obsession with labelling is a pretty North American phenomenon as well.

So here I am, as a mother:

I am stubborn, flawed, loving and in love, loyal, sometimes irrational, devoted, learning, happy and hopeful.

Letter to Adrienne, Month Four.

Dear Adrienne:

If you ever end up reading these letters I assume you'll be doing so at a point where you've learned one very important thing about me: I always think I'm right.

Now, most of the time I am right, yes, believe it, but sometimes my confidence in this area leads me down a not-so-good path.

Just as you turned three months old, you might recall I wrote about how I had given up on The Baby Whisperer's statement that all 3 month old babies should be able to nap for 1.5 hours and eat only every three hours. I had a significant amount of trouble getting you to nap for longer than 45 minutes, so I gave up. I threw the book back on the library shelf long before I read about HOW I was supposed to get you to sleep longer. I figured, "whatever. This woman, who has worked with thousands of babies, knows NOTHING about MY baby. Obviously MY baby is so awesome and special that she doesn't fit into this book..."

And you were still nice and fat and happy, so I kept feeding you every two hours and taking you out of your crib after those tiny cat naps.

But all of a sudden you weren't happy anymore.

As your four month birthday approached, you started getting up 95 times to eat every night, and you would gulp down milk like as fast I downed a mickey of vodka at age fifteen. (Oh, by the way, since no one ever told me: you do NOT drink alcohol in the same quantities as you drink juice. And you do NOT drink an entire bottle of spirits in 10 minutes when you're fifteen. Best case scenario? You wake up in the morning not knowing how you ended up on your good friend's floor and you vomit for three days, like I did. Worst case? Well, we'll talk.)

Anyway, back to the story at hand. I started to notice that you were barely hungry after these short naps and your short, two-hour routine. Obviously, you weigh 15lbs 1oz now and you're 25" long, so you can go longer between feeds. Previously, I had rationalized the fact that you only ate for 3-4 minutes and said that "you're an efficient nurser," but when the length of your feeds dropped to 30 seconds and you were waking up hungry at night I knew I'd messed up.

I thank God you were still getting enough to eat at night and that you're still gaining weight and staying on your growth curve, Miss 75th-90th percentile.

And so it began. I read the entire The Baby Whisperer Solves All of Your Problems this time and got to work teaching you how to put yourself back to sleep after waking up from your first sleep cycle. It hasn't been easy for me: sometimes it takes me 45 minutes to get you to nap for another 15 minutes! I'm so excited, though, because last night you slept from 7:30pm to 7:30am for the first time ever, and I can see you naps getting better and better. It's taking me less time to get you to sleep longer.

You wake up happy, playing with your feet, and you're hungry enough to eat!

All of this, and I'm by your side teaching you how to get back to sleep, which is a learned skill. I always thought parents had only two options if their child wasn't a naturally good sleeper:

1) Let your baby cry it out until she passes out from exhaustion and the realization that her Mama isn't coming to help her, or

2) Have your baby sleep in bed with you until she's 8 years old.

(Just to be clear, I know that cry-it-out methods work great for some people, and I totally respect the decisions people make for their own families!)

Anyway, I'm just so happy that there's a middle ground here. I am so, so, SO happy that you're learning and waking up smiling and ready to play!

I mean, now you have enough energy to roll onto your tummy the second I put you down.



And then roll back onto your back.



And repeat. Across the floor.
(Thanks for forcing me to vacuum 90 times a week, by the way).

You have the energy to slap at things in your exersaucer and to stay up for two hours so we can go for long walks.




Lucky for you (and your Dad), the mosquitoes turn their blood thirsty fangs of doom towards me and forget about the two of you. You have gotten one bite, I believe your Dad has two, and I have TWENTY EIGHT JUST ON MY ARMS. Hey, City of Edmonton? It would be SUPER AWESOME if you could spray for bugs next year! Thanks! Or I guess you could just spend all of your surplus resources on building a new arena...

Anyway.

Adrienne, I am so excited about the person you're becoming. I love your smiles, your laugh, your personality, and how you talk and yell to hear your voice. I love how you smile constantly as soon as your Dad comes how for work, and every minute I spend with you is truly a blessing.

I don't know how I lucked out with such an amazing life; I truly understand what people mean when they say "heaven is on earth."

I-was-wrong-and-I-admit-it,

Mama.

p.s I can guarantee with 100% certainty that right now, if we're arguing about anything, I AM RIGHT.

Oh, and one more thing: you LOVE swimming, so here is a picture in your super cutie pie bathing suit:

Letter to Adrienne: Month Three

I haven't had much to say lately, since my days are consumed with baby, baby, baby. While I could go on for hours about every little thing in that department, it's kind of boring for everyone else. But anyway, this is still my blog. So.

Dear Adrienne:

It isn't easy being three months old, I'm sure: so many expectations. Every second you spend on the floor someone is down beside you saying, "Go Badger! Come on! You can do it!!" in hopes that you'll immediately comprehend English and realize that we're trying to get you to roll from back to front. You've come very close; you can get all the way over onto your stomach, but as soon as you realize how close in proximity to your mouth your hands are, your immediately get side-tracked and focus on eating your fist.

I guess it's sort of like when I go to wash the kitchen floor but get side-tracked by the contents in the fridge.

Also, there's the whole laughing thing. Even though you smile huge all the time, baby laughter is quite possibly the best sound in the world. About a week ago I spent the whole day with one goal in mind: get you to laugh. You'd done this about a month ago and never again; in fact, so much time had passed that I thought I was going insane.

I tried every trick in the book: tickling, blowing raspberries, funny noises and faces, etc. I even googled "how to make a baby laugh" because I am DEDICATED. Nothing. Lots of smiles and lots of looks that seemed to suggest thoughts like "uh...what is wrong with you, MOM!?" All. Day. Long.

Of course you can imagine how happy I was, though, when we went to visit your aunts and your cousins had you laughing in about 2 minutes. You won't laugh for me; I guess I'm just not funny!

So many expectations for the Honey Badger this month. I will admit I tend to fixate on things and become obsessed. Whether it's babywearing (currently ordering contraptions number four and five), the Atkins Diet, or using coupons to get 30 cans of shave gel and 10 bags of dog food for free at Walmart, I've always had an inability to keep things in check. I just get completely carried away and lose any ability to think rationally.

Let me explain:

Since you were about four weeks old, you've been a pretty happy baby. Crying, of course, from time to time, but nothing insane. And you sleep! Your fairly angelic personality continued all throughout Grandma's surprise visit, but literally as soon as she left you were NOT impressed. All of a sudden you starting "making strange," which means if anyone but me or your dad tried to hold you, you'd LOSE YOUR MIND with screaming.

BLOOD CURDLING SCREAMS and very sad frowns and lots of big tears that broke my heart. HONEY BADGER WANTS MOM. (By the way, I had an excellent time trying to explain to people that it's a developmental phase and that I was not willing to "desensitize" you cold turkey.)

Here you are saying goodbye to Grandma at the airport:




Next, you decided you were no longer interested in playing on the floor, tummy time, sleeping, or sitting. Fuss, fuss, fuss and an attitude that I can best describe as "generally disgruntled." This went on for about a week and a half during which you basically lived tied to me in a stretchy wrap.

Happy in the wrap. Yes, I'm at a liquor store.


At this point, even though I am well aware that month three is a time of exponential growth, I lost my ability to think and decided Something is Wrong with Adrienne. So I started to read. First, I discovered All Babies Should Take Two Hour Naps. "Oh my God," I thought, "Adrienne only naps for half an hour!! I must make her nap for two hours!!"

I put you in the dark. You napped for half an hour. I wore you in a wrap. You napped for half and hour. I drove around in the car, and you napped for HALF AN HOUR.

And then I read more and discovered that not only should babies nap for two hours, they should also only eat every three hours. Well, you eat every two hours, no matter what, and the books said that you weren't getting enough milk, that you were a snacker, that you weren't going to gain weight, and I was all, "OH MY GOD ADY IS GOING TO DIE!!!" I was FEEDING ON DEMAND and following her cues and NOW I'VE WRECKED MY BABY! Good God, why didn't I put her on a schedule from day one like the books said??


So I drove, frantically, from the library to the Health Centre to talk to a Public Health Nurse, who basically told me I was completely insane. You weigh 13 pounds and 6 ounces, you're 25 inches long, and you're in the 90th percentile. You are NOT a baby who is on the verge of dying from malnourishment. You just like to eat more often to sleep longer at night. You just like your schedule.

"Oh," I said, "that makes sense."

Honey Badger doesn't care what it says in The Baby Whisperer Solves All Your Problems.

Honey Badger wants to eat every two hours. Leave her alone! She's growing!


Evidence of growth: at about 30 seconds into this video, Ady realizes if she moves her hand the RATTLE WILL MAKE NOISE.



Anyway, you've been happy again for the last few days, but it doesn't matter. No, regardless of how you feel about us, we just love you more all the time.

Here's an example of every conversation that I have with your Dad after you go to bed and we sit on our fake patio:

Me: "I just love her SO MUCH!"
Dad: "Me, too."
Me: "I just don't want anything to happen to her!"
Dad: "Nothing's going to happen to her!"
Me: "But, I just really, really love her!!!"
Dad: "I love her, too." (I should mention that your dad often comes upon you in the living room and has to forcibly convince himself not to squeeze you too hard).
Me: "I just didn't know it would be like this...I love our baby."

So if you didn't get that, by the way, we love you.

Trying my best,

Mom.

**By the way, I need to mention that I wrote most of this post this morning, and while we were out this afternoon Ady rolled back to front! Yay!! She can officially roll both ways, but during naps tonight she ended up getting her feet stuck in the crib rails since she was squirming so much...

Letter to Adrienne: Month Two

Dear Adrienne,

Now you're two months old (well two months and four days, but I'm not exactly punctual), and it's true what they say: it goes so fast. When you were two weeks old, everyone kept saying that one day you would start sleeping more...maybe when you're six weeks old. And I would look at them with dismay and think, "there is no way I'm going to make it another 28 days."

Luckily, now you sleep. Granted, I have to stand in the bathroom with the lights off and the fan on to get you to sleep, and I have to cover your eyes with my hand when I put you to bed, but that's ok. I've never seen a baby who has to be looking at things constantly. You're always, always looking around. If we hold you in a position that gives you the stunning vantage point of, say, just a shoulder, you say, "WHAT IS THIS!? MOVE ME NOW!"

So we walk around a lot. And you look out the windows, at the fridge, in the mirror (who is that baby Mommy's holding!?), and at the TV. I had read that babies shouldn't look at televisions, but my own mother informed me that I sometimes "watched" TV when I was a baby, and since the synaptic connections in my brain weren't too fried, I'm going to let it go.



Here you are in your favourite over-the-shoulder vantage point. Dad took this picture the day after Grandma went back to her house in the USA. I can see that you're already well versed in the knack of making people feel guilty.

We're into more of a rountine now. You eat, you play, you [sometimes] sleep during the day. While yes, Miss Honey Badger, you still demand to be held most of the time, you'll also except a few minutes on the floor to practice tummy time or in your bouncy chair to, uh, bounce. And randomly flail your arms and legs. It's quite gripping and I've taken about 3,000 videos of these activities.

You can see in these pictures how much stronger you're getting.



And one you've done this four times:



(If you could ignore the flyers on the floor, that would be great. I was multi-tasking!)

Now granted, you must realise that this is a combination of tipping and rolling, but we were all suitably impressed. You've refused to do this again since I took that video, but I suspect it's because you're no longer enraged at the thought of being on your tummy and are more content to stay there and hang out.

Oh, and Ady, you smile! You squeal! You melt our hearts a million times a day! There's nothing like making eye contact with you and having it result in the biggest smile- just nothing!



(Smiling at Daddy, who by the way, is very afraid your neck is going to snap. He's also constantly worried that you're choking, and I have to remind him it would be pretty difficult for someone on a 100% liquid diet to choke. So keep this in mind when you're older or he's going make you eat purees until you're 55 years old).

Well Honey Badger, you're two months old. You weigh 11lbs 12oz and you're 23 inches long. You like bouncing (haha! I've tricked you into letting me bounce you on the yoga ball now! HA!), looking around, playing with toys, and Gerry the Giraffe. You like being IN the bath tub but loathe being removed from said tub; you hate napping, and you strongly dislike being put down when you aren't ready to play on the floor. You are the world's hottest baby, and every time the weather's warm and I take you out I have to dress you in the lightest materials and have your arms and legs bare or you instantly overheat and scream for the remainder of the day. All the other babies I see are still dressed in pyjamas and sweaters, and I'm 99% sure some concerned parent is going to call social services soon because they think you're going to get hypothermia.

An important lesson:



One day, people on the internet will tell you that putting partial colour effects on photos is "outdated" and "OMG I WOULD SOOOO JUDGE ANYONE WHO DOES THIS!!!"

But I'm here to tell you: if you LIKE the partial colour effect, go for it. As you can see, I'm not even any good at doing it, but I do it anyway because I think it's cute. So as long as you're not hurting anyone and it isn't ruining your life, do what you like to do. Wear acid-wash jeans. Sing tone deaf karaoke. Anything!

So there it is, Miss Adrienne, Miss Two Months Old. Another month has gone by too fast; you're happy, you love us, and we love you, too!

And...Honey Badger doesn't care if Mom's updated her blog. Honey Badger wants to EAT. NOW.

Happily yours,

Mama.

P.S Dad just took this picture today and I think it's cute:

Letter to Adrienne: Month One

Before the theme of every second blog post revolved around some sort of home renovation story or company sponsorship, I used to love reading one of the original "mommy bloggers" at www.dooce.com. I always laughed at her penchant for oversharing and tendency to utilize the capslock button with startling frequency. You know, like me. Anyway, one of the things Dooce did when her first daughter was born was to start writing monthly newsletters to said daughter; since time passes so quickly, and memory is so abstract and faulty, I can't think of a better idea to out-and-out copy. Therefore:

Letter to Adrienne, Month 1:


(Dressed up for your first trip to church).

Oh, Ady, my little Honey Badger. A few weeks before you were born, I saw This Ridiculous/ Not Safe For Work Video and shared it with your Dad simply because I thought it was hilarious and he likes to spend time watching Animal Planet. Naturally, he asked me if we could get a honey badger, and for the next few weeks many badger jokes were made about those darn honey badgers and how they just don't give a shit.

Well. Of course when you were born, honey badgers were still on the brain. And while the animals themselves aren't the cuddliest/most adorable creatures, the name is pretty darn cute, like you.

And so:

Mom hasn't had more than two hours of sleep in a row? The Honey Badger doesn't care; the honey badger wants to eat.

Dad's back is having back spasms? Uh, Honey Badger doesn't give a shit- she wants to be bounced. Now.

Grandma just changed a diaper? Well, the Honey Badger doesn't care, she has to poop again five seconds later!

Maybe you had to be here (or here and cognitively able to understand what's going on) to appreciate the Honey Badger. Trust me: it's hilarious. Hopefully I remember, before your first day of kindergarten, to tell you your real name, so you don't come home in tears saying, "EVERYONE KEPT CALLING ME ADRIENNE! Why don't they know my name???"


This month has been full of screaming, eating, burping, and diapering. One week, you screamed so hard, so constantly, that I reduced my diet to the blandest, most healthy foods in an attempt to eliminate everything that could possibly hurting your tummy. You know, it's really hard to see someone you love hurt and not be able to do a single thing to help them. One night, at my breaking point, your grandmother suggested that since it couldn't get any worse, I may as well be happy and just go ahead and order pizza.

So I did.

And I chomped down and startling number of slices (even for me), and the next day, I swear, you hardly cried at all. Since then, even though you cry and scream occasionally, we've been able to settle you.

No, NEVER underestimate the power of pizza. I'm sorry about that week of bland foods. I won't let it happen again...

You also like the oversized black and white poster of Audrey Hepburn on the wall, being held on my shoulder while I do squats, waking up at all hours of the night in an insane plot to rewire all of the synaptic connections in my brain, and bathtime. In the last week or so, we've started playing on the floor while you're wide awake and making faces at me while I say, "hey, Badger Badger! Little Honey Badger, Ady!!!" And I try to restrain from shoving your hands in my mouth because you're just so little and cute.


(Tummy Time. Hard work; you already workout harder than I do).

Right now you're napping in your bassinet, wearing your pink Montreal Canadiens pyjamas (they lost the game, but are still up 2 games to 1 in this playoff series against the Bruins). You fell asleep on your own (amazing considering the amound of screaming your dad was doing at the TV) after staring, making faces, and waving your arms in the general direction of your favourite stuffed animal, Gerry the Giraffe.


And we couldn't love you more; we just couldn't.


(Happy in your bath tub).

Sappily yours,

Mom.

One Day we had a Baby

I don't even know what to say right now.

I suppose I could start off by mentioning that there's totally a miniature person sleeping in my living room and making cute little noises.

Not surprisingly, I have an urge to just gobble her up because she's so cute; I can barely contain myself when I look over and she's wearing her little candy-printed sleeper, wrapped in a giraffe blanket, and moving her little arms while she sleeps. Okay, okay, I know.

So I suppose I should tell you how she got here. (Consider this your ONE reminder that I am a chronic over-sharer who is prone to extreme amounts of too much information. Here's your warning and one appology; if you read on, you've been warned).

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Generally accustomed to waking up every several hours in order to manouver my extreme tumescence into a slightly more comfortable position, by about 5am I noticed cramping and was excited in my sleep: finally a sign that something would happen. Finally a hope that I wouldn't go the average of 8 days overdue. The cramps kept coming regularly, and once I got up I was ridiculously excited to note that I'd lost some of my plug (and I'll spare you the description). Of course, in real life, I told my husband and mother (an angel from heaven who is staying with us for awhile) aaaalllll about it.

The pains got worse, but I didn't want to sit around, so we went to the Mom, Pop, and Tots fair at Northlands and stole all kinds of samples; I was soooo happy everytime the pain stopped me in my tracks and I had to stand with my eyes closed and wait it out.

Later, I decided going to the Olive Garden was a brilliant plan, because eating food, as you know, is my favourite. By now these pains were definitely early labour contractions, and I caught a waitress or two and a few busboys glancing at me (and the floor) nervously every time I stopped shovelling chain-restaurant pasta down my throat to stare at the floor and get through them.

Eventually, after supper and walking around some random, ghetto Zellers in Milwoods, my contractions were pretty painful and 5 minutes apart, so we decided to go to the hospital. I didn't know what to do; I didn't want to get sent home (I worried that the hospital staff would laugh at me, because I'm like that), but we went anyway.

Well. Wouldn't you know my contractions pretty much stopped the second I was hooked up to the monitors. Fa-reaking great. They checked me, and I was only 2-3cm (not much change from my Wednesday appointment), so they said I could go home. The nurse even asked me when my next doctor's appointment was, and I think she thought I'd make it there (four more days)! They offered me pain medication at that time, and I declined because I miraculously felt fine, and besides, I planned to have a med-free birth (HAHAHAHA - more on this later).

Sunday, March 14, 2011.

So I went home feeling like a complete idiot, and tried to go to bed. Of course you can imagine my more 'active' labour pains started at exactly this second. I was dismayed, though, because none of the coping techniques were working.

1. I couldn't tell myself it was "pain with a purpose" because I needed PROOF my cervix was changing in order to believe this.
2. I couldn't focus on anything else, because the wilderness of pain permeated every picture I tried to focus on, everything I tried to recite.
3. I couldn't breathe because it just plain hurt too much.

I tried to deal with it. I sat in my stupidly shallow bathtub for an hour and half, pouring hot water on my belly. I paced around, screaming, "oooowwww, owwww, owww!" until 1:30am. Any movement killed. No labouring in different positions here: I couldn't will my body to so anything but freeze. By that point, I just couldn't do it anymore. I told B to get my mom, and said, "I NEED SOMETHING!! I NEED SOME EFFING MORPHINE OR SOMETHING!! I CANNOT DO THIS FOR FOUR MORE DAYS!!"

My favourite is how we live in a suburb of Edmonton, and the hospital is a 20 minute drive down pot hole-filled spring roads, by the way.

Anyway, scream, scream, scream.
More monitors. Contractions lasting for more than a minute, coming every 30 seconds or less. Screaming, and saying, "I can't do this, I can't, I can't, I can't."

"You ARE!"

And I thought, "are you people idiots? I totally am NOT doing this, I'm DYING!"

You see, I thought I could do it; I thought it would be no problem. I've gone through 3 kidney stones, and during one, I sat puking in emergency wanting to die for 14 hours. I'd googled "labour vs. kidney stones" 1000 times, and so many people said the kidney stones were worse.

So I'd planned to do it med-free because I didn't want to screw up the endorphine releasing business, I didn't want an episiotomy, I didn't want a c-section, and this that and the other thing. I really thought I knew what to expect.

B always said, "it's your decision, but I don't think you know what you're in for."
And I was all, "oh, it's fine. I've had THREE kidney stones. I can totally do it. Other people are just wimpier."

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

So when I was checked, and the glorious nurse told me I was 4-5cm (thank GOD, because you get admission and DRUGS then), she asked me if I had a plan for pain medication. I said, "oh, I HAD a plan."

And my epidural was ordered.

Although the Angel of the Lord (or was it the anesthesiologist? Is there a difference?) took a million years to get there (a million years during which I actually tried to gnaw my arm off like a person trapped in an avalance in order to counterbalance the pain of the contractions), eventually said Angel arrived.

I was blessed with the perfect epidural.

It was in in 30 seconds, the pain was a misquito bite compared to those contractions. The pain lessened until I couldn't feel anything, but I could still move my legs.

I told my nurse, and my mom, "hey, I'm usually right. But when I'm wrong, I'm WRONG."

Yes, that epidural was the best decision I've ever made.
They broke my water, I fell asleep, and I woke up around 7am at 10 cms.
No need for any further interventions or anything.

While we waiting to start pushing, my favourite thing was to look at the monitor because it showed my contractions, which were lasting sometimes 5 or more minutes at a time. I can't imagine what I would have done if I could have felt them.

So we pushed, which was hard, and it felt really brutal.
And pushed, and pushed, and pushed.
And they told me I was "doing so well! Great, great job!" over and over, and me, always a cynic thought, "they totally say that to everyone."
It was an hour and 45 minutes, and it sucked. I still felt her crown, and I felt the random doctor stretching me, and man did that hurt, but all of a sudden her head was out.

The doctor turned her face, and my husband's heart shattered into pieces.

And thenall at once, at 9:14am, my baby girl was on my chest, all pink, and crying and perfect, with brown hair, and arms, and legs, and a little bum and face, and she was just the cutest thing, squirming around.

A real person, who I can't tell you how long we've been waiting for.

Our daughter, Adri.enne Sapp.hire (the periods are just so you this won't show up on google).
8lbs, 8oz.
21 inches long.




And oh my God, I just love her so much. I love her so much I just want to cry all the time because all the love just keeps bursting out.

Yes, we love her.







p.s - my mom's camera is just randomly stuck on Oct. 27, 2010...nothing to be done!