Reflections on our first year, on her first birthday

I entered parenthood with a crib and an epidural. I had never heard of attachment parenting, and was pretty sure a family bed was something that could ruin a marriage.

As my baby turns one, and my husband and I celebrated our eighth year of marriage, we happily (and a bit nervously) went out for our first time alone as a couple since her birth, and reflected on the highlights of our year.

In addition to watching each other blossom as a parent, the way we parent was at the top of both of our lists.

I never would have guessed that our style of parenting could be equally important to us as the event of becoming parents.

While hard to explain – or even justify – to the uninitiated, the steps we’ve taken to build a deep and secure bond with our daughter have transformed us as just much as they’ve helped to ground her. Specifically, our top seven favorite steps we’ve taken as parents this year:

1. Bringing Dalia into our bed. Not only does she fall asleep faster, and sleep longer and more soundly, but the precious time we have as a family, gazing adoringly at our beautiful baby as she sleeps, or laughing together in the morning, is priceless.
2. Breastfeeding! While it wasn’t clear if I’d be able to at all, and then whether I’d need to supplement forever, at around the two month mark – thanks to cosleeping, in fact – we were finally able to nurse exclusively. From that point on, it’s been invaluable to nurture Dalia both nutritionally and emotionally in my arms.
3. Letting Dalia take the lead on her feedings. Introducing solids has been fun and fulfilling for the whole family, as we let go of our expectations of how a baby should eat, put safe “adult” foods in front of her, and let her show us how and what she wanted to eat.
4. Taking our infant to the potty! Reading up on Elimination Communication before Dalia’s birth, I skipped over all the yada yada about building a deep bond through pottying. Who are they fooling, I thought! But boy, knowing when she has to go and keeping our baby dry and happy are way more intimate experiences than we could have guessed.
5. Tossing the disposables! While at first we were afraid of the work – and stigma – of cloth diapering, it’s incredibly gratifying to know we’ve reduced our landfill contributions to about one diaper per day. I’d like to go all the way, and am actively looking for a leak-free overnight cloth diaper, so any recommendations would be appreciated!
6. Babywearing! How wonderful to be able to strap her in snugly under my winter coat and hit the road -especially with a baby who hates the car and squeals when we take out the stroller, our beloved collection of carriers has increased our closeness and mobility. Beyond the practical benefits, the joys of “spoiling” our baby with all the in arms time we can give has been unmeasurable.
7. Meeting like-minded parents! Since joining a group for AP moms, Dalia and I have met some amazing moms and babies who have paved the way for larger family friendships. Having a like-minded community of friends has helped us to bask in the wonder of parenthood and lean on a haven of supporters when questions or issues arise.

While each of these experiences has cracked us wide open for more and more love and closeness in a way we had not anticipated, the sum of the effect of our practices is worth way more than the individual parts. As we close the door on babyhood and enter toddlerhood together, I am confident in my ability to navigate our future as the mom. More importantly, my baby has confidence that she is loved, that her world is stable and secure, and that she can come back to us when she needs to recharge.

While AP isn’t for everyone, for those of us who know and love its practices, it can magnify – and multiply – the rewards of the parenting experience. I am grateful we happened upon this path, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

A Month of Mothering: I AM the Mom.

This guest post is part of our Month of Mothering. In recognition that all mothers want what’s best for their baby, and knowing we all have different ways of achieving that, we welcome commentaries and experiences from mothers of all different philosophies and practices.

“I can’t get him to drink anything but Gatorade,” I told Dr. Wright, our seasoned pediatrician.

We were back at his office again after several bouts with ear infections, numerous rounds of antibiotics, and the awful and endless ensuing diarrhea. My first born was only a year old at the time, and I was at my wit’s end. After getting tired of purchasing the brand name electrolyte replacements, I had resorted to Gatorade, and now this child, who had only ever had breast or cow’s milk, would drink nothing but the red, yellow, or orange stuff. Naively, I thought this was a legitimate health issue, and that my pediatrician would most certainly have some scientific strategy to deal with it.

“You are the mom,” he firmly, but gently stated. “He will drink what you give him. Trust me. No child ever dehydrates or starves when there is food and water in the house.”

Suddenly, I was brought back to my maternal senses. How had I ever lost them? He’s absolutely right, I thought to myself. How had I forgotten this? With a renewed confidence in my authority, we returned home and I began the loving battle of only offering milk and water. Miraculously, a craving for healthy beverages emerged in only about two days. Eventually, we even added the occasional sippy cup of juice without slipping into addiction.

Having now been a mom for 16 years (Gatorade Boy is now taking Driver’s Ed), I have learned over and over that the incredulous protests of children can cause you to begin to question your sanity, or even to lose it temporarily.

Is it unreasonable to require a fresh, clean pair of pants every third day?

Maybe naps for 2 year olds are torture?

Are dusting and vacuuming delineated as unfair and illegal child labor?

Several years back, all three of my children became enamored with the movie The Music Man ~ watching the VHS vidoetape over and over. When the Broadway production came to the stage at our local university, I knew I wanted to treat them to the live version and promptly ordered tickets. They were simply elated until the day of the performance arrived, and I informed them that we would be “dressing up” to go to the theater ~ a matter of protocol, I instructed.

“Then we aren’t going,” the older two declared. Khakis and collared polos were so overwhelming to their t-shirt-and-sweat-pant-loving-hearts, that they were even willing to sacrifice third row orchestra seats to their all-time favorite movie ~ live, and on stage. Discussions, protests, and tears followed, and again I questioned my good sense, but Dr. Wright’s admonition remained in the back of my mind. I patiently stood my ground (and protected my $200 investment) and we arrived at the theater looking fairly shiny and put together, but definitely not happy.

The lights dimmed, the music began, and we could see both the orchestral instruments and the sweat on each actor’s brow because of our fabulous seats. My kids were completely mesmerized, and my oft-wavering confidence was restored. At intermission, they needed a restroom break. While waiting in line, Gatorade Boy (about 8 years old at the time) could not contain his excitement: “This is the best night of my whole life, Mom!”

Thrilled at this and feeling playful, I started in with a little game I like to play ~ sort of a soft I-Told-You-So sort of game.

“What? What was that I heard you say? You’re the best mom in the whole………….. what?”

“You’re the best mom in the whole universe,” he grinned and knowingly played along.

Well, maybe not the best, but I AM the mom.

Melanie Krumrey is a native Texan and University of Texas alum, but has enjoyed living in beautiful New England for the last 12 years. Happily married for 19 years to her pastor husband, and mom to Kory (16), Cooper(14), and Kayla(11), Melanie can usually be found in the kitchen feeding her kids, at the dining room table homeschooling them, or in her mini-van transporting them to dance, baseball, piano, guitar, and various other activities.  When she can escape her apron, textbooks, and taxi service, she also loves to read, run, blog, study and teach the Bible, travel, and look at magazines over iced coffee in a sunny window of the Barnes and Noble cafe near her house. You can find her over at Gluten Free Krums.

A Month of Mothering: A Son’s Perspective

This guest post is part of our Month of Mothering. We’re featuring the words of women (and a few men!) from a variety of walks of life. In recognition that all mothers want what’s best for their baby, and knowing we all have different ways of achieving that, we welcome commentaries and experiences from mothers of all different philosophies and practices.

When my daughter asked me to write about my mother, my first thought was that this would be a wonderful opportunity to talk about the greatest mother ever (possibly only this writer’s opinion). But, over the last several weeks, I realized how ill equipped I am to put into words the person, the warmth, the love and the experiences she gave me. I began to ask myself how a guy who flunked Mr. Resnick’s English class – for failure to include footnotes on his term paper – was going to find the words that would keep the readers’ attention beyond the first sentence.

Then it came to me. I had all I needed in the many stories about her that demonstrate Mary’s versatility as a mother. She was everything to us and she did everything well.

Her kids came to calling her Mary later in life. She was always Mum to us as children, but she was Mary to everyone who knew and loved her, young and old. So Mary it is.

Mary vs Technology
I don’t want to give anyone the impression that Mary was against progress. She strongly believed in and was very vocal about the causes of women, minorities and the oppressed – you know, people who were forced to use VCRs and answering machines or as she called it – “my answering service.” It’s fair to say she did not get along with machines. On one summer vacation that we took with her sister Annette, Mary had the whole family lined up for a picture for what seemed like hours. When I got up to help her with the camera, I realized that she had picked up my sister’s transistor radio and she had been trying to find the shutter button! She just giggled.

After she’d had a couple of minor fender benders, Mary gave up driving. She felt cars had become way too complicated. Of course, that was never a problem for her. There was always someone ready to take her anywhere she wanted to go.

Mary in the Kitchen
For an Irish lass, she sure could make some impressive chicken cacciatore. I have never been able to recreate that dish the way she made it. Maybe there was something more to it though – like the wonderful feeling of coming in to her kitchen, hungry from a long day of playing with my friends, that made it smell and taste so good.

Among other things, Mary did teach me that, if there is anything at all in the refrigerator, you can make a good dinner. That was a challenge during my college years, I will admit.

I remember as a very young boy, coming into the kitchen for lunch and Mary was making onion soup, which she loved. She offered to share it with me and got out two small bowls. She poured my soup and I sat down across from her. As she brought her bowl to the table, it slipped and spilled on the floor. I felt bad enough that she had shared her lunch, but now had none herself. When I told her we could share my soup, she gave me the biggest hug. Onion soup was her favorite.

Mary and her Kids
My two sisters and I felt very loved and very lucky to have a mum like Mary who was our cheerleader, our friend, our confidante, our therapist, our chauffeur, our chef and our biggest fan. Yet she never yelled or nagged. We knew what she expected and we wanted to please her and make her proud. I still wonder how she did that, and my admiration for her and my amazement grow, especially after raising kids of my own.

As we all got older we knew that we had to watch Mary to make sure we could anticipate her needs. The last thing she wanted to do was ‘bother’ her kids. When, in fact, that is the very thing that we wanted her to do. Even as I write this, I feel the smiles return and know that sadness is not something that I’ll ever really associate with my mother. I miss her, but I giggle too.

I still love Mary and I still love onion soup.

Ted McGrory is the very proud father of four and grandfather of one.  He grew up in West Roxbury in a different time, before 9/11, cell phones and computers.  Now, he tests computer software and lives on Cape Cod with the love of his life. He plans to retire fairly soon and intends to get better at golf.  He has to. His wife is getting really good.

A Month of Mothering: Natural, Gentle Parenting

This guest post is part of our Month of Mothering. In recognition that all mothers want what’s best for their baby, and knowing we all have different ways of achieving that, we welcome commentaries and experiences from mothers of all different philosophies and practices. Please note that the opinions expressed and baby care techniques used are reflective of the individual posters only, and do not imply endorsement or recommendation of the Other Baby Book.

I had only been 17 for a few months when I found out I was pregnant. I was young, and pretty wild at the time. I lacked respect for others, and well as myself. I knew nothing of what I was going to face in my life, knew nothing of the times ahead. I had only just met this guy, and boom – I was pregnant! Family and friends were not optimistic of the outcome, but I had a feeling – a hope – things would work out.

I went into labor on my due date, September 25th, 2002. It was a natural vaginal delivery (not my choice) and my son was born not breathing. I didn`t get to enjoy his first moments of life, as he was whisked away to be resuscitated, and then spent time in the NICU. I wasn’t ever asked if I wanted to breastfeed. I often regret not nursing him and even tried around two weeks of age, but my local nurse was no help and I hadn’t a clue what I was doing, so I went the formula route. I did various other things that my doctor recommended, including using the Cry-It-Out method at eight months.
Though these decisions seemed to go against my instincts for what was best for my son, I assumed the doctor knew best.

Jacob is now eight years old and suffers from severe ODD, as well as Bi-Polar disorder and motor ticks, along with anxiety. And no, I do not blame it all on how his first year went, but I do believe it has played a significant role. He lacks ability to trust, and is not a cuddly child. His psychiatrist even asked me if my son was breastfed. It got me thinking…and of course the guilt came rolling in! Though there’s nothing I can do to turn back the hands of time, and though Jacob has a long hard road ahead of him, we will get through it. One day at a time.

I went on to have another child, Kaleb, in February of 2008 and unfortunately, he didn’t survive longer than eight hours after delivery. I was 37 weeks when my placenta detached and he and I bled out….only I had a lot more blood to lose than he did. I didn’t get to look into his eyes, hear him cry or feel his little  hand grasp onto mine. It was soon after his death that I realized I needed to listen to myself, and follow my heart with my children and when my next baby was born that is what I did.

Kayleigh came on December 30, 2009 after a LONG and worrisome pregnancy. I was high risk and had weekly appointments, which were 45 minutes from my home. It was exhausting to say the least, and I had to juggle them with my son’s appointments as well. Kayleigh was born by scheduled C-section four weeks early, and was a lovely 6lbs5oz and 18 3/4 inches long. She was perfect! She came out screaming and so full of life, not at all like my other two. Upon hearing her cry, the tears began to flow.

I told the hospital staff I planned to breastfeed, and soon after delivery we had our skin-to-skin and she nursed. It was amazing! She was a pro for sure. We co-slept with her; I started thinking about cloth diapers; I bought a wrap and wore her often…and it felt so natural to me. It was heaven. People told me I would spoil her; that I should let her cry; feed her cereal – and it drove me crazy!

Instead of listening to those voices, I held her and cuddled her all the time, nursed for 13.5 months, and dove into the cloth diapering world. I wouldn’t have it any other way. My daughter is well loved, well adjusted, independent  and very happy. I know in my heart this is how it was meant to be. I didn’t read parenting books. I just followed my instincts, and that’s been the greatest gift I can give my children.

Month of Mothering: Multigenerational living

As I chop onions for the soup, Mom makes a rue, and Nana takes care of the meat. Andrew finishes helping Emmeline with breakfast, and Dad watches it all from a stool while he reads the sports section of the paper and occasionally reminds my mom to stir.

No, this is not a weekend at the grandparents’ house; it’s just a typical Sunday morning in the Kenney-Fritz-Etro household. Four generations co-exist (usually amicably), coordinate, and co-parent my two-year-old daughter. Our multi-generational living experience began a little over a year ago when my husband and I asked if we and our 8-month-old daughter could move in with my parents (who already had my grandmother with them) to save money for a down payment for a house. That’s still the plan, and in the meantime, we’re thoroughly enjoying the benefits of multi-generational living.

When we lived in our own house for the first eight months of Emmeline’s life, we had a more typical parenting experience. Since then, our experience has definitely been unique, and it has impacted what kind of mother I am.

Because we live in a multi-generational household:

I can have a break even when Emmeline skips her nap. Then I get a little rest to give me more energy and patience for the afternoon.

I don’t have to cook every night, but I contribute nightly to how the household functions. This gives me more time to focus on Emmeline while she is awake, and once she’s asleep, I do household chores.

Andrew and I can go out once a month without hiring a babysitter or asking more than for my parents to watch the monitor (although they do take turns walking up the stairs to check on Emmeline. And my dad NEVER goes upstairs). I am
able to truly enjoy the time with Andrew, not constantly check the time, and feel refreshed the next day when my darling daughter is ready to play at 5:30.
I’m infrequently lonely, and when I do have the house to myself with Emmeline, I enjoy being reminded that I can take care of us. I feel like a capable mom, but I also know that if things are tougher the next day, I’ll have help, which alleviates stress.

I love that Emmeline sees her grandparents and great-grandmother everyday. I love that GG knows when I’m ready to pull out my hair and takes Emmeline on a walk around the block while I sit down. I love that Emmeline has her own spot in Nana’s jewelry cabinet for her necklaces. I love that every time Emmeline is eating and she sees Papa, she offers to share with him. I love that when I tutor on the weekends and Andrew has Emmeline, he never accepts help with her, but it is always offered.

All of these details of my multi-generational living experience make me a better mother.

Kathy lives outside of Boston and is a part-time high school English teacher and full-time mom. Emmeline will be two at the end of the month, and she’ll have a new sibling in July. When she’s not running after Emmeline, Kathy enjoys sewing and knitting with Nana, reading the book her mom just finished, going shopping with her dad, and editing photos and video with Andrew.

A Month of Mothering: Becoming a Mother Abroad

I had my first child on August 26, 2010. As every mother knows this experience is life changing, but for me there was a twist: I gave birth in the Netherlands instead of my native Minnesota.

The great majority of my pregnancy was smooth and intervention-free. I enjoyed the care of midwives and rode my bike to my monthly visits, where they would check my blood pressure, feel my belly and ask how things were going. That was about it. This greatly worried some of my friends back in the US, who were used to many more tests and blood draws. What is something goes wrong?

Well, something did go…not according to plan. Adrian moved to the breech position around my 29th week of pregnancy. As the weeks went on, it became clear that intervention of some kind would be necessary. I started with research, moved onto moxa-
therapy, and eventually went for the ECV. At 38 weeks, the midwife referred me to the hospital, where I would be monitored more closely and also give birth under the watchful eye of obstetricians.

The doctors told me I had two options: schedule a C-section or try to deliver naturally. I did a huge amount of research and was uneasily heading to the conclusion that I should get a C-section. Then I went to speak to the doctor. He listened to my reasoning and then said, “Well, if you really want a C-section, we’ll schedule if for you. But if you are interested in a natural delivery – and it sounds like you are – then I want you to know we are fully capable of delivering him vaginally, and all indications point to the possibility of a positive outcome.”

I was shocked. In the US – not to mention almost every other European country – such a scenario was almost impossible. And yet the obstetrics department at the LUMC in Leiden seemed to want to complicate their working lives in order to provide the best
outcome for my baby. Of course, they cautioned that they had a very low tolerance of complications for a breech baby, and if anything went wrong during labor a C-section would be unavoidable. We decided to go for it, and waited for Adrian to make his
appearance.

He finally decided to grace us with his presence at almost 41 weeks. The vaginal delivery- performed by an incredibly competent resident – went very well. Breech deliveries require special training and it seems that all obstetricians at the LUMC are familiar with the art.

Even though Adrian was born on my nine-year anniversary overseas, giving birth has greatly increased my enthusiasm towards living in the Netherlands. I now find myself an enthusiastic advocate for the Dutch philosophy – which, surprisingly, seems designed around my wishes. They seemed determined to empower me as a new mother. In that crucial experience of giving birth to my first child, and all the factors that led up to the scenario I found myself in, I felt that I was considered as the most important decision-maker.

Becoming a mother is a great initiation into a community of motherhood, but becoming an expat mother perhaps makes this initiation even more intense. Being an expat can sometimes be lonely and even scary, but because of my experience I’m even more determined to encourage and empower other moms, from pregnancy to birth, and in everything baby-related.

Janelle Ward is a born and raised Minnesotan living in Leiden, the Netherlands. Nine years ago she went to Europe for a brief international experience. Along the way, having acquired a Spanish husband, a PhD and a little one, she’s found that observing life outside her comfort zone is a true passion. She blogs at http://mysonadrian.tumblr.com/ and you can follow her on Twitter @my_son_adrian

A Month of Mothering: The Route to Here.

This guest post is part of our Month of Mothering. We’re featuring the words of women (and a few men!) from a variety of walks of life. In recognition that all mothers want what’s best for their baby, and knowing we all have different ways of achieving that, we welcome commentaries and experiences from mothers of all different philosophies and practices. Please note that the opinions expressed and baby care techniques used are reflective of the individual posters only, and do not imply endorsement or recommendation of the Other Baby Book.

Caveats

1)      Every mom is different

2)      Every pregnancy is different

3)      Every baby is different

4)      Your mileage may vary!

Pregnancy

Weeks 1-4:  Pregnancy feels like PMS, the “syndrome” responsible for fueling millions of freak-outs world-wide every single month.  On the fifth try, my breasts were huge, my period was late, and I eventually got my two lines.  Pregnant!

Weeks 4-12:  Who signed me up for this?  I eat ricecakes, mac and cheese, and popcorn.  (Also pickles and pepperoncini and anchovies)  I’m not throwing up, but upon waking, I promptly regret my very existence. *WHAM* – it hits me.  I am on my queasy boat, rolling over high seas for the rest of the day.  I gag on food and choke at smell.  I miss so much work it is embarrassing.  I can’t think straight.  How do women keep their jobs? How do moms do this with a baby to look after?

The exhaustion!  The mood swings!  When I wasn’t curled up on the floor, (who has the energy to crawl to the couch for a nap?) I was hurling things across the room in rage.  I am proud that I never threw anything directly at my husband.  Small victory for love in the face of killer hormones.

Weeks 12-39: Peace!  Tranquility!  Health!  Happiness!  Pregnancy is WONDERFUL!  I’ve never been so content and calm in my entire life.  Can’t you see the glow? Somehow, I grow a baby.  No big deal.

Weeks 39-41: I’m still happy and peaceful, but the OBs are not.  I research interventions on a daily basis.  I consent to fetal monitoring, reluctantly attend too many ultrasounds, but refuse induction.  My OB is supportive.  Others are clearly surprised, even annoyed.  Next time, I want a midwife.

Labor

Quite the adventure, challenging, but never scary.  To me, labor is a yogic experience.  At home, it was peaceful and spiritual.  In the hospital, it was harder.  There were distractions: vomiting, shaking, exhaustion.  I diverged from my labor plan (it’s okay!  Good practice for what’s to come).  I chose my props: first an IV for fluids and anti-nausea meds to stop the incessant vomiting, eventually an epidural.  “It’s not the pain,” I tell my friends. “It’s the exhaustion that gets you.”  They nod politely.  I wouldn’t have understood it either.

Childbirth

Incredible.  I wake to push my sweet baby girl into this world.  To see her pruney little head for the first time was breathtaking.

The Hospital and everything after

Mayhem!  Suction for the baby, stitches for me, how many doctors? How many nurses?  How many tests? I don’t remember.  I bleed shockingly.  Childbirth was nothing compared to the treatment for hemorrhage.  Expectations and plans fly out the window.  It’s okay.  The baby gets to breast eventually.  I survive my bleeding and Elsie (who barely has a name) is safe in the nursery.  She gets a couple of milliliters of sugar water and a pacifier, and I manage to go with the flow.  She never has a single moment of trouble nursing.

But I do!

Life with baby

0-2 Months: “These are the best days of your life,” old women assure me, as I walk with my newborn.  They’re wrong.  For me, the first two months are survival.  Survival from my pain, exhaustion, mental fog, and baby blues.  “It’ll be alright!” I tell my friends, going through it now. “It gets better.  So much better! I promise!”

2+ mo:  From here, it’s all a mad dash to the present – 17 months.  Last night, I asked my mom, “When did Elsie roll over?  When did she sit up?”  I don’t even remember when she took her first steps.

Here, the neat divisions of pregnancy and developmental literature break down.  I no longer measure by the week or trimester.  To be a mom is not to worry so much about the why or the when or how this differs from the plan.  Now I measure in what Elsie can do today.

Today, Elsie can talk in phrases. “Read this!” She says, toddling up to me with a favorite book.  Today, Elsie can tell me “I love you!” and run up to give me a hug and a kiss.  Today, she is getting another tooth and drooling all over her pretty shirt.  Today, she is ticklish and giggly.  Today, to be Elsie’s mom is to quit worrying so much about the next and quit dwelling so much on the past.  Elsie pulls me to the “now” and roots me here, solidly.  Why would I ever want to remember everything so perfectly if it means missing out on a single moment of this joyous time?  Perhaps THESE days with Elsie are the best days of my life.  But I can’t be sure.  I’m far too busy enjoying my daughter to keep track!

Kate Carson lives in the Boston area with her husband, Evan, and daughter, Elsie (17 mo).  She studies chemical engineering at Tufts University and aims to wrap up a masters degree soon so that she can concentrate more on her lovely family and vegetable garden.  Kate writes a blog, Kate’s Makin’ Babies, about the ups and downs of pregnancy and motherhood.

A Month of Mothering: Perspectives

This guest post is part of our Month of Mothering. We’re featuring the words of women (and a few men!) from a variety of walks of life. In recognition that all mothers want what’s best for their baby, and knowing we all have different ways of achieving that, we welcome commentaries and experiences from mothers of all different philosophies and practices. Please note that the opinions expressed and baby care techniques used are reflective of the individual posters only, and do not imply endorsement or recommendation of the Other Baby Book.

by Jessica Lang Kosa, IBCLC

I vaguely remember a Mothers’ Day when I was small, spent in Florida with my mother, and her mother, and her mother.  Four generations.  I remember someone toasting “To all the mothers present.  To the mothers absent.  To the mothers no longer with us. To the future mothers.”  That last part being me, circa age 5.

In 1912, my great-grandmother, then age 17, left home and sailed alone for New York.  She brought with her a letter from her parish priest in Clara, Ireland, which described her as  “good and trustworthy,” and recommended her for household employment.  She must have saved the letter, and passed it down to her daughter, since my mother found it with her mother’s belongings.

I knew my great-grandmother only as a little old lady – to imagine her as a teenager with the nerve to make a life for herself in a new country is mind-bending.  But also,  I imagine her mother.  Standing at an Irish port, watching a ship launch, carrying her only daughter to a huge city in a foreign country.  Not knowing when she might hear from her.  If all went well, she might get a letter in a few months or a year. Not knowing if she would return.

My mom and I think of that day in 1912 and laugh, remembering that when I was that age, it was a big deal for her to leave me at a college campus only two hours’ drive from home, knowing I would call within days to complain about the food, and be home for October break.  Boring by comparison, but still a big deal.

My oldest will start middle school next fall.  Before that, he’ll go backpacking with his dad in the wilderness of a country I’ve never been to.  I puzzle over whether he’s ready for each new step towards independence – sleep-away camp, biking alone to school, getting a Facebook account.  (Seriously.  I made him friend me.)  So far, I get to decide.  Not much longer.

Thankfully, we get these little moments as practice for the big deal later.

Once at a women’s Passover seder we were asked to introduce ourselves by our matrilineage.  I am Jessica, daughter of Jane, daughter of Theresa, daughter of Lucy (who sailed for New York), daughter of Jane (who watched her go).  Each generation launching the next.   Some more dramatic, some more ordinary, all with some mix of excitement and worry. 

Again, I’d like to raise a glass to all the mothers –  past, present and future.

 

Jessica Lang Kosa is a board-certified lactation consultant in private practice in the Boston area.  You can visit her site at Motherfeeding.com, find her on Facebook, and follow her on Twitter @motherfeeding.

 

A Month of Mothering: The Freedom to Change

This guest post is part of our Month of Mothering. We’re featuring the words of women (and a few men!) from a variety of walks of life. In recognition that all mothers want what’s best for their baby, and knowing we all have different ways of achieving that, we welcome commentaries and experiences from mothers of all different philosophies and practices. Please note that the opinions expressed and baby care techniques used are reflective of the individual posters only, and do not imply endorsement or recommendation of the Other Baby Book.

by Ashley Farrell Korecki

I went into mothering thinking I had it all figured out. I’ve been working with babies in some form or another for over 10 years, and nannying for the past three. Surely, I had it down. After observing different methods and philosophies, and using a variety of baby gear, I had a pretty concrete list of “do’s” and “don’ts”. Do baby signs everyday. Don’t use pacifiers. Do use cloth diapers. Don’t let the baby sleep in our bed. Do exclusively breastfeed… You get the idea.

The first thing on the road to great parenting was a natural childbirth. Without going into that whole story, I basically went 50+ hours of trying for a natural, drug free delivery, only to end up with a C-section. I should have realized then that God was reminding me that things don’t usually go the way I plan.

Breastfeeding was another top priority. But wow, was it hard at first. Shane, my son, had low blood sugar. So when he was only hours old, we gave him a little bit of formula. Once we were home, Shane wanted to nurse 24/7. I felt like I couldn’t keep up with it, and he never seemed satisfied. His pediatrician – she is awesome, I must say – said we should try giving him a pacifier, because he might just like to have something in his mouth. Despite our previously stated anti-pacifier approach, we went to Target in search of pacis. Sure enough, Shane loved his binkie. He began nursing at a much more reasonable rate, which made Mommy very happy.

Then there was sleep. You know the saying “sleep like baby?” I don’t know who coined the phrase, but they obviously didn’t meet a baby like mine. Shane has SOMO (Scared Of Missing Out) Syndrome. Sleep isn’t a priority of his. For months I would just let him sleep in bed with me (once again, despite my previous convictions). He loved it, and honestly, I loved it too. Shane seemed happier and slept better when he was next to us and I love cuddling with him. But as he got older, co-sleeping was more of a challenge than a comfort. He would wake every hour. I tried feeding him, but he wasn’t hungry. He just wouldn’t fall back asleep. I hated the idea of letting him cry, so I tried a no-cry sleep method. It didn’t work for us. After months of sleep deprivation, I got to the point where I could barely function. So, I made sure he was well fed, freshly diapered, and I let him cry. It broke my heart at first, but I quickly learned that Shane has different cries, and not all of them needed immediate attention. If it’s his tired cry, then I’m OK with letting him figure it out for a few minutes. Sometimes, he just wants more time with Mommy. If he doesn’t settle down, I snuggle with him a little while longer. Now I understand why so many people were telling me to let him cry a bit. Sleep is a wonderful thing for baby AND parents! Some fussing may not be for everyone, but we’re all happier now that nighttimes aren’t playtimes.

So, I guess you could say motherhood hasn’t been the smooth sailing I anticipated. There have been so many things that my husband and I have had to pray about and sort through, and we’re often re-working our strategies. Shane’s not even eight months old yet! In the midst of trying to figure it all out, I learned to weed through the advice and find what resonates with me and my family. I also learned to give myself the grace to change my mind. It doesn’t have to be All or Nothing. Shane is breastfed, but when I’m not able to nurse he takes formula. He hardly takes a pacifier anymore, but he loves putting anything he can find in his mouth. He sleeps in his crib for half the night, at which point he comes in bed with us. For nap time, I put him in his swing, bust out my guitar and sing to him until he falls asleep. He wears mostly cloth diapers, except for when daddy’s on diaper patrol, it’s bedtime, laundry day, or I’m being lazy. We sign with him… when we remember. Our days look different than I imagined they would when I was pregnant. But our days are packed full of love and laughter, and that works for me.

Ashley (Farrell) Korecki is a singer/songwriter who resides in Cambridge, MA with her husband, son, and dog. When she’s not at home rockin’ out with her family, she’s teaching Music Together classes in the Boston area. You can follow her on Facebook and check out her music.

A Month of Mothering: Bert’s Baby

This guest post is part of our Month of Mothering. We’re featuring the words of women (and a few men!) from a variety of walks of life. In recognition that all mothers want what’s best for their baby, and knowing we all have different ways of achieving that, we welcome commentaries and experiences from mothers of all different philosophies and practices. Please note that the opinions expressed and baby care techniques used are reflective of the individual posters only, and do not imply endorsement or recommendation of the Other Baby Book.

Welcome, Alicia Clare! Alicia is our PR Director and Product Coordinator. She is a stay at home mama to Emily, 18 months. She resides in Boston and is expecting a baby boy in July.

When Emily was a newborn,  our 9 year old dog Bert could still see.  Every visitor that came by to cuddle Emily had to deal with Bert watching their every move.  He didn’t let Emily out of his sight, not for one minute.  Whereever my husband Christian or I went, if Emily was with us, Bert followed.  Bert would gaze at her as if he were in love.  I think he could feel how precious she was to us. And she was just as special to him.

Sometimes I think Bert understands what mothering is as much as I do.  Every time Emily cries, Bert cries too.  He looks up to the sky like a wolf and howls.  I never heard him do it before Emily was born, and the only time he ever does is if our little girl is crying.  Sometimes she is so thrown off by his cries, that it stops her in her tracks! Mind you, this little pug of a dog is 9 years old and has since gone blind.

Mothering means loving.

It means taking this precious little thing that was carved out of the love you and your partner have for each other, and showing her all the light and beauty in the world around her.

It means showing her that she is the light and beauty reflecting upon the world around her.

Mothering means quiet cuddles at 4am when she can’t sleep and you are dead tired.

It means not following other people’s advice even if they think you are crazy or wrong. It’s following your own intuition.

Mothering means listening more than talking.  It means dancing and playing pretend and reading books when you’d rather be sleeping or resting or emailing. Mothering means following your little girl around like a mama lion protecting her young.

And sometimes, mothering means crying when your baby girl cries.

May 2, 2011May 2, 2011 The Other Baby Book blog1 Comment