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I hesitate to post this blog because it reveals what an ingrate I am. My husband gently pointed ouy that I’m waaaay over thinking this, but I can’t help myself.  I expect (and probably deserve) to get flogged with a wet noodle for this, but here is my story (confession) for today.

My mother-in-law has raised two children of her own as well as many foster babies. She has more varied experience than I’ll ever have. I respect this as well as appreciate her selflessness. My mother-in-law generously offered to take our daughter to her home for the day AND have me over for dinner when I was ready to pick up my daughter. An actual honest-to-God day off! I shamelessly pounced on the opportunity. I want to be clear in that I have no problem with her sitting with our daughter. I couldn’t leave her in better, more caring hands. But in the past, this was done in our home and for only a couple of hours or so. This was the first time that our daughter was going to her house for the day. So there I stood in our driveway with that flippity feeling in my stomach as she drove away with my baby.

Here’s my problem (INGRATE ALERT!), dilemma, what have you. I don't look so good here.  I have our daughter on a schedule. I follow the Babywise system of Feeding time/Wake time/Nap Time, with parental assessment for flexibility of said schedule. When our daughter is on this schedule, she does really well, therefore I do really well. The problem happens when communicating my expectations of this schedule to someone else as this becomes subject to interpretation.  What is “heard” is colored by the other party’s experience.   Anyway, I wrote down the schedule along with the amount of formula to be fed at feeding time (just like the zoo only less raw). Since I’m whining, it’s not hard to guess that what I wanted wasn’t what happened.

 I haven’t had to give my daughter snacks between meals since implementing the schedule. My daughter has trained me to respond to her signals. If it’s around the scheduled feeding time, then obviously the fist chewing and lip smacking mean that she’s hungry. But she has no concept of “enough”. She’ll take a ten ounce bottle and drink it all if it’s offered. The result of that is A LOT of vomit. It’s my job to determine “enough” for her. At this time, four ounces is enough for each feeding. During the wake time phase, she’ll smack and suck on her fists, but she’s not hungry. This is where my experience prevails. She sucks her fists because they're (ahem) handy and she smacks when she is copying my mouth movements when I talk to her which I do a lot during wake time.  But of course, she’ll take a bottle any time it’s offered, hungry or not. She’s no dummy. She learned that from me. I didn’t get overweight by turning down a snack opportunity.

So, I find it hard to justify my consternation that my instructions (dictate?) weren’t followed. But, if a baby is hungry, you feed it (duh!). My daughter appeared hungry, so Grandma fed her. This is an absolutely reasonable response to how she interpreted the signals. No harm done, but it takes a day to get my daughter back on my revered schedule. I have to remind myself that this is no big deal in the grand scheme of the universe. If it were really that critical or important, then I should have clarified my expectations.  I actually think that my ego is causing the conflict. I battle with my respect for her experiences while wanting to be acknowledged and respected for my own experience, limited as it is. I have a difficult time asserting confidence in my stance. Then, I worry that I’ll never get another day off if I don’t stifle my control freak nature. My husband says that I’m being waaaay to anal about this.  And he’s totally right.  Yeesh! I get so sick of myself!

How do I convey my issue of her feeding my daughter snacks off schedule without coming across as ungrateful or disdainful of her experience?  I don’t.

That’s not to say that I won’t try to be more clear the next time (if I’m lucky to get a next time) by better explaining what I have in mind. The snacks weren’t given to defy my parenting method. The snacks were given because signals were given and interpreted. The BIG SIN (extra feeding, big whoop) was done out of good intent.  For all I know, maybe my daughter is going through a growth spurt and actually does need the extra snacks. I wasn’t there (I was running amok at the bookstore on my DAY OFF!), so how do I really know?

This is where my inexperience as a first time mother undermines my confidence in what I think I’m trying to accomplish. Fortunately, I’ll see the pediatrician tomorrow. I’ll add to my list the question of the appropriate amount of formula for her height and build. There has to be a chart. There’s always a chart. But even that is subject to interpretive flexibility. So, flexibility and open, clear communication will be my best friend. Motherhood. Honestly one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. There’s so much more to learn than just the care and maintenance of a baby.

 

I’m currently off work and staying home on baby bonding LOA.  While I’m enjoying this time home with my two month old daughter, I wonder about what will happen when I go back to work.  With e-mail, you have time to think about what to say, how to say it and the luxury to review prior to sending it.  Success is often contingent upon presentation to the right audience.  Kids learn this early.  If mom says no, ask dad.

 

The infamous “they” say to narrate what you’re doing for baby.  The other thing that “they” say to do is ask questions, wait, and then reply with the answer.  This is supposed to help the baby learn the rhythms of conversation as well as eventually connecting the words with objects, actions or ideas.  But, what if I continue these concepts when I go back to work?  Such as, “Now, I’m going to nod and make the appropriate facial expressions while pretending to listen to the meeting.  But mentally, I’m thinking about the Togos sandwich that I already ordered so that I could avoid the lunch rush.”

 

My husband is the primary adult that I talk to.  When he comes home from work, I trot after him, desperately trying to use big words to convey how exciting it was that the baby went poopy twice.  Without the right words, how can he possibly know what a milestone this is for the change from breast milk (way more poopy diapers) to formula?  After 12 or more hours a day, seven days a week of babbling to my baby, it scares me how quickly I have lost my words.  They become more elusive every day.  I used to use polysyllabic words to communicate complicated concepts.  My husband understands all these fancy words, he just doesn’t have time (or interest) to listen to them.  I get stubborn about using them since a lot of money was spent on college to learn them.  Words like ennui, or epitome.  Apparently, these are not pronounced how they’re spelled.  When I talk to my daughter, I use (mostly) real words, but the content of our conversation is nonsense.  She’s very polite.  She listens with earnest intensity and responds with an insightful “blarrgghh” or a pithy “ggghuggh”.

 

Well, if you work with me, I’m going to apologize now.  Just know that I’ll gladly phone in your lunch order to Togos when I put in mine.

I just spent some time watching my six week old daughter sleep.  This was one of those times that brings tears to the eyes.  I guess it's because I love her so much that it leaks.  I just can't help but sneak in and look at her.  This is one of my favorite times.  I also love when she snuggles under my chin and sleeps.  That has to be one of the best things in the world.  She's starting to coo and, of course, I think she has the sweetest voice.

Before anyone throws up, I'm trying to jot these things down for when I slide to the other end of my hormonal see-saw. 

I have my days where the hormone pendulum swings the other way and I go into Bizarro world.  Everything that was cute or doable all of a sudden grates on frayed nerves or is too overwhelming for the fatigue fog that has infused my skull.

The other day, she vomited all over me, herself, the floor all in one impressive heave.  It was one of those where you stand there wondering, "Where do I start to clean this up?"  Some days, the priority just flows:  Baby first, then me, floor can wait.  Sometimes, the priorities elude me.  My big growth moment was to learn to forgive myself when that happens.  So what if the dog got to cleaning the floor before I did?  So what if I just tracked the milk barf through the house on my way to get the baby bathed and changed into fresh clothes.  So what if my expensive carpet smells like sour milk?  Someday, I'll get it steam cleaned.  These are the stuff that memories are made of.

I have gotten better about learning how to enjoy my baby.  For the first few weeks, I got so wound up about meeting her basic needs that I didn't stop to just snuggle her for the sake of snuggling her.  I've learned that it's more important to smooch her little cheeks and let whatever fell to the floor stay there, let daddy help and do things his way (I might learn something! Imagine that!).

Slowly, what everyone has been saying is starting to sink in.  Forgive myself for not being perfect.  Give myself a break and a pat on the back.  Things are going to take time.  My romantic idealizations of how I imagined things should be are only going to break me.  Enjoy my baby in the moment because things change so fast that I'll lose those moments and regret missing them.  She isn't going to remember any of the things that I'm obsessing about.

Now, I have to go watch her sleep some more.

First of all, I would like to thank everyone for the encouraging words.  I really need to get over myself.  I think part of the reason that I am so uptight is that it took me five years, miscarriage and running the fertility clinic wheel until I finally had a successful invitro.  Now, I have a beautiful baby girl and I really need to put the other experiences aside.  Not to say that they aren't important and I shouldn't draw upon those experiences.  Those experiences are because it puts into perspective how important and what a gift my baby is.

I didn't meet my husband until I was 36.  By then, I had figured that I was never going to meet anyone that would be anyone that I'd want to have a child with.  By the time we started trying to get pregnant, it turned out that I had fertility issues.  During my run on the fertility wheel, I learned that many other couples had a harder road then I have had to take, so I do have to be grateful for that.  I was so focused on getting pregnant and maintaining the pregnancy (lots of shots.  Hormones are fun!) that I never looked to educate myself on what I would do when a baby got here.  I was afraid to.  After so much disappointment, it was difficult for me to look that far ahead.  But what I did learn during this stage was that I had no control.  For my type A personality, the total lack of control is very difficult to accept and very humbling.  But, as it turns out, a very important lesson in preparation for the next phase.

I am a tightly wound person.  But I mean well and try not to inflict it upon anyone else.  I never had any nieces or nephews, and I didn't babysit, so I had never changed a diaper until my baby came along.  In the hospital, I had a hard time with breast feeding.  Erin did not eat for the first 24 hours.  (I wonder if it was because in the recovery room (I had a c-section), someone was sticking her heels to take blood every time she tried to latch.  Talk about aversion therapy!)  On our third day, the nurse put my husband, the baby and me on time out because we were all having a melt down.  I was crying because I thought I was starving my baby and hadn't had more than three hours of sleep, the baby cried probably because I was so tense and upset, and my husband's blood pressure was through the roof.  I thought, after all that we've been through to have a baby, how could I be so incompetent that I can't feed my baby?  I never imagined that something that should be natural should be so hard.  Women have been doing this for thousands of years.  And while the wonderful nurses and lactation consultant at Sutter Memorial reassured me that this was hard and not a natural, but a learned process, I hadn't been prepared for or even imagined this difficulty.  I know many of you out there have stories that can probably outdo mine by a long shot.

My husband says that I have set the bar so high for myself that no one could ever reach the expectations that I've set for myself.  And he's right.  That's what I do.  It's my nature.  I can't help it, but I do recognize it.  I have to stifle myself all the time.  He's worried that I've set the bar so high that I've set myself up for failure.  I probably have, but I want to do the best that I can for my baby.  But I'm doing her no favors my destroying myself in the process by trying to do everything perfectly for her.  There's no possible way that can be done.  At five weeks, she is an instinctual being and I need to remember that and cut myself some slack.  My joke has been, "I have to give her something to tell the therapist."

Did you ever see that Mad About You episode where they were cowering outside the door letting the baby cry itself to sleep?  That was my evening tonight.  Not a unique experience, I understand that.  But I am a tightly wound person who has a pathological need to understand the whys and whats of things.  My baby, Erin, isn't sharing.  She's five weeks old, so regardless of how much I ask, she's not telling.  I have three things that I understand and can deal with very well.  Is she hungry?  Need to be burped? Wet?  And they don't even need to be in that order for me to deal.  It's the dreaded "Miscellaneous" that's starting to happen now that she's older.

At first, I was lulled by how easy this all seemed to be.  She'd eat, poop, then sleep.  The most recent thing that she's throw in is "I'm tired".  Seems easy enough, right?  It is, as long as you #1 get the visual cues of her rubbing her eyes, #2 realize that it's been X amount of hours since she was last asleep, or #3...it's the number three that kills me.  I don't know what the heck number three is.  Tonight, there was no indication that she was tired.  She wouldn't be soothed by any of my tried and true methods and started to scream until I thought she was going to have a stroke or seizure.  I got to the point where I just put her in the bassinet and got down on me knees and prayed to God to help me figure out what was wrong.  She'd never screamed like this before and I was starting to get scared by it.  It seemed like God wasn't talking either.  So I left the room to try and see if I could think through what was going on.  But that's the thing.  There is nothing I can think through.  That's what really tears me.  When I can't figure something out.  My rational mind understands that sometimes there isn't a reason.  There's nothing to figure out.  But I get spun out about it anyway.

After about fifteen minutes, she stopped crying.  Of course, I had to run in there and make sure that she was okay.  And she was.  Still is.  So, she really was overtired.  Now, I'm overtired.  I'm ready to follow suit and go to bed before I start throwing my own hissy fit for no reason apparent to anyone else.  Now if I can just figure out why sometimes she wakes up out of a sound sleep crying...