Take 2

At the end of January, we are expecting our little terror bundle of joy #2.  I’m pretty worried about having 2 babies only 14 months apart, but I figure I should also be grateful.  During the first few months of my baby’s life, there were several times that I wished I could “start over” and do things a little differently.

Well, here’s my chance.  With the experience of my first newborn still so fresh on my mind, I'll surely be able to avoid any of the pitfalls encountered my first go around.  These are just some of those mistakes I'm hoping to change this time.

Stop Stressing about Pacifier-Weaning

I had read from several sources that if you gave your baby a pacifier, you should plan on taking it away cold turkey by the time she’s 3 months old. I figured I would get a head start on the plan, so at 2 months I started keeping the binky from her unless she was sleeping. 

Those were the longest 2 days of my life.

And then I realized the next day was Sunday and I needed a way to keep her quiet at church, so I just gave up altogether on trying to train her out of her beloved binky.

And let me tell you, I was a very grateful mamma to myself for giving up on that idea.

Take Away the Pacifier Sooner

Rosie has loved her binky from the beginning.  I was actually still on the fence about offering her one at all when the nurse brought her in to me already plugged up.  I figured that made my decision for me.

But I hated that she would wake up multiple times each night when her binky fell out.  I hated that she would be on the very cusp of falling asleep when her mouth would go slack, the pacifier would fall from her lips, and she’d wake up crying. 

Yes, next time, I am definitely taking away the pacifier a lot sooner.

Introduce the Bottle
Before her birth, I had decided to go 100% breastfeeding.  I’d heard all the good reasons to do it and it did seem very convenient.  Plus, formula is expensive, I figured, and trying to find the right water temperature in the middle of the nigh seemed exhausting.

Before her birth, I had no idea how much I would need a break from my sweet little girl, and how much I would worry once I left her that she would awake screaming and starving at some unexpected time.  For some reason, probably the expense and for lack of a breast pump, I still held off on introducing a bottle.  Next time, this mamma is getting her baby on a bottle as soon as possible so hubby can take on at least the occasional midnight feeding, and so we can enjoy some time to ourselves, as well.

Nurse as Much as I Can

I have never been able to produce very much milk.  I was never engorged.  My breasts never did much embarrassing leaking.  My baby always seemed to be satisfied after a feeding, but even with supplementary pumping, I just couldn’t squeeze out as much as I’d like, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that if I could just get more milk into her at one time, she might sleep a little longer through the night.  (This theory was confirmed to me once she did start taking a bottle, and a few extra ounces made a big difference to her sleep and mine.)

When my baby was born and feedings seemed to last for a lifetime or longer, I wanted to sit through as few as them as possible.  I think with my next one, I might be a little more content to let him nurse often, in hopes that an increased demand will up the supply. 

Stop the Swaddle

Eventually, the baby learns to unwriggle from her swaddle, yet won’t fall back asleep without being wrapped up tightly.  All moms have heard endless horror stories of babies’ sleep associations, and this one was the most frustrating for me.  Especially because my sweet hubby just couldn’t learn my special technique – the only swaddle that would keep her from unwrapping before she was even out of my arms. 

I have no “other hand” to this one.  I really want to train my baby out of being swaddled as early as possible.

Stick to the Schedule

I googled everything as a new mom, and Google told me that it’s good for mom and baby to have a schedule.  So when Thomas went back to school less than a month after baby was born, I had her on a pretty good schedule.  For the most part, I knew when she’d go down, when she’d wake up, and when we could actually make plans for the day.  And I really needed that – to be able to make plans – so I’m all in favour of keeping a tight schedule.

Forget About the Schedule

We followed the “EASY” parent-led schedule.  It took the guesswork out of knowing what my baby was fussing about at a certain time and also meant avoiding the sleep association of nursing to sleep. 

It also meant skipping over the part where I learn to listen to my baby’s cries and other signals for the real source of her distress and thus total frustration on my part if something didn’t go exactly according to the plan.

And to boot, we were always home for nap time so she got SO good at sleeping in her crib that she could no longer fall asleep for a decent length of time anywhere else – even in my arms!  Any out-of-the-ordinary outing has been a nightmare ever since.

For the new baby boy, I also want to get him used to staying in a car seat from the beginning so he doesn't fuss at the slightest confinement, and give him plenty of active time so he can quickly learn to keep up with his sister and keep himself entertained; let him cry it out as soon as he's old enough so I can get some dang rest, and go to him every time he cries at night so I never again have to go through the awful stress and doubting of a bawling baby; keep him on an early bedtime so I can get some time to myself and with my husband, and let him go to bed as late as we do in the hopes of getting to sleep in once in a while.

As you can see, I’ve got this whole parenting this pretty well figured out.  Baby #2 is gonna be a breeze.

So Many Diapers

I suppose you could say that I have a bit of an addictive personality.  I tend to get really fixated on certain things for a period of time.  Especially puzzles and challenges. 

Sometimes I get on a Sudoku kick and I am constantly envisioning the numbers 1 through 9 and trying to sort them in my head.

When I got my first phone, I was determined to get the hang of T9 texting and was mentally typing everything I said and heard.

At times that I‘ve been into nonograms, every grid I see becomes picture to be coloured in.

During the initial Facebook craze, I was constantly attempting to form every idea and experience into a like-worthy status update.

So what does it say about me now that my daydreams are filled with thoughts of wiping dirty bums? 

Changing Our View of Sex and Consent: In Which I Write Sex 29 Times

Some time ago, I saw someone post on Facebook a series of comics presenting the issue of consent in everyday circumstances – playing cards, watching a movie, lifting weights at the gym…
You may have seen them as they’ve made the social media rounds.  The intent is to draw a metaphor between the individual scenarios and instances of rape, demonstrating how absurd it is to ignore the need for consent in any situation.

Though I can certainly understand and agree with where the cartoonist is going in these comics, what struck me most as I read them was that the biggest issue isn’t consent, but understanding the gravity of the situation.

If a friend insists you keep playing a game you’re not enjoying because that’s what he invited you over for, you might be a little annoyed, but hey, it’s really just a game.

If my husband has promised me all week that we could watch my girly chick flick Friday night, then you better believe I’m going to be upset when he changes his mind on a whim.

On the other hand, if someone takes your car without permission, even if you would have said yes, that’s a big deal – cars are expensive, come with all sorts of liabilities, and are often instrumental to our everyday activities.

And if a person decides they don’t want to have sex at any time or place, with any person, for any reason, that should be respected because sex is a serious matter – after all, bodies are expensive, come with all sorts of liabilities, and are instrumental to our everyday activities.

Promoters of liberal love would have us believe that sex is no big deal.  You can hook up, have multiple partners, define the terms of your sexual relationship any way you want, and generally do whatever you want when it comes to sex because sex is just for fun. 

Then, they turn around and expect harsh penalties for any individual who would commit rape because a sexual crime is a huge violation.  But you can’t have it both ways.

You cannot convince me that sex is just for fun, no bigger a deal than any other form of entertainment. 

Sex is important – sacred, even.  That’s why forcing someone to watch a movie isn’t against the law; that’s why forcing someone into a sexual act is.

Why is sex so serious?  Because sex is so much more than fun.  It is the means by which new life is created.  It is intimate.  It is passionate.  It is absurd.  It is binding.  It makes you vulnerable.  It is personal, interpersonal, and intrapersonal.  So call me old fashioned, but I believe sex should only occur in a well-established loving and committed relationship.  (To me that means marriage, but I won’t get hung up on this detail for the sake of making a larger point.)

When you treat sex lightly, you’re always risking a miscommunication, getting involved with someone less than respectful, or making a choice you might find yourself regretting later.  And mixing casual sex with alcohol is just asking for trouble – if one person isn’t expected to be sober enough to give a straight yes or no, why is another expected to stay sober enough to ask for it?

Even when two individuals are sober, consent can really be a confusing concept.  Nine times out of ten, when my husband wants to have sex I say no – it’s too late, I’m tired, the baby’s going to wake up right away.  Nine times out of ten, after I say no, he convinces me otherwise. 

And you know what?  That’s okay.  In fact, it’s better than okay, it’s great.  I never wake up and regret it the next morning because he’s my husband – I already chose to only have sex with my significant other, and I already chose my significant other to be someone that loves and respects me, and that I trust so that when it really comes down to it, there won’t be any miscommunications, any worry about how he’ll treat me before, during, or after this night.

And sue me…I kind of enjoy being seduced.

That’s why I can’t accept consent as the main issue, but am certain there would be many less instances of rape if we spent more time teaching our children how important sex is instead of how fun and free it can be.

I know that rape is a serious crime that happens in and out of committed relationships.  I would never aim to undermine the pain felt by survivors of rape.  But I believe that when we teach first that sex is a serious matter, one that should not be taken lightly, we reduce the number of perpetrators and victims that put themselves in the position to misconstrue the elements of consent in the first place.  We also would inherently be emphasizing all aspects of consent if individuals embraced the idea that sex should be treated with respect and gravity. 

There will always be evil people that seek to control and abuse; for these, no number of lectures on the issue of consent or the significance of sex is likely to help.  But for those who are honest in their intents, which I believe a good number of perpetrators and victims of rape are, a lesson in the import of sexual intimacy would help to avoid the undesirable circumstances that lead to situations of rape.

I know this stance won’t be popular with supporters of the idea of free love.  They’re selling the idea that sex should come without consequences, but the consequences of sex, good and bad, are real, and cannot be chosen.  Sex is a big deal.  And if we want crimes of a sexual nature to be taken seriously in all cases, we first need to take sex itself seriously. 

Rosie's Mom

We live in an apartment complex with a lot of other young families.  I really enjoy seeing the other kids around at our community playground, and I appreciate the interest that many of them take in my baby daughter. 

I like to greet and converse with all of the kids as I see them, and I try hard to learn all their names. 

Apparently, though, they’re not as intent on learning mine.

“Where are you going, Rosie’s mom?” asked one 4-year-old boy on my way out one afternoon.  I responded and continued on my way; it didn’t even occur to me to inform him that I had another name. 

…I mean, not another name, a real name.

Rosie’s mom.

I think that seals it.  Any identity I once had beyond that of mother is now completely erased from existence.  

First Time Mom

I have the cutest baby in probably the entire world.  Or at least on all of facebook.  She’s also the smartest, the funniest, the happiest, the most full of personality, and she is reaching her physical milestones quicker than every other baby, I’m sure.

I’m a first time mom – can you tell?

As the youngest sibling in my family, I’d been around long enough before having my own children to see what first time moms looked like, and even more to hear how people joked about first time moms.  New parents always think their child is “so advanced”, a prodigy, even.  I vowed long ago that I would never be “that mom”.  I’d know enough not to make a fool of myself as I gushed about my baby’s physical, social, and cognitive development.  Plus, I graduated with a degree in Human Development, so I’ve learned all about this developmental stuff and that should keep me grounded and give me a leg up on all these other flighty mothers who think their very average baby is something special.

But I was so wrong.

If anything, my academic background makes me that much worse.  I tell my husband at least once a week that I learned all about this in my class and she is way ahead of schedule for [insert milestone here].  Cognitively and rationally, I know that my baby is well within the range of normal, and that other babies’ little coos and squeals are just as delightful as hers.  But in my heart of hearts I truly believe that no other baby comes close to comparing with mine in terms of adorable-ness.  I see other moms post about their children on facebook and I feel genuinely confused that they would think their son or daughter could come close to being called cute when sat side-by-side with my enchanting little girl.

I know, I’m terrible. 

Even posts about the trouble or grief a child might cause doesn’t set my new mom mind at ease.  Your baby’s not napping as long as he should?  Well, come to my house and try getting through a night with my little one.  You think your child’s being fussy today and not letting you get anything done?  Think again, Mommy.

This way of thinking is irrational, I’m aware.  How can my daughter simultaneously be both the greatest bundle of joy to ever grace the Earth and the biggest trial one should ever be made to endure?  Because my baby is mine, which automatically makes her the most anything a baby can be.

There’s a problem, though.  A problem currently growing inside my belly, for surely baby #2 is also going to be the brightest, sweetest, and most darling creature I and you and anyone has ever beheld.  And currently my brain – already burdened with the task of overcoming logic and reason to make room for all the superlative assertions I hold about my baby girl – cannot reconcile the idea of two cutest-babies-in-the-world.

But I’m just an inexperienced first time mom.  I suppose that will have to remain a problem for a second time mom, one even more experienced in the art of unabashed bias.  

To My Baby

This morning, you slept in my arms.

When I heard you cry, I was a little disappointed at the early hour; I was hoping you’d sleep in a little later.  I quickly realized, though, as I sat with you on the couch that you weren’t ready to wake up either, so you peacefully closed your eyes and drifted back to sleep, wrapped in my arms.

As a new mom, I was so concerned about getting you on a schedule and making sure you knew your bassinet was for sleeping that slumbering cuddles quickly became a thing of the past.
But this morning, nine months from the time we really cracked down on solo sleeping, I held you once again, and watched you sleep so serenely. 

I noticed immediately how much you’d changed since the last time we’d cuddled like this.  Your little body isn’t quite as little as it once was, and your feet dangled well over the edge of my lap.  Your hair is coming in thicker, but lighter than when you were a newborn.  Your eyelashes are darker; your neck is more defined; and your sweet hands no longer clasp onto mine reflexively. 

Still, I can trace the same folds in your ears; your lower lip hangs in an adorably pouty manner as it always has; and your soft cheeks are still plump and kissable. 

Though I really should have laid you back in your crib and gotten another hour of sleep, myself, I cherished the moment I had with you.  See, in a few short months, we’re going to have another baby in the house and you, all of a sudden, will no longer seem quite so baby-ish.  You’re going to be walking, maybe talking, and, hopefully, fully sleeping through the night. 

The truth is, we didn’t plan to have a second little one only 14 months after you.  Your little brother came as a surprise.  The moment I learned of his coming, I felt some sorrow knowing that you wouldn’t be my baby, my only baby for very much longer.  In that instant, and maybe for the next few days, I took the time to memorize your cherubic face, to relish your new laugh, and delight in your every move.  But soon after, the worry and fear of having two babies overcame me, and I spent my time wishing you’d grow up a little faster.  I didn’t know how to handle having two babies – I often still feel overwhelmed by one.  Suddenly, I needed you sleeping through the night because I sure couldn’t handle the sleep deprivation of two little ones waking me for night feedings.  I hoped you’d be walking, and walking well because I didn’t think I could carry an infant and an almost toddler up to our third floor apartment multiple times a day.  I even wondered if you could potty-train a 14-month-old because who wants to be changing two sets of diapers and running the risk of two blowouts with any lengthy car ride?

So I worried about you not growing up fast enough, encouraging you to reach each new milestone quicker and quicker.  Of course, seeing your development made me worry about you growing up too quickly.  I worried about missing the magical moments in every stage.  I worried about worrying.

And I’m still worried.  I don’t know what the future holds, and that’s hard for me.  I don’t know what this new baby will be like, and I don’t know where you’ll be at by the time he comes. 

But this morning, it didn’t matter.  This morning, I reminded myself, to slow down just a little more, and to take a few more pictures once you awoke.  This morning, from 6 until 7, I held you and studied you like a mother does, and you were my baby still. 

A New Me, A New Blog

My last post on this blog was almost three years ago.

Three years ago, I was in my fourth semester at BYU-Idaho; I was living with roommates; I was skyping my soon-to-be fiance several times a week; I was pining away the hours for him in between studying to be an elementary school educator, getting into all sorts of shenanigans with wonderful friends, and photo-documenting the whole thing.

Today, I am married to that pine-worthy man; we have one adorable and lively 10-month old daughter, and one baby boy due in January; we are now living in Provo, Utah where the hubby is in his final year of undergrad for Mechanical Engineering, where I graduated with a Bachelor of Science in Human Development, and where I now stay home with my sweet baby girl.  Most of the pictures I take these days are of her, and they rarely get uploaded to share on facebook or even printed for a scrapbook.

Today, I got up at 7:09 with that baby girl and thanked my lucky stars that I'd already been able to get in a shower before she and my husband woke for the day; I kept her entertained, and washed dishes, and tidied the house, and took her in the stroller to go meet Daddy on campus for lunch.

My life is so different from what it once was.  Some of the changes I am grateful for.  Some I still find myself dreading from day-to day.  I'm still trying to find where I fit into my own life, and I'm hoping that taking up writing again will help me do just that.

No more will this blog be just an attempt at a humorous travelogue.  For now, it will be a mix of updates and ponderings, of comedy and tragedy and emotion.

I feel as though I'm no longer the college girl that would have stated the line that is my blog name.  I guess, then, that makes me the college-going mom the title references.