Travel Mama

Old home, New home

2009-04-27T10:02:00.000-07:00

I've just returned from my third trip away from the kid in his 13.5 months on the planet, and I have to say, it gets easier every time.

I mean, I miss him terribly when I'm gone, but I don't feel much guilt anymore (except when the dad is left alone to pluck out 50 splinters from the boy's hands, knees, and feet). And I'm able to enjoy and appreciate the things I can do when he's not around, such as: read, work, watch movies, and not change activities every 1.7 minutes on the airplane for 2 or 3 straight hours.

I think the decline in our nursing habit has also helped facilitate this transition. After my first trip (when Zach was 7 months old and nursing 6 times a day), I came home with 105 ounces of my own milk. During the second trip (at 11 months when he was nursing just 3 times a day), I pumped a mere 60 ounces. This time, with just one pumping session a day, I only had to lug 15 ounces back with me. That's less than a pint. Less than a pound!

For the first time ever, they didn't even treat the pump as a suspected bomb-like item at the airport. Whereas the first trip brought tears to my eyes with each pump inspection, this time I laughed when the woman who was manning the luggage scanner said, "Breast milk? You're a mom? You look like you're 15!"

After a weekend packed full of networking with writers and editors, visiting relatives and old friends, and saying goodbye forever to my childhood home, the best part of all was Zach's giddiness upon my return. He was so happy to see me that he laughed the whole way home from the airport.
Even this morning, when he didn't want me to put him down for fear that I might leave again, it felt good to be a Travel Mama.

Worms and Other Yumminess

2009-02-02T09:13:00.000-08:00

The list of things that Zach has put in his mouth (or has tried to put in his mouth) includes: shoes, shoelaces, stroller tires, chairs, someone else's discarded cheerios, grass, sand, a razor, dog toys, cat toys, dog's tongue (opened wide while getting licked in the face), diaper cream, saran wrap, dirty diapers, clean diapers, wipes, snow, leaves, garbage, newspaper, someone else's pacifier, and basically anything else that he's ever had contact with.

Besides being gross, weird, or downright dangerous, many of these items are dirty. Really, really dirty. I alternate between trying to stop him from chomping on anything and everything to admitting defeat in a losing battle--turning the other way and pretending I don't notice.

So, I was slightly comforted to see this new study, which found that "the millions of bacteria, viruses and especially worms that enter the body along with “dirt” spur the development of a healthy immune system. Several continuing studies suggest that worms may help to redirect an immune system that has gone awry and resulted in autoimmune disorders, allergies and asthma."

So, go ahead and eat the (microscopic intestinal) worms, baby Zach. What I can't see can't hurt me and can actually help you. But I guess you already knew that.

Up Time and Down Time

2009-01-31T18:33:00.000-08:00

I'm trying to decide whether I have more time or less time than I used to. Time is so confusing. In some ways, I feel busier and more tired than I used to be. But then, I spend far more time at home than I did pre-baby, and far far more time doing things like throwing balls, banging wooden spoons on metal pots, putting toys into boxes and taking them out again, chasing the cat around the house, and opening and closing doors and drawers. In fact, I never used to do all that fun stuff, so I've definitely added new activities to my repertoire--without actually gaining more hours in the day.

There are also these down times during naps when I have to sit here, read, work, or relax, but otherwise be at home, which is a new experience for me. And I definitely spend more time cooking and reading, and even more total hours in bed (I go to sleep far earlier than I used to). These are all definite leisure activities.

Occasionally, I get cabin fever, but mostly I like it. I think I've even learned to appreciate down time more. Even just going out to the front yard can be a big, all-encompassing, morning adventure:

I suppose it's not a matter of more or less, so much as different. Totally, completely 100% different.

Squeezing it in

2008-12-19T10:09:00.000-08:00

I know this makes me unusual and also kind of annoying, but to me, one of life's biggest luxuries is a long, hard, multi-sport workout. Pre-baby (and pre-some injuries), I used to regularly spend 2+ hours doing any combination of activities, including swimming, biking, weights, climbing, elliptical, running, snowboarding, x-country skiing, yoga, you name it. I've always cultivated friends who share this odd desire to push the body's limits. And these epic activity packages have long been one of my favorite ways to spend a day bonding with a friend or just exhausting myself to the point of forgetting life's troubles.

Once you're a parent, your time is never really your own again (and I can't just work late to accomodate a mid-day workout anymore), but I've tried to bring the spirit of adventure into the effort to get exercise, and I've even surprised myself with how driven I am to squeeze in just 20 minutes of sweat time.

Here are some of my strategies for getting exercise when Gabe is not available to hang out with Zach for a longer stretch of time:

- When Zach was just a few weeks old, I met a woman one day at the Y who liked to swim but had twins. So, we took turns: While one mom swam, the other watched the babies. It occured to me only after I finished my blissful 30-minute swim the first time we did this that I had just agreed to watch 3 babies. But we did it a few times, and somehow we both always managed to get in the water, at least for a little while. Even tiny infant Zach, who did not love his carseat, was usually lulled to sleep by the pool's ever-present white noise.

- Capitalize on Gabe's aunt's desire to spend time with Zach - and her own complicated water aerobics class schedule - to swim while she watched Zach, during her daughter's swim team practice but before her aerobics class started. One time, this worked perfectly and I got a half hour in. One time, we missed her completely because Zach's nap ran late. One time, I got about 18 minutes in.

- Recruit a gaggle of friends to converge upon the climbing gym, where we create a climb-belay-babysit rotation. (Photo pending)

- Take advantage of the Y's free babysitting. Of course, timing it to actually get there at a time when a) Zach is not ready to nap or eat, b) the babysitting room is open, and c) there are reservations available, is a work in progress. Also, there was that time when the woman watching the kids kept calling Zach "she," despite my many corrections. I tried not to worry too much - after all, I wasn't too far away.

- And my new favorite, from our most recent trip: Throw Zach on our (Gabe's) back, and hike through the Arizona mountains.

The problem is that 23 minutes on the elliptical machine, while it boosts my spirits and builds a little muscle tone, does not seem to be enough to combat those pesky 5 (or 7), mentioned below.

The Last 5 (or 7)

2008-11-30T14:33:00.000-08:00

Dear last 5 (or 7) pounds,

They say it takes 9 months to put on the baby weight and 9 months to take it off. But we are dangerously close to 9 months post-partum here, and still you are hanging around.

I am impressed by your stick-to-it-iveness. I swim. I climb. I sweat on the elliptical. I even do abs (sometimes). And yet, you won't leave my side (and my butt, and my tummy). I wonder if it's possible that you are 5 (or 7) extra pounds of milk supply. After all, my baby is truly enormous and he surely drinks a lot of milk to maintain his curves:

But realistically, milk probably only accounts for 2, maybe 3 pounds. So I'm officially waging war against you last 5 (or 7) -- or 2-5 given the milk thing. Even though producing all that milk makes me absolutely need seconds and thirds at every meal and chocolate afterwards, I'll try to cut down on the dessert and the drinks. I'll add an extra level of resistance on the elliptical. I'll swim a little harder.

It's been nice to get to know you and everything. But it's time for you to go.

Best,
Emily

Not Because

2008-11-20T09:07:00.001-08:00

If you're wondering why I haven't posted in oh, months, it's NOT because my husband, who, uh, didn't actually really know about the blog, finally found out about the blog from someone besides me. Seriously, that's not why.

It's because I started the blog when I was a bit slow at work after my maternity leave. But then then work became very Not slow. So, when given the choice between writing for money, and writing for no money, I usually choose Writing for Money. Crazy, I know.

But I just started reading Annie Lamott's "Operating Instructions" last night. And I love it so much. And I think it's really great that she recorded so many details about the first weeks and months of her son's life. And she did it so personally and poignantly and in such a way that I hang on every word, feeling validated and inspired about my own experiences.

The book also makes me want to record what's happening here and now, because you forget so fast. Eleven weeks blends into four months, which blends into eight months, and suddenly your blob of a baby is starting to have opinions and a personality. You think you won't forget how he loves to bounce, how he loves shoes and drawstrings and magazines, how he makes lots of "mm-mm" noises when he eats.

But before I know it, he's going to be breaking curfew and going to college and wanting to spend Thanksgiving with his girlfriend's family.

So, I'll try to keep posting. I'll try.

Overheard

2008-10-01T14:03:00.003-07:00

I'm technically a New Yorker, but when it comes to being assertive, I'm worse than a Minnesotan. That is, I'm not at all assertive. I think about being assertive. I tell friends all about how annoyed I am about the things people (often editors) say and do. When it comes to saying something to those people, though, I toss and turn in bed at night, thinking over and over about what I want to say. But the next day, I just sit there staring at the phone, heart pounding, simply unable to pick it up, unable to be confrontational without bursting into tears, unable to separate the emotional from the logical.

When I don't say something, I usually regret it and beat myself up for being such a wimp. The real problem is that when I do say something, I usually regret it, too.

This ridiculous (obviously, I know it's ridiculous) cycle of self-doubt and second-guessing has taken on a whole new life now that I'm a Mom. When people say and do things that may in some way harm my son, the growling Mama-Bear in me emerges. I feel a much stronger urge to act and protect than I would if the indignity involved only me. And I feel that much worse when I can't get myself to say anything about it.

This is a long-winded introduction to something I overheard while kickboarding in the pool at the Y the other day.

It was a group swimming lesson of, I'd say, maybe 8-year olds. The instructor was desperately trying to teach one girl (bouncing up and down, hair askew, goggles leaking) how to swim the breastroke. She was demonstrating the proper arm motion, in which the hands should start up in front of your face and end down by your hips.

Instructor: So you know how you love ice cream. You love ice cream, right?

Girl, still bouncing up and down: Uh huh.

Instructor, demonstrating the arm motion: So, when you eat ice cream, you want to eat a lot of it, right? But you don't want it to go to your hips [she finishes the stroke by slapping her hips]. You don't want to get fat, right? You don't want it to go to your hips.

8-year old, I repeat, 8-year old girl: Uh huh.

Instructor, again slapping hips in proper breaststroke motion: So you don't eat too much, because you don't want it to go to your hips. OK? Get it? Try again.

A handful of parents were watching this lesson, and no one said anything to the instructor about how inappropriate it was to use such a loaded example with an 8-year old. These weren't even my kids and I was tempted to say something. I didn't, of course. But if Zach were in the lesson, I wonder, would I have said something? What if he were a girl? Would I be even more upset?

Instead of talking to the teacher, maybe I should have pulled that little girl aside and told her to eat as much ice cream as she damn well pleases. After all, you're only 8 once.

Breast Milk Overload

2008-09-25T08:12:00.000-07:00

I can't help commenting on TWO news reports sent to me on the same day last week, both about breast milk.

First of all, a Swiss chef is using (human) breast milk to make sauces richer. And secondly, good old PETA is trying to convince Ben & Jerry's to put breast milk in their ice cream. Obviously, they are just trying to make a point (a cow's milk is for a cow's babies), but still. Please. Also, Ew.

With all the trouble that Zach and I had with nursing early on, I am so grateful that we figured it out, and that breast milk alone turned Zach into an enormous, chubby baby. As distracted as he gets these days (suck suck, look at the window!, suck suck, oh my gosh-there's Abi the cat!, suck suck, hi Mom!, suck suck, that ceiling is amazing!, etc.), I adore those moments of bonding together.

But for all the hype surrounding breast milk and its health benefits, I can see with perspective now that formula has some great benefits, too--namely: iron, vitamin D, and the fact that Dad can give it to Baby in the middle of the night. And after a year or so, a baby really just doesn't need that Mama's milk (or even formula) for health reasons anymore.

We are adding more and more solids to Zach's diet now. So far: avocado, sweet potato, banana, peas, and oat and rice cereal. And even though milk is still his primary source of nutrition, I am bracing myself for the day, not long from now, when I won't be the one supplying everything my baby needs. It's been 15+ months now that he's been growing off of me. It takes a lot longer to cut that cord than I realized.

I will mourn the end of nursing when it comes in another 6 months, plus or minus. But I'm sure it will also be liberating - the ability to leave the house for more than 4 hours at a time without needing to extract fluids from my body.

Despite all those mixed feelings, there is one thing I am quite sure of: I do not want my breast milk to end up in a pint of Cherry Garcia.

First Tooth

2008-09-24T12:01:00.001-07:00

As the sharp corner of Zach's first tooth pokes through his gums, I find myself reflecting on baby smiles.

In particular, I am thinking about how incredibly hard we work to get grins out of our little ones. We stick out our tongues. We clap. We make funny noises. We clink spoons together. We click, whistle, cheer, and talk in silly voices. And as long as we get a giggle or even just a smirk, we do these things over and over again until they are suddenly not funny anymore, thanks mom.

What is it about a baby's smile? There is some evidence that seeing her own baby smile lights up the reward centers in a mom's brain. Like crack, it seems, you get a little and you just want more and more and more. But I hear from trusted advisers that both Grandmas and nannies are also addicted to making babies smile. So are Dads, Grandpas, aunts, baby-loving friends, and the woman who runs the bakery around the corner.

But I worry a little bit about this smile obsession. Life is just not that funny all the time. Sometimes, it's hard. Sometimes, it's boring. Sometimes, it hurts. And sometimes, you'd rather just sit and watch the world go by instead of watching people wave things in your face and stick their tongues out at you. Sometimes, you just don't feel like smiling.

Perhaps we're setting our babies up for disappointment when they discover that, one day, the jokes will stop rolling in at such a steady stream. Or maybe, we are helping them develop one of the most wonderful skills of all: the ability to find humor in a topsy-turvy world.

Whatever the answer, I just can't stop myself. That smile makes me high, and I'm not ready for the buzz to end.

Traveling With Challenges

2008-09-18T18:19:00.001-07:00

The New York Times website features a video about a family determined to travel, even though their son has severe autism.

It's worth watching, if only as a reminder that it is almost always possible to get out there, whatever your individual challenges may be.

Permanent Visitor

2008-09-18T13:27:00.000-07:00

When I travel, I tend to visit museums, explore interesting neighborhoods, and check out architectural marvels. At home, I always talk about doing things like these, but I don't usually motivate to do the touristy stuff until someone comes to visit and I want to show off what my city has to offer.

Having a baby, I've decided, is like having a permanent tourist living with you. Suddenly, everything you do seems brand new and totally exciting. The nice thing is, it doesn't take much to impress this tourist. In recent weeks, some of our most enthralling activities have included:

Watching the garbage truck on Wednesday mornings (and charming the garbage man, who is Zach's new biggest fan)
Swimming in the fountain-filled kiddie pool at the Y
Petting a goat at the Mill City Farmer's Market downtown
Visiting the zoo (So, he slept through most of that, but he did wake up in time to see the fish)
Exploring a variety of playgrounds in our neighborhood (You can see in the evidence below how it appears that I have never seen a swing before)

I view the plain old concrete city in a whole new way now. Minneapolis is not just numbered streets crossed with lettered streets. It is a world filled with color and light and movement, construction equipment, squirrels squeaking in the trees, and leaves blowing in the wind.

Sometimes, it just takes an outsider to give you a new perspective on life.

Someone Else's Baby

2008-09-15T13:07:00.000-07:00

When it's someone else's baby, it doesn't sound like such a big deal when:
- The baby needs to be rocked back to sleep Exactly half an hour into most sleeping periods
- The mom cuts a chunk out of the baby's thumb while clipping his nails and it bleeds. A lot.
- The baby sobs for an hour while the babysitters try to put him to bed (and they don't call us, and, in an effort to soothe him, they give him water, which he's never had before and isn't really supposed to have yet, and he's never cried like that before, ever)
- The baby spits up algae after his mom goes swimming in the lake and neglects to notice that she has algae on her breasts before feeding him (OK, so that one was actually kind of funny)

When it's your own baby, though, somehow it's different. It's a Bigger Deal. It's Life or Death. You are the Worst Mom in the World. And yet, after each incident, the endlessly adaptable baby acts as if nothing strange happened. He moves on. He is still overwhelmed with joy to see you. He doesn't think you're the worst Mom in the world, even when you feel that way.

In the Adaptable Battle of Mom vs. Baby, Baby scores another point. Mom, obviously, could learn a lot from Baby.

They Say

2008-09-10T18:23:00.001-07:00

They say babies thrive on routine. "They say" a lot of things, and I've decided that maybe about one third of what those books, websites, and other experts say about babies is true. Here are some things "they say" that so far, have not been true about my baby:
- It gets easier at 6 weeks
- At 12 pounds or 3 months, babies can sleep through the night (ha!)
- Babies don't like to be swaddled after a month or two (double ha!)
- Newborns LOVE the car (don't even get me started)

So, what about routine? To some extent, it seems like Zach has responded to a regular bedtime, a walk in the evening, a pattern of winding down before sleep, and morning coffee at Java Jacks around the corner (or maybe that last part is what the caffeine-drinkers in the family thrive on).

But on a day-to-day basis, he seems to demand a variety of new experiences. Sitting in the shopping cart at Target-whoa! A spontaneous visit to the grocery store-fun! New games, new toys, new songs, new faces.

I guess it makes sense. Even on vacation, I like having mini-routines: picking the same cafe for tea every morning, brushing my teeth and washing my face before bed. But life gets boring when it's the same all the time. And getting stuck on routine makes it hard to try anything new. Should we stick with the nap schedule at all costs, for example, or acknowledge that maybe he'll just sleep a little longer if the nap starts a little late?

The big challenge, then, seems to be finding the balance between settling into comforting routines and daring ourselves to seek out thrilling new experiences. At the age of 32, I think I'm still trying to figure that one out.

What's the Worst?

2008-09-08T07:50:00.000-07:00

What's the worst that could happen? That's what my husband Gabe asked last weekend when I admitted that I was fretting about our upcoming trip from Minneapolis to Grand Marais on Lake Superior: Packing enough diapers, onesies, toys, jumparoos, carriers, and all the other accessories necessary to clothe and entertain a 6-month old (not to mention all the stuff that two adults need for a couple nights away from home), just seemed so overwhelming. I was tempted to shelve the whole adventure, just to save some stress.

The worst that could happen, I admitted, was that Zach could scream for the entire 5(+)-hour car ride, then not sleep at all for the whole weekend. "And?" Gabe pressed. He was right. That would kind of suck. But we'd survive. And who knew? Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. We say we want Zach to always know that traveling is just part of what we do. So, we might as well start now.

So, what happened?

After a bit of fussing in the car seat, and some marathon singing on my part, plus a rotation of distracting toys, he fell asleep. And he slept. And slept. And slept. For the last 2 hours of the trip, he snoozed "like a baby." He stayed asleep while we unpacked the car. And without tears, he allowed me to change him, nurse him, and put him back to sleep. Six hours later, he was up to nurse. Then he slept for a couple hours more. Hm.

The next night? He slept through the night. For the second time ever. In a strange place. In the pack 'n play. In fact, the first time he slept through the night was the weekend before -- also in a strange place. Also in the pack 'n play. We had a lovely weekend hanging out by Lake Superior, walking, drinking coffee, enjoying the fresh crisp fall air, and sharing our love for the Big Lake with the little guy. And on the drive home? He took three good naps. And smiled when we walked in the house.

I see a few take-home messages here:
1. Admitting my fears is the first step toward getting over them.
2. The baby is far more adaptable than I give him credit for and maybe even more adaptable than the mom is.
3. Maybe we should set up the pack 'n play for Zach to sleep in at home.