Holding you in my arms,feeling your chest rise and fall to the sweet symphony that is your breathing:
Yours is the face of trust, mine the face of love.
Monday, June 29, 2009
on our young
Holding you in my arms,feeling your chest rise and fall to the sweet symphony that is your breathing:
Yours is the face of trust, mine the face of love.
I Spy
So I've been fiddling with my blog. Like the new look? It's not the all out full blown blogovation that I had intended, but for today, I think I like what I've done. I've figured out how to make my own background, I've changed my button without breaking any links, and I've numbered my comments. I feel... accomplished.
That said, while fishing through the plethora of pictures on Spouse's computer, as mine lacks the software of the photo editing kind, I found this.
Mongoosine & Snapdragon. Notice anything about what she's got him wrapped in?
That said, while fishing through the plethora of pictures on Spouse's computer, as mine lacks the software of the photo editing kind, I found this.
Mongoosine & Snapdragon. Notice anything about what she's got him wrapped in?
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Maybe you could make a paperweight out of it...
I love to paint. You wouldn't know this unless I told you, because I haven't done a lot of painting in a very long time, but I love to nonetheless. I'm not claiming to have mad skillz, because I haven't, but I have a love of it, and that's what counts.
One of the things that for the longest time deterred me was the sheer cost of whatever support you're painting. Whether it's a stretched canvas or a gessoed board, art supplies of all shapes and sizes are costly.
I think it was this fact, coupled with my distaste for throwing things away that led me to start painting found objects.
A couple years ago I found some ends of 2x4s out in the garage that my father just had tossed aside after finishing a book shelf project for my mother, which served as a marvelous support for a Frida Kahlo inspired Mary Magdalene painting for a mail art project.
Of course, this got me thinking, what else can I do with these? It just occurred to me that Mongoosine and I have an art project coming up. She's going to make me some bookends, and I'm going to make some for my mom. Those shelves my dad made her could sure benefit from creative use of the leftover wood.
Do you have anything laying around your house that needs re-purposing? It's nice to know a little paint can take all sorts of things from waste-bound to aesthetically useful.
One of the things that for the longest time deterred me was the sheer cost of whatever support you're painting. Whether it's a stretched canvas or a gessoed board, art supplies of all shapes and sizes are costly.
I think it was this fact, coupled with my distaste for throwing things away that led me to start painting found objects.
A couple years ago I found some ends of 2x4s out in the garage that my father just had tossed aside after finishing a book shelf project for my mother, which served as a marvelous support for a Frida Kahlo inspired Mary Magdalene painting for a mail art project.
Of course, this got me thinking, what else can I do with these? It just occurred to me that Mongoosine and I have an art project coming up. She's going to make me some bookends, and I'm going to make some for my mom. Those shelves my dad made her could sure benefit from creative use of the leftover wood.
Do you have anything laying around your house that needs re-purposing? It's nice to know a little paint can take all sorts of things from waste-bound to aesthetically useful.
Selfishly Green, again.
I'm at it again, telling you about the spifftacular giveaways that I'm not so sure I want you to enter, because I'm pretty sure I'd rather win! But, it's only fair that someone who reads my blog should get a chance at it, right?
So, The Cloth Diaper Whisperer has a great giveaway this week for Thirsties Covers, Swaddlebees Prefolds, and Snappis! I've always wanted to try Snappis, so i'm abundantly enthused about this.
Over at Cloth Diaper Blog there is a giveaway going on for a Kissaluvs Marvel One Size and a Cloth n Go Bag.
These both end on Friday.
Our Life Upstate has a giveaway going on for a Sweat Pea Diapers OS diaper, and get this, they come in a splendid punk rock Black, which I suppose you could also love if you're just a little goth too. Yay Sweet Pea!
They've also got a Monkey Snuggles Gift Certificate Giveaway going on, and that means you can get diapers, or woolies, and everyone needs them some wool love.
Yes they are all mine is giving away a Bella Bottoms one size diaper.
My good twitterpal @mom2chunkymonky is giving away a Smartipants diaper on her blog, Newly Wed, Newly Bred.
Me and My Boys is having an Apple Cheeks giveaway, and you've all read about how I fancy me some Apple Cheeks!
i just found a FuzzBbunz giveaway from Diaper Style too!
There's an AMP Cloth Diapers giveaway going on over at the Mom Buzz.
Look What Mom Found is hosting a Happy Heiny's One Size giveaway, sponsored by Itty Bitty Baby Bunz.
And though it's not diapers, I still think that these are kinda crunchy and good.
At Simple, there's a Peanut Shell pouch baby sling being given away, and I love me some good babywearing!
Lipstick to Crayons is also having a sling giveaway of a Slingaroo.
So, The Cloth Diaper Whisperer has a great giveaway this week for Thirsties Covers, Swaddlebees Prefolds, and Snappis! I've always wanted to try Snappis, so i'm abundantly enthused about this.
Over at Cloth Diaper Blog there is a giveaway going on for a Kissaluvs Marvel One Size and a Cloth n Go Bag.
These both end on Friday.
Our Life Upstate has a giveaway going on for a Sweat Pea Diapers OS diaper, and get this, they come in a splendid punk rock Black, which I suppose you could also love if you're just a little goth too. Yay Sweet Pea!
They've also got a Monkey Snuggles Gift Certificate Giveaway going on, and that means you can get diapers, or woolies, and everyone needs them some wool love.
Yes they are all mine is giving away a Bella Bottoms one size diaper.
My good twitterpal @mom2chunkymonky is giving away a Smartipants diaper on her blog, Newly Wed, Newly Bred.
Me and My Boys is having an Apple Cheeks giveaway, and you've all read about how I fancy me some Apple Cheeks!
i just found a FuzzBbunz giveaway from Diaper Style too!
There's an AMP Cloth Diapers giveaway going on over at the Mom Buzz.
Look What Mom Found is hosting a Happy Heiny's One Size giveaway, sponsored by Itty Bitty Baby Bunz.
And though it's not diapers, I still think that these are kinda crunchy and good.
At Simple, there's a Peanut Shell pouch baby sling being given away, and I love me some good babywearing!
Lipstick to Crayons is also having a sling giveaway of a Slingaroo.
Rock-a-bye-Beddy, and Leave Me Alone
So I'm going there again. You may soon begin to sense a pattern...
I was at the gym the other day for my brief "sneak-away-from-Snapdragon-to-swim" time, when I ran into a friend of mine whom I haven't seen since my babyshower. I'm thinking "Yay! I can show you baby pictures!" So I gleefully walk over to her and the conversation starts out just peachy. "So how old is he now?" 7 weeks. "Was it an easy delivery?" Aside from epidural!fail, yes. "Are you nursing him?" Yes! (yay me) "How many hours does he sleep at night?" ... I don't know?
It's the classic trap, and I fall into it every time. If you're bottle feeding your child and putting them back to their crib, only to have them wake and squak and squail until they're again rocked to sleep, you probably know how many hours that kid is sleeping at night, because you are sleeping considerably less. But if you're nursing your child and cosleeping with them, you might not even be getting out of bed. You certainly don't have to turn the lights on, and so you might not even bother to check the clock, because however long the baby feeds, well, that's how long it takes to put him back to sleep, but without the transfer period, you never really have to rouse to the point that your restfulness is truly disturbed. Heck, I even keep Snapdragon's cloth diapers within arms reach at night so I don't have to get out of bed unless I need to run and pee. Well, run to the bathroom and pee. I don't recommend running and peeing simultaneously, but I digress.
So I don't really know how many hours he sleeps at night, and sometimes I don't know how many times he wakes, because it doesn't really matter to me and I don't dwell on it. He's got his co-sleeper in my bed,and sometimes he sleeps right next to me. (It helps that I am a very light sleeper, so this doesn't freak me out.)
But I didn't know how long he sleeps, and she asks the question. "Does he sleep in the bed with you?"
Yes. Yes he does.
And Suddenly I'm feeling defensive. Moreover, she's telling me how her children slept in the bed with her, but in the same breath talking about how unsafe it is.
What?
She's extolling the virtues of how she managed to sleep with her babies on her chest and telling me I need to put mine in his crib? Somehow it was okay for her and not for me? Yes, her kids are my age, but really, what's changed? In terms of actual risk? Nothing, with the possible exception that I know that I need to not be covering up with heavy blankets, and a plethora of other safety considerations of which I am aware.
But then the words start coming out of my mouth, my apologist platitudes and excuses. "Well, Spouse doesn't sleep in the bed because he's a heavy sleeper, and some nights Snapdragon does spend a lot of time in his crib, it just depends on where he starts, and he usually sleeps in his hard sided cosleeper" Now, all of this is true, but why do I feel the need to explain myself? And to a woman who co-slept with her four children!
So if you're reading this and you don't co-sleep, PLEASE take a moment to support those around you who make that choice, and if you do co-sleep, please don't make the mistake of alienating others making the same choice by trying to put the fear of bed into them.
And if you are currently co-sleeping and facing all the negativity of others, please know that when you find yourself getting defensive, that you're not alone, and we'll all be here to support you when you get home.
Speakin of co-sleeping, Snapdragon is currently dozing on my lap.
I was at the gym the other day for my brief "sneak-away-from-Snapdragon-to-swim" time, when I ran into a friend of mine whom I haven't seen since my babyshower. I'm thinking "Yay! I can show you baby pictures!" So I gleefully walk over to her and the conversation starts out just peachy. "So how old is he now?" 7 weeks. "Was it an easy delivery?" Aside from epidural!fail, yes. "Are you nursing him?" Yes! (yay me) "How many hours does he sleep at night?" ... I don't know?
It's the classic trap, and I fall into it every time. If you're bottle feeding your child and putting them back to their crib, only to have them wake and squak and squail until they're again rocked to sleep, you probably know how many hours that kid is sleeping at night, because you are sleeping considerably less. But if you're nursing your child and cosleeping with them, you might not even be getting out of bed. You certainly don't have to turn the lights on, and so you might not even bother to check the clock, because however long the baby feeds, well, that's how long it takes to put him back to sleep, but without the transfer period, you never really have to rouse to the point that your restfulness is truly disturbed. Heck, I even keep Snapdragon's cloth diapers within arms reach at night so I don't have to get out of bed unless I need to run and pee. Well, run to the bathroom and pee. I don't recommend running and peeing simultaneously, but I digress.
So I don't really know how many hours he sleeps at night, and sometimes I don't know how many times he wakes, because it doesn't really matter to me and I don't dwell on it. He's got his co-sleeper in my bed,and sometimes he sleeps right next to me. (It helps that I am a very light sleeper, so this doesn't freak me out.)
But I didn't know how long he sleeps, and she asks the question. "Does he sleep in the bed with you?"
Yes. Yes he does.
And Suddenly I'm feeling defensive. Moreover, she's telling me how her children slept in the bed with her, but in the same breath talking about how unsafe it is.
What?
She's extolling the virtues of how she managed to sleep with her babies on her chest and telling me I need to put mine in his crib? Somehow it was okay for her and not for me? Yes, her kids are my age, but really, what's changed? In terms of actual risk? Nothing, with the possible exception that I know that I need to not be covering up with heavy blankets, and a plethora of other safety considerations of which I am aware.
But then the words start coming out of my mouth, my apologist platitudes and excuses. "Well, Spouse doesn't sleep in the bed because he's a heavy sleeper, and some nights Snapdragon does spend a lot of time in his crib, it just depends on where he starts, and he usually sleeps in his hard sided cosleeper" Now, all of this is true, but why do I feel the need to explain myself? And to a woman who co-slept with her four children!
So if you're reading this and you don't co-sleep, PLEASE take a moment to support those around you who make that choice, and if you do co-sleep, please don't make the mistake of alienating others making the same choice by trying to put the fear of bed into them.
And if you are currently co-sleeping and facing all the negativity of others, please know that when you find yourself getting defensive, that you're not alone, and we'll all be here to support you when you get home.
Speakin of co-sleeping, Snapdragon is currently dozing on my lap.
Friday, June 26, 2009
CLOSE THE DOOR!
Do you know how many doors your house has? Make a guess, and then go through your house, physically or mentally, and count them. Got em all? More than you thought? Did you include the closets? Well, I'm going to guess that I've got more doors than you do.
Our house has a lot of doors.
External doors: 3 on front porch, 1 off side of kitchen, a sliding door off side of sitting room, and 4 off ersatz family room which used to be a garage. 2 more if we count the huge garage doors. That makes 11 external doors of which I can think.
Then there's another 16, I believe, between rooms on the main floor, and 8 closet doors, bringing the total to, oh wait, i forgot the kitchen, 12 closet doors, bringing the total to 30 main floor doors. In the basement there are 10.
we have 51 doors in this house, so bear that in mind. Fifty-one, one and fiddy. That's like 50 cent, and a penny, only doors.
Now, my spouse likes to keep the doors closed. That's right. All of them, with one exception, he likes to keep closed. This means that we're constantly opening and closing doors as though moving through a series of air locks. Part of this is because he's a bit of a hermit, and part of this is because he's just freaky-deeky about keeping the cats in one part of the house and the people in the other.
In the winter it is awesome because we can regulate the temperatures of various rooms by opening and closing the vents. It's also nice that to some extent a person can at times feel like they have more privacy because of these fifty-one doors. Oh, no. That's not right. I forgot the screen doors. We now are up to fifty-six. That's fifty cents, a nickel, and a penny. Eep!
Now, all this said, I didn't grow up in a house where the conservation of heat is a science in the wintertime. This might have something to do with the fact that the house I grew up in wasn't built a hundred years ago, and as a result was actually insulated, but in any case, this door phenomenon was new to me.
Well, I've actually adapted quite well to always closing the doors behind me and corralling the animals so they don't invade the rest of the house, but Mongoosine, well, she lacks this skill.
Ironically, she most thoroughly lacks this skill when it comes to the exterior doors... and I'm sure you can imagine how I feel about the air conditioned air wafting out through the screen...
Can you guess what she hears a lot of in our house?
Our house has a lot of doors.
External doors: 3 on front porch, 1 off side of kitchen, a sliding door off side of sitting room, and 4 off ersatz family room which used to be a garage. 2 more if we count the huge garage doors. That makes 11 external doors of which I can think.
Then there's another 16, I believe, between rooms on the main floor, and 8 closet doors, bringing the total to, oh wait, i forgot the kitchen, 12 closet doors, bringing the total to 30 main floor doors. In the basement there are 10.
we have 51 doors in this house, so bear that in mind. Fifty-one, one and fiddy. That's like 50 cent, and a penny, only doors.
Now, my spouse likes to keep the doors closed. That's right. All of them, with one exception, he likes to keep closed. This means that we're constantly opening and closing doors as though moving through a series of air locks. Part of this is because he's a bit of a hermit, and part of this is because he's just freaky-deeky about keeping the cats in one part of the house and the people in the other.
In the winter it is awesome because we can regulate the temperatures of various rooms by opening and closing the vents. It's also nice that to some extent a person can at times feel like they have more privacy because of these fifty-one doors. Oh, no. That's not right. I forgot the screen doors. We now are up to fifty-six. That's fifty cents, a nickel, and a penny. Eep!
Now, all this said, I didn't grow up in a house where the conservation of heat is a science in the wintertime. This might have something to do with the fact that the house I grew up in wasn't built a hundred years ago, and as a result was actually insulated, but in any case, this door phenomenon was new to me.
Well, I've actually adapted quite well to always closing the doors behind me and corralling the animals so they don't invade the rest of the house, but Mongoosine, well, she lacks this skill.
Ironically, she most thoroughly lacks this skill when it comes to the exterior doors... and I'm sure you can imagine how I feel about the air conditioned air wafting out through the screen...
Can you guess what she hears a lot of in our house?
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Grasping for the Stars
Every mother thinks her child's developmental milestones are more important, better, and more unique than anything you might choose to compare them to, and so I know I'm blowing this out of proportion. At the same time, every mother knows that her child's developmental milestones are infinitely precious and need to be cherished to the utmost, so please bear with me while I wax nostalgic on two days ago.
I have a bouncy seat sitting next to my computer "zone," for lack of a better word. I will sit at the computer nursing Snapdragon on a pillow, then slip him into his bouncy seat when he's dozing. He ususally doens't sleep hard enough to justify moving him to his crib when I'm at the computer, so this has been a workable scenario.
But lately, he's been seeing farther and spending more and more time just staring with rapt fascination at the world around him, so I have taken to slipping him into his bouncy seat when he's otherwise perfectly content, just so he can enjoy the view from there, which includes a hippo, a lion, and a monkey, all of which dangle from a green arch over the bouncy seat, and all of which have rings hanging from them. The lion plays music if you pull his ring. Snapdragon has observed this phenomenon with great interest and awe, as though he were watching a feat of true wizardry.
Two days ago this changed.
Two days ago I slipped him into his seat in a marginally good mood and the next thing I know his little hand is stretched out in front of him and he's batting the monkey. What's this? Is he just stretching and bumping it? But no, his eyes focus on the task at hand as he bats the monkey over and over again, and then he grabs it midswing!
I squeed like a tween at a Jonas Brother's concert.
Snapdragon has discovered toys. Moreover, he's learned that the things he sees around him, this whole great big world of shapes and colors and movement, all of it can be manipulated by these marvelous things called hands. He has learned that the universe is willfully interactive, and my heart is so full of pride in this little man that it could nearly burst.
I can see how each little step in his development leads to the next step and the one after that. How knowing he can see and grasp will lead to picking things up and teething on them and taking two objects and making them interact with one another, and eventually he'll learn more and more about what his hands can do, what his feet can do, what he can do. It's all part of this process of being human,and oh how we take it for granted, but to him it's new and full of wonderment. He is still batting the monkey and hippo today, frustratedly eying the magically musical lion with determination but not quite the dexterity to grasp something out of line with his hands. Nonetheless, he's decided it's what he's going to do, and it's so cute to see decision on the face of a 7 week old. That is, determination and decisiveness that doesn't have to do with the tatas.
Today he's grasping for the monkey, tomorrow, the stars.
I have a bouncy seat sitting next to my computer "zone," for lack of a better word. I will sit at the computer nursing Snapdragon on a pillow, then slip him into his bouncy seat when he's dozing. He ususally doens't sleep hard enough to justify moving him to his crib when I'm at the computer, so this has been a workable scenario.
But lately, he's been seeing farther and spending more and more time just staring with rapt fascination at the world around him, so I have taken to slipping him into his bouncy seat when he's otherwise perfectly content, just so he can enjoy the view from there, which includes a hippo, a lion, and a monkey, all of which dangle from a green arch over the bouncy seat, and all of which have rings hanging from them. The lion plays music if you pull his ring. Snapdragon has observed this phenomenon with great interest and awe, as though he were watching a feat of true wizardry.
Two days ago this changed.
Two days ago I slipped him into his seat in a marginally good mood and the next thing I know his little hand is stretched out in front of him and he's batting the monkey. What's this? Is he just stretching and bumping it? But no, his eyes focus on the task at hand as he bats the monkey over and over again, and then he grabs it midswing!
I squeed like a tween at a Jonas Brother's concert.
Snapdragon has discovered toys. Moreover, he's learned that the things he sees around him, this whole great big world of shapes and colors and movement, all of it can be manipulated by these marvelous things called hands. He has learned that the universe is willfully interactive, and my heart is so full of pride in this little man that it could nearly burst.
I can see how each little step in his development leads to the next step and the one after that. How knowing he can see and grasp will lead to picking things up and teething on them and taking two objects and making them interact with one another, and eventually he'll learn more and more about what his hands can do, what his feet can do, what he can do. It's all part of this process of being human,and oh how we take it for granted, but to him it's new and full of wonderment. He is still batting the monkey and hippo today, frustratedly eying the magically musical lion with determination but not quite the dexterity to grasp something out of line with his hands. Nonetheless, he's decided it's what he's going to do, and it's so cute to see decision on the face of a 7 week old. That is, determination and decisiveness that doesn't have to do with the tatas.
Today he's grasping for the monkey, tomorrow, the stars.
Selfishly Green
So like I've said before, I'm trying to raise Snapdragon to be as sustainable as possible, and in doing so, the number one most sustainable product I've come across for him is cloth diapers. And it turns out there are some truly FANTASTIC cloth diapers out there. Pins are a thing of the past for most of the ones people are using today, and that just tickles me pink.
The only problem with cloth diapers is sticker shock. They can be a little cost prohibitive *up front,* even though in the long run they save you a ton of money.
So, because of that, I'm constantly scouring the interwebz looking for the latest in opportunities to win a nice fluffy for Snapdragon's little bottom. Today I've decided to selfishly share what I've found with you. If you go to any of the following sites, you'll see just how selfish this is of me to share this information with you. Nothing selfless about it.
esbaby-
There are 3 sites currently doing esbaby cloth diapers giveaways. That's right. Three.
Our Life Upstate is giving away an quick drying AIO.
Monkeytoes Reviews and Giveaways is offering an esbaby fitted and wrapping cover.
Look What Mom Found is offering a true AIO.
And if you don't win any of these, you can always buy one from Christine at http://www.esbaby.net
Newly Wed, Newly Bred reviewed and is giving away a GAD Baby diaper.
As is the case every week, The Cloth Diaper Whisperer has her Fluff Friday contest going. This week a lucky winner is going to be wrapping 3 Haute Pockets around their little one's bum.
There's an Apple Cheeks giveaway going on over at so fawned.
Our Life Upstate also has a Smartipants giveaway going on right now too, and so does Monkeytoes Reviews and Giveaways!!!
Full Nest is giving away a Smartipants diaper as well.
There are two Thirsties giveaways to enter, one at Mama Notes and Mama Momo and the other at Cloth Diaper Blog.
Barefoot Mommy is also giving away a The Funky Diaper Company diaper.
Thrifty Mama Bee has a LolliDoo giveaway going on through Sunday too.
Over at Battle of the Knits there's a WOOL SOAKER giveaway for whoever links to her the most because she wants to get to at least 100 followers.
There are also a couple going on on twitter right now, so follow @diapershops @rumparooz and @bumgenius to get in on them!
So go, enter, and win some ecological goodness for your sustainable baby, or maybe just maybe I'll get lucky and win some for mine!
The only problem with cloth diapers is sticker shock. They can be a little cost prohibitive *up front,* even though in the long run they save you a ton of money.
So, because of that, I'm constantly scouring the interwebz looking for the latest in opportunities to win a nice fluffy for Snapdragon's little bottom. Today I've decided to selfishly share what I've found with you. If you go to any of the following sites, you'll see just how selfish this is of me to share this information with you. Nothing selfless about it.
esbaby-
There are 3 sites currently doing esbaby cloth diapers giveaways. That's right. Three.
Our Life Upstate is giving away an quick drying AIO.
Monkeytoes Reviews and Giveaways is offering an esbaby fitted and wrapping cover.
Look What Mom Found is offering a true AIO.
And if you don't win any of these, you can always buy one from Christine at http://www.esbaby.net
Newly Wed, Newly Bred reviewed and is giving away a GAD Baby diaper.
As is the case every week, The Cloth Diaper Whisperer has her Fluff Friday contest going. This week a lucky winner is going to be wrapping 3 Haute Pockets around their little one's bum.
There's an Apple Cheeks giveaway going on over at so fawned.
Our Life Upstate also has a Smartipants giveaway going on right now too, and so does Monkeytoes Reviews and Giveaways!!!
Full Nest is giving away a Smartipants diaper as well.
There are two Thirsties giveaways to enter, one at Mama Notes and Mama Momo and the other at Cloth Diaper Blog.
Barefoot Mommy is also giving away a The Funky Diaper Company diaper.
Thrifty Mama Bee has a LolliDoo giveaway going on through Sunday too.
Over at Battle of the Knits there's a WOOL SOAKER giveaway for whoever links to her the most because she wants to get to at least 100 followers.
There are also a couple going on on twitter right now, so follow @diapershops @rumparooz and @bumgenius to get in on them!
So go, enter, and win some ecological goodness for your sustainable baby, or maybe just maybe I'll get lucky and win some for mine!
Sunday, June 21, 2009
AppleCheeks!!!
Okay, I've said it before, and now I'm saying it again. I really really really want Snapdragon to try AppleCheeks diapers. Not just a little,a lot. So, when they announced today that they're having a giveaway of their new AppleCheeks MiniTest, I was, well, more than just a little excited. It's got an envelope (and their colors are egads cute) and three inserts, either hemp or bamboo, both of which whomp on microfiber, so I'm all about it.
If you wanna know more, check out AppleCheeks online. Pretty darn fantabulous, if you ask me.
If you wanna know more, check out AppleCheeks online. Pretty darn fantabulous, if you ask me.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Co-Sleeping in the Pool
One of my favorite things in the whole wide world is water.
I love to drink it, soak in it, feel it running down my skin, watch the sunlight ripple off of it, smell it in the air.
I love water.
I love lakes, rivers, oceans, bathtubs, pools, creeks, streams, brooks, and fish bowls. Love it.
So today, when Snapdragon was in a happily dozing mood, I left him in the nearly capable hands of Spouse and snuck off for an hour to go swim at the gym in the delightfully regulated warm water pool. Now, the warm water pool attracts a lot of people, but mostly people looking for some pain relief but still wanting to be mobile. Its what got me hooked on the pool. When I arrived, I was the only person there, and that was perfect. I had the whole pool to myself, to float, swim, work on my aqua-pilates and ai chi all I wanted without having to talk to anybody. Little did I know that the talking to others would prove so interesting.
Shortly after getting into the pool and beginning to take advantage of the wet solitude, another woman came into the pool and she began doing her stretches near me.
I am not socially adept, so I make myself greet the non-creepy people if they come withing a certain distance of myself.
Very shortly after greeting the woman and exchanging pleasantries, Snapdragon came up conversationally in the way that children do, and she inquired about him and shared that her daughter had a 2 month old baby, and this led the conversation to becoming ever increasingly personal. We talked about how her daughter was breastfeeding and how she worried that her daughter's maternity leave was insufficient because of how tightly the two were bonded to one another, and then I did something that I hadn't realized was all that controversial.
I made a comment about co-sleeping.
Her body language changed entirely and she began asking questions. The types of questions you'd expect to be asked if you were being investigated for neglect. Questions like do you have a co-sleeper or does the baby just sleep in the bed with you. Then it comes out that she chairs the committee that investigates all the infant and child deaths in the state.
Interesting.
But she continues to tell me that co-sleeping accidents account for what she implied was a majority of infant mortalities, and I blinked, because I am quite sure that it isn't the majority culprit, elsewise there would most certainly be a stronger anti-co-sleeping campaign than there already is. It wouldn't just be "back to bed, tummy to play," but "back to YOUR OWN bed, tummy to play." Surprisingly, it isn't.
So I ask, "Do you find, statistically, that most of the co-sleeping related mortalities also involve the use of alcohol, sedatives, or other drugs?"
"Yes," she says, "it's the first question we ask when investigating."
Hmmm.
Interestingly, by the time we'd finished our conversation, I felt even better about my choice to co-sleep, but I also could honestly say, no, my husband doesn't sleep in the bed because he sleeps too soundly and neither of us are comfortable with him sleeping in the same bed as Snapdragon, and yes, we do have a rigid sided co-sleeper in the bed. Snapdragon doesn't always use it, but we do use it frequently. No, I don't take any drugs, use alcohol, smoke, or otherwise utilize mind and wakefulness impairing substances, and because I'm a light sleeper and breastfeeding, I am more keenly aware of his movements. Oddly, she seemed supportive by the end of the conversation. Aparently her daughter is a co-sleeper too.
So why, oh why, can someone please tell me why is it that someone who isn't actually against co-sleeping would react with something tantamount to horror and professional clinical question badgering when confronted with the idea of co-sleeping?
Seriously. Why? I don't get it. I don't understand why something that people have done since the dawn of time would get this kind of reaction, when even according to her the problem isn't the location of the sleeping but the extraneous irresponsible circumstances?
We need to take a moment to step back and reevaluate our knee-jerk reactions, because with her credentials, if i'd not pressed the issue of discussing causes as opposed to circumstances, I might be tonight worried sick over how I was going to alter our sleeping schedule and arrangements to better fit the standard detached and aloof parenting model of dropping the kid in his wooden cage in another room and letting him cry himself unconscious, all because it had been implied that co-sleeping might be dangerous.
On the other hand, I did learn some valuable tips on co-sleeping that I hadn't considered before. This one sticks out in my mind most keenly though. If your bed is not on the floor, you need to not have a garbage can next to the bed, particularily not one lined with a plastic bag, because aparently some squirmy children will find their way off the bed if napping with an overtired parent (who shouldn't be co-sleeping anyway if a child can wiggle off the bed without waking you) but then into the bag lined can, and the story can end most sadly. I hadn't thought of that possibility. I did have a garbage can next to my bed. I no longer do.
I admit my cosleeping patterns aren't perfect. I'd be happier if the mattress was on the floor, and I'm still using a woven blanket. Some habits are harder to break than others. But we're working on it, and so far, it's working really well for us, but it begs the question, are you co-sleeping, and how do people react when you talk about it?
I love to drink it, soak in it, feel it running down my skin, watch the sunlight ripple off of it, smell it in the air.
I love water.
I love lakes, rivers, oceans, bathtubs, pools, creeks, streams, brooks, and fish bowls. Love it.
So today, when Snapdragon was in a happily dozing mood, I left him in the nearly capable hands of Spouse and snuck off for an hour to go swim at the gym in the delightfully regulated warm water pool. Now, the warm water pool attracts a lot of people, but mostly people looking for some pain relief but still wanting to be mobile. Its what got me hooked on the pool. When I arrived, I was the only person there, and that was perfect. I had the whole pool to myself, to float, swim, work on my aqua-pilates and ai chi all I wanted without having to talk to anybody. Little did I know that the talking to others would prove so interesting.
Shortly after getting into the pool and beginning to take advantage of the wet solitude, another woman came into the pool and she began doing her stretches near me.
I am not socially adept, so I make myself greet the non-creepy people if they come withing a certain distance of myself.
Very shortly after greeting the woman and exchanging pleasantries, Snapdragon came up conversationally in the way that children do, and she inquired about him and shared that her daughter had a 2 month old baby, and this led the conversation to becoming ever increasingly personal. We talked about how her daughter was breastfeeding and how she worried that her daughter's maternity leave was insufficient because of how tightly the two were bonded to one another, and then I did something that I hadn't realized was all that controversial.
I made a comment about co-sleeping.
Her body language changed entirely and she began asking questions. The types of questions you'd expect to be asked if you were being investigated for neglect. Questions like do you have a co-sleeper or does the baby just sleep in the bed with you. Then it comes out that she chairs the committee that investigates all the infant and child deaths in the state.
Interesting.
But she continues to tell me that co-sleeping accidents account for what she implied was a majority of infant mortalities, and I blinked, because I am quite sure that it isn't the majority culprit, elsewise there would most certainly be a stronger anti-co-sleeping campaign than there already is. It wouldn't just be "back to bed, tummy to play," but "back to YOUR OWN bed, tummy to play." Surprisingly, it isn't.
So I ask, "Do you find, statistically, that most of the co-sleeping related mortalities also involve the use of alcohol, sedatives, or other drugs?"
"Yes," she says, "it's the first question we ask when investigating."
Hmmm.
Interestingly, by the time we'd finished our conversation, I felt even better about my choice to co-sleep, but I also could honestly say, no, my husband doesn't sleep in the bed because he sleeps too soundly and neither of us are comfortable with him sleeping in the same bed as Snapdragon, and yes, we do have a rigid sided co-sleeper in the bed. Snapdragon doesn't always use it, but we do use it frequently. No, I don't take any drugs, use alcohol, smoke, or otherwise utilize mind and wakefulness impairing substances, and because I'm a light sleeper and breastfeeding, I am more keenly aware of his movements. Oddly, she seemed supportive by the end of the conversation. Aparently her daughter is a co-sleeper too.
So why, oh why, can someone please tell me why is it that someone who isn't actually against co-sleeping would react with something tantamount to horror and professional clinical question badgering when confronted with the idea of co-sleeping?
Seriously. Why? I don't get it. I don't understand why something that people have done since the dawn of time would get this kind of reaction, when even according to her the problem isn't the location of the sleeping but the extraneous irresponsible circumstances?
We need to take a moment to step back and reevaluate our knee-jerk reactions, because with her credentials, if i'd not pressed the issue of discussing causes as opposed to circumstances, I might be tonight worried sick over how I was going to alter our sleeping schedule and arrangements to better fit the standard detached and aloof parenting model of dropping the kid in his wooden cage in another room and letting him cry himself unconscious, all because it had been implied that co-sleeping might be dangerous.
On the other hand, I did learn some valuable tips on co-sleeping that I hadn't considered before. This one sticks out in my mind most keenly though. If your bed is not on the floor, you need to not have a garbage can next to the bed, particularily not one lined with a plastic bag, because aparently some squirmy children will find their way off the bed if napping with an overtired parent (who shouldn't be co-sleeping anyway if a child can wiggle off the bed without waking you) but then into the bag lined can, and the story can end most sadly. I hadn't thought of that possibility. I did have a garbage can next to my bed. I no longer do.
I admit my cosleeping patterns aren't perfect. I'd be happier if the mattress was on the floor, and I'm still using a woven blanket. Some habits are harder to break than others. But we're working on it, and so far, it's working really well for us, but it begs the question, are you co-sleeping, and how do people react when you talk about it?
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Not a Mommy.
I am not a mommy.
I have kids, I am their mother. I spend my every day making sure they are fed and clean and healthy and doing what they're supposed to be doing. Homework issues? I'm there. Middle of the night calming after a scary dream? All over it. Conflict at school? I'm your girl. Piddle in the fluffy? That's me again.
So what can I possibly mean when I say that I am not a mommy?
I mean that underneath it all, all the late night feedings and ponytail fixings, after all the riding Mongoosine to actually brush her hair and teeth, and burping Snapdragon, despite his best attempts to get out of it, I am a person. I am a human being, a woman and an individual. That's the hard part to remember when you're mommin' it up, or at least, for me it is.
Say it with me now. "I am an individual."
No, seriously. Say it. "I am an individual."
Out loud.
"I am an individual."
Once you get past just how silly it feels to be talking to yourself while sitting at your computer, possibly disturbing that creepy communicative silence we pull around ourselves while sitting perched at our laptops, desktops, or spiffy new phones... feel the way the five syllables of individual feel rolling off your tongue, the d exploding against the roof of your mouth just behind your teeth before that slightly sibilant v punctuates the words. "I am an individual."
It is so easy to forget that, amidst the scheduling of this camp and that swimming party. So easy to forget that although we have girl scouts this weekend and archery every night this week, family visiting from out of town, and guitar lessons to squeeze in there somewhere after the library's reading program... I am still an individual.
I am not a mommy because I am not solely defined by my relationship to my offspring.
Scarier thought: my children are individuals.
But I'm not ready to contemplate that one yet.
So repeat it again.
"I am an individual."
All the sudden, as I say those words out loud I remember things like the fact that I like to wear jewelry. I remember that I love the smell of vanilla and always dreamed of going on an archeological dig. I remember that I sew and write music and sing opera. I remember who I am instead of just being the woman who changes diapers and covets the latest and greatest in infant excrement handling systems.
I am an individual.
I have kids, I am their mother. I spend my every day making sure they are fed and clean and healthy and doing what they're supposed to be doing. Homework issues? I'm there. Middle of the night calming after a scary dream? All over it. Conflict at school? I'm your girl. Piddle in the fluffy? That's me again.
So what can I possibly mean when I say that I am not a mommy?
I mean that underneath it all, all the late night feedings and ponytail fixings, after all the riding Mongoosine to actually brush her hair and teeth, and burping Snapdragon, despite his best attempts to get out of it, I am a person. I am a human being, a woman and an individual. That's the hard part to remember when you're mommin' it up, or at least, for me it is.
Say it with me now. "I am an individual."
No, seriously. Say it. "I am an individual."
Out loud.
"I am an individual."
Once you get past just how silly it feels to be talking to yourself while sitting at your computer, possibly disturbing that creepy communicative silence we pull around ourselves while sitting perched at our laptops, desktops, or spiffy new phones... feel the way the five syllables of individual feel rolling off your tongue, the d exploding against the roof of your mouth just behind your teeth before that slightly sibilant v punctuates the words. "I am an individual."
It is so easy to forget that, amidst the scheduling of this camp and that swimming party. So easy to forget that although we have girl scouts this weekend and archery every night this week, family visiting from out of town, and guitar lessons to squeeze in there somewhere after the library's reading program... I am still an individual.
I am not a mommy because I am not solely defined by my relationship to my offspring.
Scarier thought: my children are individuals.
But I'm not ready to contemplate that one yet.
So repeat it again.
"I am an individual."
All the sudden, as I say those words out loud I remember things like the fact that I like to wear jewelry. I remember that I love the smell of vanilla and always dreamed of going on an archeological dig. I remember that I sew and write music and sing opera. I remember who I am instead of just being the woman who changes diapers and covets the latest and greatest in infant excrement handling systems.
I am an individual.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Brownies, a Recipe
Tonight (if 5:00 qualifies as night, of which I am dubious) we have been invited to a cookout (in the rain) with my spouse's friends. He volunteered that I'd bring dessert. I'm good with that, I love baking. Really truly love baking, and even more, I love all the compliments when I bake something truly delicious. I don't so much love the reaction when I oopsidentally misread the recipe and put in 1 1/2 T salt when it called for 1 1/2 t, but that only happens when I'm trying to follow a recipe and hold a conversation with my MIL.
I generally prefer baking as a solitary sport.
For tonight, I'm making brownies, and I thought I'd share the recipe complete with the steps to making them with you.
First, I like to get out my favorite cook book, "The Kitchen Wizard Modern Family Cookbook," I think its called. Sadly, its from the fifties and still uses terms like "a moderate oven" to mean 350 degrees. Then I rifle through the pages until I come to cookies. Aparently brownies are cookies. There it is, recipe number X, page, Y. I keep forgetting to bookmark it. I read the ingredients. Bakers Chocolate, Butter, Sugar, Eggs, Salt, Flour- I can handle this. Tonight I'll even make them with all the butter called for because they're for a party, and lower fat means drier, and who wants dry brownies at a party?
I turn on the oven, pull out my brownie pan, you know, the square one that makes them ooh so thick and chewy? I even pull my standmixer away from the wall. (Its the pink one, and yes, I justified the extra cost of it to my husband witht the "but its supporting breast cancer research," when despite my grandmother fighting breast cancer and the recent tumor I had removed, I really meant, OMG SQUEE!!! Its pink!) Then I go to grab my favorite Tinkerbell mug to melt the bakers chocolate in the microwave, and I hear it. Snapdragon woke up and is wailing. Great.
I go pick him up and he's trying to suck my arm. I sigh, glance back at the kitchen and settle onto my bed to feed him.
Just as he's drifting off to sleep, he startles and starts squaking. Then I hear it again, the oven telling me its done preheating.
Great. I nurse him back to a nice milk drunk state and gently lay him down while I put on my pouch sling, then I roll him up and carefully slip him into it. He fusses, then settles into it.
However much I'd like to stay still and stare at his cute content cuddliness, time and natural gas are a burning.
Back to the kitchen.
I glance through the recipe again and then go to find the baker's chocolate. I pull it out and glance at the recipe on the back of the box and remember it makes a bigger batch. Hmmmm...
I start pulling the appropriate ingredients out. It calls for two cups sugar. I don't have two cups of white sugar. Shrugging and patting my slingarific Snapdragon, I pull the brown sugar out, opting for a xup of each. I considered using my turbinado sugar for all of it, but I'm selfishly hoarding that. So 50/50 it is.
The recipe I'm now using calls for 1 1/2 cups of butter, and that I cannot do. Bear in mind I've been cooking low-fat fairly strictly for years now. So I decide that 1 cup of butter is enough.
I think I only read recipes to make sure I have a basic idea about how they're made. A guideline more than directions. Aren't you glad I'm not in charge of anything life or death?
So half of my less-than-called-for butter goes into the tinkerbell cup along with my four squares of baker's chocolate (3 unsweetened, 1 semi-sweet, just because I'm in the mood to be contrary at this point) and straight into the evil box of doom, er, I mean the microwave to melt. The other half goes in the mixing bowl with the sugar and the creaming commences. I add the vanilla, and then, because I'm already being contrary, I add a bit of butter flavor and almond extract. I pull the eggs out of the fridge and notice that somebody is gerring a touch discontent. I crack them and drop them into the bowl as it mixes on low. One- he sounds upset. Two, he's squirming. Three- he's screaming like the world's about to end. (Perhaps out of fear that we are heading toward brownie fail?) Snapdragon is not happy.
I sigh and notice that I'm not all that comfy either with the growing wetspot from him outsoaking his diaper, and flip the lever to turn off the mixer, rushing into my bedroom to change his fluffy.
Purple fluffy off, bottom wiped, bew fluffy on. He's still crying so I reluctantly sit back down and nurse him a little more. Don't get me wrong, I love nursing him, but sometimes there ae things that need doing.
As he drifts off to quasi-sleep land, I set him in the lamby swing and make a mad tiptoe back to the kitchen, only to find that I've nearly got a meringue going because I flipped the wtong switch, unlocking the top and not turning it off.
Brilliant. I pull the melted chocolate out, pour it in, and make sure its mixing in on low. Then I go to get the flour. My regular flour bin is empty, so I go to open the bag of flour my SIL gave me when she recently moved. Uhoh, there's something in it. Something small and dark. I grab a spoon, I hold my breath, I pick it up, all the while ready to throw the towel in and skip bringing dessert alltogether with nightmares of a pantry infested with tiny creepy crawlies flashing before my eyes. Thank gods it is just a not well ground piece of grain. So I pour the rest of the bag of flour into the canister I regularly use to keep flour in and bugs out.
Measure the flour and add it to my well overbeaten mixture.
Things are almost looking hopeful. Moments later I'm rubbing oliveoil into my baking dish and then scooping the batter up with a spatula and smoothing it into the pan. It doesn't pour because I whipped waaay too much air into it.
I pop babyboy in his bouncy seat, pop the brownies in the oven, sigh at the mess I am, set the timer, and head straight for the shower.
Of course, Snapdragon is awake and squaking soon enough, but at least I was clean.
Another demand nursing later the timer goes off and I pull the brownies out.
This evening I found out that despite being whipped to the point the batter won't pour, mthey were truly quite good, if a touch on the complicated side to make.
I generally prefer baking as a solitary sport.
For tonight, I'm making brownies, and I thought I'd share the recipe complete with the steps to making them with you.
First, I like to get out my favorite cook book, "The Kitchen Wizard Modern Family Cookbook," I think its called. Sadly, its from the fifties and still uses terms like "a moderate oven" to mean 350 degrees. Then I rifle through the pages until I come to cookies. Aparently brownies are cookies. There it is, recipe number X, page, Y. I keep forgetting to bookmark it. I read the ingredients. Bakers Chocolate, Butter, Sugar, Eggs, Salt, Flour- I can handle this. Tonight I'll even make them with all the butter called for because they're for a party, and lower fat means drier, and who wants dry brownies at a party?
I turn on the oven, pull out my brownie pan, you know, the square one that makes them ooh so thick and chewy? I even pull my standmixer away from the wall. (Its the pink one, and yes, I justified the extra cost of it to my husband witht the "but its supporting breast cancer research," when despite my grandmother fighting breast cancer and the recent tumor I had removed, I really meant, OMG SQUEE!!! Its pink!) Then I go to grab my favorite Tinkerbell mug to melt the bakers chocolate in the microwave, and I hear it. Snapdragon woke up and is wailing. Great.
I go pick him up and he's trying to suck my arm. I sigh, glance back at the kitchen and settle onto my bed to feed him.
Just as he's drifting off to sleep, he startles and starts squaking. Then I hear it again, the oven telling me its done preheating.
Great. I nurse him back to a nice milk drunk state and gently lay him down while I put on my pouch sling, then I roll him up and carefully slip him into it. He fusses, then settles into it.
However much I'd like to stay still and stare at his cute content cuddliness, time and natural gas are a burning.
Back to the kitchen.
I glance through the recipe again and then go to find the baker's chocolate. I pull it out and glance at the recipe on the back of the box and remember it makes a bigger batch. Hmmmm...
I start pulling the appropriate ingredients out. It calls for two cups sugar. I don't have two cups of white sugar. Shrugging and patting my slingarific Snapdragon, I pull the brown sugar out, opting for a xup of each. I considered using my turbinado sugar for all of it, but I'm selfishly hoarding that. So 50/50 it is.
The recipe I'm now using calls for 1 1/2 cups of butter, and that I cannot do. Bear in mind I've been cooking low-fat fairly strictly for years now. So I decide that 1 cup of butter is enough.
I think I only read recipes to make sure I have a basic idea about how they're made. A guideline more than directions. Aren't you glad I'm not in charge of anything life or death?
So half of my less-than-called-for butter goes into the tinkerbell cup along with my four squares of baker's chocolate (3 unsweetened, 1 semi-sweet, just because I'm in the mood to be contrary at this point) and straight into the evil box of doom, er, I mean the microwave to melt. The other half goes in the mixing bowl with the sugar and the creaming commences. I add the vanilla, and then, because I'm already being contrary, I add a bit of butter flavor and almond extract. I pull the eggs out of the fridge and notice that somebody is gerring a touch discontent. I crack them and drop them into the bowl as it mixes on low. One- he sounds upset. Two, he's squirming. Three- he's screaming like the world's about to end. (Perhaps out of fear that we are heading toward brownie fail?) Snapdragon is not happy.
I sigh and notice that I'm not all that comfy either with the growing wetspot from him outsoaking his diaper, and flip the lever to turn off the mixer, rushing into my bedroom to change his fluffy.
Purple fluffy off, bottom wiped, bew fluffy on. He's still crying so I reluctantly sit back down and nurse him a little more. Don't get me wrong, I love nursing him, but sometimes there ae things that need doing.
As he drifts off to quasi-sleep land, I set him in the lamby swing and make a mad tiptoe back to the kitchen, only to find that I've nearly got a meringue going because I flipped the wtong switch, unlocking the top and not turning it off.
Brilliant. I pull the melted chocolate out, pour it in, and make sure its mixing in on low. Then I go to get the flour. My regular flour bin is empty, so I go to open the bag of flour my SIL gave me when she recently moved. Uhoh, there's something in it. Something small and dark. I grab a spoon, I hold my breath, I pick it up, all the while ready to throw the towel in and skip bringing dessert alltogether with nightmares of a pantry infested with tiny creepy crawlies flashing before my eyes. Thank gods it is just a not well ground piece of grain. So I pour the rest of the bag of flour into the canister I regularly use to keep flour in and bugs out.
Measure the flour and add it to my well overbeaten mixture.
Things are almost looking hopeful. Moments later I'm rubbing oliveoil into my baking dish and then scooping the batter up with a spatula and smoothing it into the pan. It doesn't pour because I whipped waaay too much air into it.
I pop babyboy in his bouncy seat, pop the brownies in the oven, sigh at the mess I am, set the timer, and head straight for the shower.
Of course, Snapdragon is awake and squaking soon enough, but at least I was clean.
Another demand nursing later the timer goes off and I pull the brownies out.
This evening I found out that despite being whipped to the point the batter won't pour, mthey were truly quite good, if a touch on the complicated side to make.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
I Threw a Blanket Over My Baby's Head to Feed Him
I threw a blanet over my baby's head to feed him. You read that right. A blanket. On Snapdragon's head.
When I first was told by my husband that I needed a nursing cover, I was a little mad at him. Breastfeeding is one of the most natural experiences in human experience. It falls very shortly behind breathing in terms of vital behavior. So why on earth should I have to cover up? Don't get me wrong, I do have some truly lovely fabric that I could finally showcase if I made a nursing cover, and that thought IS somewhat appealing, but I live in a lactation forward kind of state, and I don't want to backslide by covering up. In Illinois, as I am fond of pointing out to Mr. Cover-up, a woman has the right to breastfeed her child in any place she is otherwise authorized to be, public or private. Legislators actually codified it, not just leaving off, as Wisconsin does, after exempting the exposure of the tatas from the category of lewd behavior. So, armed with the knowedge that I have every human right and legal right to feed Snapdragon anywhere but in a moving car, I obstinantly refused to register for or make a nursing cover.
I've nursed him at a wedding, in parking lots after an "I hate going places" tantrum, and at the library. Nursing him in public doesn't bother me at all. So why oh why then do you suppose I threw a blanket over his head to feed him?
It turns out, I hadn't thought the whole thing through.
Yesterday we went to my mother's house and she was doing yardwork. It was a lovely day, so Snapdragon and I settled into a chair near where she was weeding. But as the clouds lazily drifted across thatcrisp blue sky, I felt the intense heat of the sunlight on my shoulders. Then it hit me, his skin is thin. Like pages of a Bible thin. He can't be getting roasted like this! So I grab a receiving blanket from my ill organized diaper bag and drape it over his head.
I suddenly am that mom.
I am that mom, and in retrospect, its a good thing, because my shoulders are completely sunburnt. Yes, I'm red with white spots, but neither Snapdragon or leftie had to suffer the same fate, so I am proud to have been intelligent enough to throw a blanket over my kid's head to feed him.
But that got me thinking. Mightn't there be other times when I'd want a light and pretty cover?
I'd been sooo focused on it being my right to breastfeed in public without draperies, that I'd forgotten I also have the right to be covered when maybe I don't want creeptastic people staring at me. Maybe sometimes I'd rather not have to worry that distractable!baby is distractable and I just might be flashing my nipple for no good reason while he watches the birds intently. Sometimes that pervy uncle just doesn't need to see the girls.
So I am going to make me a glorified bib, just as soon as I can get past the nervous angst that accompanies any forray into cutting any of my stash. :-)
Since first writing this, I have, as you can see in the picture which I added tonight, acquired a nursing cover. It is a Dittany Baby nursing cover, and although it is a tad bit rumpled in said picture, I love it. It wouldn't be rumpled if I didn't love it. When Shannon sent it to me, I positively squeed with delight, and I've found it to be quite useful.
My spouse loves it. Tonight at dinner, when Snapdragon decided he was starving, and rightly so since everyone else was eating, Spouse was clearly a little worried that I was going to flash the entire resturant, which of course, would have been my right as a mother, but it was nice to see all the tension flow out of his neck and shoulders when as I pulled Snapdragon from his baby bucket, I asked Spouse to pull my nursing cover out of the diaper bag.
Its been quite useful. Despite my penchant for being someplace sunny around feeding time, Snapdragon has not yet gotten a single sunburn, nor have the girls, which is nice, because I can't imagine how nursing with sunburt tatas would feel.
My nursing cover has also been wonderful in terms of interacting with the rest of the adult world. So often when I'm nursing in public, people seem to avoid looking at me or talking to me when I'm nursing. Sure, if I'm wearing a bright stripey nursing cover with a baby underneath it kinda screams "Hey, nursing a kid over here!" But that said, it also screams "Yes, I'm nursing, but you don't have to worry about being embarassed for catching a glimpse of my nipple!" And lets face it, a lot of the discomfort of talking to a nursing mom is that it's hard to know if she's going to be embarassed if you do. Well, I wouldn't be, but now no one has to worry about it.
If you asked me what the best part of my nursing cover experience has been, it'd be hard to say. I love the way that, unlike the blanket method, I can still see him when he's nursing. With a blanket it's nearly impossible to get a baby to latch on properly wihtout exposing everything you're trying not to show in the first place. I also love that because of the same features that make it easy to see my nursling, I also know that the air is circulating happily for him, so no worries there. It's also nice that he tends to stay more focused on nursing when I use the cover. All Snapdragon's curiousity is often a very difficult beast to tame, and it's nice to have a simple solution for reducing distractions. As I already said, I also heart that I get treated like I'm still at the grown up table, conversation, eye-contact, and the whole shebang.
So the best part is? No more throwing a blanket over his head to feed him.
Have you ever thrown a blanket over your baby's head to feed him? I'd love to know that I'm not alone.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
It's Raining Babies Upstate! - Baby Sister's Shower
We're throwing a virtual shower for Baby Sister!!!
Here's the plan. Blog about your best baby stories, or reflect on the advise that has proven the most helpful and meaningful for you, especially in dealing with multiple kids, because with three, somebody's gonna be busy! Then links to your posts in the comments and I'll compile them all neatly for our guest of honor!
Don't forget to suggest good books to read to baby, and suggest some fun songs that Baby Sister just has to hear. Better yet, link us to a great YouTube video of you singing or reading for Baby Sister, or your special message for mom. The possibilities are endless.
Want to send a physical gift? Let me know and I'll get you an address to mail it to.
Stay tuned for announcements of the twitter party for @Upstatemomof3 and Baby Sister, because while we can't play the clothespin game, we can swap stories and share the warm fuzzies.
Baby Sister- we celebrate you!
Here's the plan. Blog about your best baby stories, or reflect on the advise that has proven the most helpful and meaningful for you, especially in dealing with multiple kids, because with three, somebody's gonna be busy! Then links to your posts in the comments and I'll compile them all neatly for our guest of honor!
Don't forget to suggest good books to read to baby, and suggest some fun songs that Baby Sister just has to hear. Better yet, link us to a great YouTube video of you singing or reading for Baby Sister, or your special message for mom. The possibilities are endless.
Want to send a physical gift? Let me know and I'll get you an address to mail it to.
Stay tuned for announcements of the twitter party for @Upstatemomof3 and Baby Sister, because while we can't play the clothespin game, we can swap stories and share the warm fuzzies.
Baby Sister- we celebrate you!
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
Spreading the Blessed
Today I was blessed with a random act of kindness. I'm not going into details about it just yet, because it is just too precious to spoil, but it's infectious and like any good Typhoid Mary, I just have to spread it.
At first I planned to write about how we encounter too few of these shinig moments where people we might not even really know step forward to do something nice, not because it's expected, but because they want to, or even more amazing, when we do it ourselves, but then I realized it's a lot more common than one might think. Whether it's @KeepEmCookin throwing an impromptu baby shower for a bedrest mom who's own baby shower didn't manage to happen, or the guy who waits an extra thirty seconds before leaving the resturant so that he can hold the door for the harried mother and her four kids piling out of the car in the rain, random acts of kindness are everywhere. I think we're all just too busy to notice them, or have some of them so deeply ingrained in our personalities, that we don't even realize that we're performing them when we let one slip out our mouths or hands, passed our mental tally machine that tells us whether or not we were "good" today.
That's one of the things I love about people. We have the capacity to do good in so many ways, and for some people, it becomes a part of who they are and they don't even have to think about it in order to be the act of kindness that tips the scales of someone else's day from mediocre to truly blessed.
That said, the blessed only feels good, really truly down to your toes good, the kind of good that permeates your whole self and makes you positively glow inside and out, if it's a shared kind of blessed. So this is where I let you all know that right this moment I feel blessed, and I intend to share it. Yes, thanking the people who make me feel blessed through the little things they do and the big ones too, yes, that's important and of course I'm going to do it, but it's not enough. So I intend to spread the love. Not quite sure just how yet. Maybe I'll get off my bottom and donate my skinny clothes that I certainly won't need for a few years to a shelter. Gods know they're not doing me any good. Maybe I'll finish that quilt I started for an online friend and *actually mail it.* I don't know at this moment, but the blessings, I will be a spreadin'.
Have you spread some blessed today?
At first I planned to write about how we encounter too few of these shinig moments where people we might not even really know step forward to do something nice, not because it's expected, but because they want to, or even more amazing, when we do it ourselves, but then I realized it's a lot more common than one might think. Whether it's @KeepEmCookin throwing an impromptu baby shower for a bedrest mom who's own baby shower didn't manage to happen, or the guy who waits an extra thirty seconds before leaving the resturant so that he can hold the door for the harried mother and her four kids piling out of the car in the rain, random acts of kindness are everywhere. I think we're all just too busy to notice them, or have some of them so deeply ingrained in our personalities, that we don't even realize that we're performing them when we let one slip out our mouths or hands, passed our mental tally machine that tells us whether or not we were "good" today.
That's one of the things I love about people. We have the capacity to do good in so many ways, and for some people, it becomes a part of who they are and they don't even have to think about it in order to be the act of kindness that tips the scales of someone else's day from mediocre to truly blessed.
That said, the blessed only feels good, really truly down to your toes good, the kind of good that permeates your whole self and makes you positively glow inside and out, if it's a shared kind of blessed. So this is where I let you all know that right this moment I feel blessed, and I intend to share it. Yes, thanking the people who make me feel blessed through the little things they do and the big ones too, yes, that's important and of course I'm going to do it, but it's not enough. So I intend to spread the love. Not quite sure just how yet. Maybe I'll get off my bottom and donate my skinny clothes that I certainly won't need for a few years to a shelter. Gods know they're not doing me any good. Maybe I'll finish that quilt I started for an online friend and *actually mail it.* I don't know at this moment, but the blessings, I will be a spreadin'.
Have you spread some blessed today?
Monday, June 08, 2009
Babywearing is Love
Babywearing is Love.
It is sweetbaby held over my heart, a kiss away.
It is him so close he feels like he never left me, even though my skin's between us now.
It is private glances exchanged with trust filled eyes that have not worried or feared abandonment.
It is knowing that mama is there, only another layer of fabric away.
It is warmth.
It is cuddles although mama has things to do.
It is security.
It is peace of mind.
It is milky smiles without prying eyes.
It is nursing in the park without covering up.
It is hands free to hold baby or do the things baby needs, still with all the closeness of a hug.
Babywearing is love.
It is knowing he's safe because I can feel him.
It is reassurance.
Its silent joy that I am with him.
Its secret pride that he's content.
It is intuitively knowing the other's disposition because it is tactile, our body language not so visible, but communicated across our skin.
Its soothing swaying when he's weary.
It is a better view when he's awake.
It is protecting him from passersby.
It is protecting me from absent grief.
Its little fingers in my hair.
It is dozing forheads gently kissed in line at the post office.
It is doing what I have to do without giving up what I need to do.
Babywearing is love.
http://yourmamareviews.com/your-mama-loves-wearing-baby-in-a-wrap/comment-page-1/#comment-8435 for babywearing wrap giveaway
It is sweetbaby held over my heart, a kiss away.
It is him so close he feels like he never left me, even though my skin's between us now.
It is private glances exchanged with trust filled eyes that have not worried or feared abandonment.
It is knowing that mama is there, only another layer of fabric away.
It is warmth.
It is cuddles although mama has things to do.
It is security.
It is peace of mind.
It is milky smiles without prying eyes.
It is nursing in the park without covering up.
It is hands free to hold baby or do the things baby needs, still with all the closeness of a hug.
Babywearing is love.
It is knowing he's safe because I can feel him.
It is reassurance.
Its silent joy that I am with him.
Its secret pride that he's content.
It is intuitively knowing the other's disposition because it is tactile, our body language not so visible, but communicated across our skin.
Its soothing swaying when he's weary.
It is a better view when he's awake.
It is protecting him from passersby.
It is protecting me from absent grief.
Its little fingers in my hair.
It is dozing forheads gently kissed in line at the post office.
It is doing what I have to do without giving up what I need to do.
Babywearing is love.
http://yourmamareviews.com/your-mama-loves-wearing-baby-in-a-wrap/comment-page-1/#comment-8435 for babywearing wrap giveaway
Saturday, June 06, 2009
Snapdragon Sez: Showered With Love
So today my mom got one of those crazy ideas again, and if you thought the fauxhawk was the height of her crazihood, I sadly must inform you that you are wrong.Today she decided that I needed a shower. Not a sponge bath. Not a little babytub splish. No. A shower in the full flown big boy white cubicle of watery doom. I don't plan on growing up Shinto, so I really don't know where she gets these ideas.
Do you even know what a shower is? There's this silver thing in the wall, and it squirts hot water on you. Well, not hot, but its kinda like when you're not wearing your fluffy and you pee. The wall pees on you. And she thinks this is a good thing!
The crazy idea doesn't stop there. Next thing I know, she was rubbing this slippery sudsy stuff on me, then holding me in the direct line of the wall pee! I voiced my objections the only way I knew how: unrepentent and unreserved wailing, but then something miraculous happened. I found out I could eat while in this shower. That was kinda nice. She also started singing this little song, "Rinsey, rinsey little princey, mama's got you in her arms/ Rinsey, rincey little princey, mama's got you, nothing harms/ Shower, shower, quarter hour, makes the baby smell so good/shower, shower, quarter hour, smell so nice just like you should..." I kinda liked that too. I'm a real sucker for music. Tatas and music. Turns out that after I calmed down a bit, the warm water kinda tickles. I sorta liked it, actually. So here's my official view. Showers are okay, so long as there's a crazy mama to hold you. Then its all kinda wonderful.
Mama adds- Yes, I know fifteen minutes is a long shower, but there were two of us, I used barely there amounts of water to keep tye pressure low, and a rushed shower is a bad way to introduce a bab boy to the joys of cleanliness.
Do you even know what a shower is? There's this silver thing in the wall, and it squirts hot water on you. Well, not hot, but its kinda like when you're not wearing your fluffy and you pee. The wall pees on you. And she thinks this is a good thing!
The crazy idea doesn't stop there. Next thing I know, she was rubbing this slippery sudsy stuff on me, then holding me in the direct line of the wall pee! I voiced my objections the only way I knew how: unrepentent and unreserved wailing, but then something miraculous happened. I found out I could eat while in this shower. That was kinda nice. She also started singing this little song, "Rinsey, rinsey little princey, mama's got you in her arms/ Rinsey, rincey little princey, mama's got you, nothing harms/ Shower, shower, quarter hour, makes the baby smell so good/shower, shower, quarter hour, smell so nice just like you should..." I kinda liked that too. I'm a real sucker for music. Tatas and music. Turns out that after I calmed down a bit, the warm water kinda tickles. I sorta liked it, actually. So here's my official view. Showers are okay, so long as there's a crazy mama to hold you. Then its all kinda wonderful.
Mama adds- Yes, I know fifteen minutes is a long shower, but there were two of us, I used barely there amounts of water to keep tye pressure low, and a rushed shower is a bad way to introduce a bab boy to the joys of cleanliness.
Thursday, June 04, 2009
Addiction and the Modern Housewife
Hello, my name is Slee and I am addicted to paper towels.
Before you go screaming into the night, let me explain how I developed it.
A few years back, and by few I mean 7, I got really really sick. Not just praying to the porcelein goddess sick, but weeks in the hospital sick. While I was there I had my gallbladder removed, was treated for gastrits and pancreatitis, and nothing seemed to help. For some reason my analayse and lipase levels just wouldn't normalize. Finally, the sickness calmed down to the point that my doctor supposed I'd live if sent home, and so that's just what they did. I immediately found out that if I ate anything even a little bit fatty, I, once again, got horribly sick. I lost a lot of weight, but it wasn't a healthy weight loss, and frankly, I enjoy remembering that period just about as much as I enjoy the awkward middle school years.
What does this have to do with paper towels you ask?
Well, I quickly found that the only way I could eat a lot of foods was if I wrapped them in a papertowel or two and smashed them with my spoon, fork, small animals, whatever. Just so long as I applied enough pressure to encourage the excess oils to migrate into the absorbant paper towel, I could eat semi-normal food, and not lose my lunch.
At one point I dropped 70 lbs because I couldn't hold food down, so when I could finally eat again through the modern miracle of paper towels, it was a pretty good day.
But this bred an affair with paper towels that I just don't know how to break.
I use them to blot my food. I use them to clean in the kitchen. I use them to wash my windows.
It's not a pretty addiction, but I confess, nonetheless, I have it.
One of these days I'm going to find a papertowel alternative that doesn't make my stomach turn at the thought of wrapping it around my hamburger, but til then, is it okay if I babysteps my way to greener? Is it enough to stop using them to clean the kitchen for now?
Surely cutting consumption in half is better than doing nothing, right?
Or, am I, like any good addict, just making excuses for my continued abuse of my drug of choice?
I'll choose to think that even if it's not sustainable, it's still a little greener than where I was.
If I don't mention this again, you'll know I'm suffering papertowel replacement fail. Any suggestions?
Before you go screaming into the night, let me explain how I developed it.
A few years back, and by few I mean 7, I got really really sick. Not just praying to the porcelein goddess sick, but weeks in the hospital sick. While I was there I had my gallbladder removed, was treated for gastrits and pancreatitis, and nothing seemed to help. For some reason my analayse and lipase levels just wouldn't normalize. Finally, the sickness calmed down to the point that my doctor supposed I'd live if sent home, and so that's just what they did. I immediately found out that if I ate anything even a little bit fatty, I, once again, got horribly sick. I lost a lot of weight, but it wasn't a healthy weight loss, and frankly, I enjoy remembering that period just about as much as I enjoy the awkward middle school years.
What does this have to do with paper towels you ask?
Well, I quickly found that the only way I could eat a lot of foods was if I wrapped them in a papertowel or two and smashed them with my spoon, fork, small animals, whatever. Just so long as I applied enough pressure to encourage the excess oils to migrate into the absorbant paper towel, I could eat semi-normal food, and not lose my lunch.
At one point I dropped 70 lbs because I couldn't hold food down, so when I could finally eat again through the modern miracle of paper towels, it was a pretty good day.
But this bred an affair with paper towels that I just don't know how to break.
I use them to blot my food. I use them to clean in the kitchen. I use them to wash my windows.
It's not a pretty addiction, but I confess, nonetheless, I have it.
One of these days I'm going to find a papertowel alternative that doesn't make my stomach turn at the thought of wrapping it around my hamburger, but til then, is it okay if I babysteps my way to greener? Is it enough to stop using them to clean the kitchen for now?
Surely cutting consumption in half is better than doing nothing, right?
Or, am I, like any good addict, just making excuses for my continued abuse of my drug of choice?
I'll choose to think that even if it's not sustainable, it's still a little greener than where I was.
If I don't mention this again, you'll know I'm suffering papertowel replacement fail. Any suggestions?
6am Sustainability
After a night of post stomach bug cluster feeding, and consequently very little sleep, this is not about Snapdragon.
Surprise.
Sustainability means a lot to me. I don't like creating bits and pieces of my daily routine that needs must end due to overconsumption of resources. I'm one of those quilters who will sit down for hours trying to puzzle out the most efficient use of materials possible before bustin' out my rotary cutter. I just made a bib out of the fabric I pulled off a chair before recovering it with my old favorite "skinny skirt," figuring I loved it enough to want to see it, and it certainly want stretching over my hips anymore. I believe in conservation of resources as a way of life. My sandals are over 5 years old.
My husband approves of my sustainability minded mindset because while it means that the flannel shirt he outgrew (to put it kindly- I normally just ask him when he's expecting *his* baby...) I just might turn into baby wipes or a few squares in a quilt, it also means that I'm not the shopaholic wife that so many men end up with. Granted, they are often prettier, all dolled up in a brand new (I don't know the names of designers so bear with me) dress and handbag, their hair and nails recently resculpted and colored, makeup expertly applied. However, the lower-maintainance models require less overtime hours to subsidize them.
Yay me!
But this morning as I am grudgingly pulling Snapdragon to my chest for earlier-than-I-appreciate feeding, all the while smiling and interacting, I hear from the next room the voice of my Silly Mongoose. Mongoosine, never up this early, has zeroed in on yet another opportunity to deplete my energy reserves. "Mooooom?" Mongoosine calls from her bed, "is the pool open today?" "I don't know, Sweetpea." "Are we going to walk to the library this morning?"
Hm. Are we? I don't know yet. Having spent the last day or so with one of those stomach bugs that leaves you four pounds lighter, I'd told her yesterday that I'd base that decision on how I felt today. But I've only been awake three minutes. So again, sighing, "I don't know." Honestly, I'm exhausted just thinking about it, and since when does she get to ask me yo do stuff when her teeth aren't brushed yet? Hmm?
Kids will suck the life force right out of you. As infants they're pretty blatant about it, going straight for the tatas, but as they get older, they develop marvelous long distance energy vampire skillz.
Then it hit me. Sustainability really needs to apply to all our resources. Not just fuel and paper, clean water and air. not just the tangibles.
I need to let sustainable living evolve to include things like my energy reserves and my sanity.
Sometimes its okay to take mommy moments where no kids get to pester you. They won't die if you don't look at their newest mini-oragami while you're going to the bathroom, rudely sliding it under the door and demanding immediate feedback. They think they will, but its a good time for them to borrpow from their patience reserves, and let mama sustain her peace of mind, don't you think?
So I'm challenging every one of the two of you reading this to do something today, tomorrow, and everyday you think of it, to treat yourself as a non-renewable resource and do something to help sustain and conserve yourself. We all deserve it.
Surprise.
Sustainability means a lot to me. I don't like creating bits and pieces of my daily routine that needs must end due to overconsumption of resources. I'm one of those quilters who will sit down for hours trying to puzzle out the most efficient use of materials possible before bustin' out my rotary cutter. I just made a bib out of the fabric I pulled off a chair before recovering it with my old favorite "skinny skirt," figuring I loved it enough to want to see it, and it certainly want stretching over my hips anymore. I believe in conservation of resources as a way of life. My sandals are over 5 years old.
My husband approves of my sustainability minded mindset because while it means that the flannel shirt he outgrew (to put it kindly- I normally just ask him when he's expecting *his* baby...) I just might turn into baby wipes or a few squares in a quilt, it also means that I'm not the shopaholic wife that so many men end up with. Granted, they are often prettier, all dolled up in a brand new (I don't know the names of designers so bear with me) dress and handbag, their hair and nails recently resculpted and colored, makeup expertly applied. However, the lower-maintainance models require less overtime hours to subsidize them.
Yay me!
But this morning as I am grudgingly pulling Snapdragon to my chest for earlier-than-I-appreciate feeding, all the while smiling and interacting, I hear from the next room the voice of my Silly Mongoose. Mongoosine, never up this early, has zeroed in on yet another opportunity to deplete my energy reserves. "Mooooom?" Mongoosine calls from her bed, "is the pool open today?" "I don't know, Sweetpea." "Are we going to walk to the library this morning?"
Hm. Are we? I don't know yet. Having spent the last day or so with one of those stomach bugs that leaves you four pounds lighter, I'd told her yesterday that I'd base that decision on how I felt today. But I've only been awake three minutes. So again, sighing, "I don't know." Honestly, I'm exhausted just thinking about it, and since when does she get to ask me yo do stuff when her teeth aren't brushed yet? Hmm?
Kids will suck the life force right out of you. As infants they're pretty blatant about it, going straight for the tatas, but as they get older, they develop marvelous long distance energy vampire skillz.
Then it hit me. Sustainability really needs to apply to all our resources. Not just fuel and paper, clean water and air. not just the tangibles.
I need to let sustainable living evolve to include things like my energy reserves and my sanity.
Sometimes its okay to take mommy moments where no kids get to pester you. They won't die if you don't look at their newest mini-oragami while you're going to the bathroom, rudely sliding it under the door and demanding immediate feedback. They think they will, but its a good time for them to borrpow from their patience reserves, and let mama sustain her peace of mind, don't you think?
So I'm challenging every one of the two of you reading this to do something today, tomorrow, and everyday you think of it, to treat yourself as a non-renewable resource and do something to help sustain and conserve yourself. We all deserve it.
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
My Hero
Snapdragon, like many babies, did not go to college to learn how to latch on and suckle. Sadly, he hasn't a degree in how wide to open, just where his tongue needs to be,and the best way to detach himself. Heck. The kid can barely hold his head up for more than 10 seconds.
It isn't his fault, he's young and inexperienced. But even if we're not pointing fingers here, well maybe the one that's going to break the suction on this latch so we can try for a better one, all parties concerned have to admit that there have been casualties in Snapdragon's meal-time skills ettiquite.
My nipples take the purple heart here. They've been stretched beyone recognition, sucked and pulled into bizarre shapes as he suddenly arches his back like he's immitating famous buildings in St. Louis, pushes back with his legs, and turns his head. They've been bruised by bad latch gumming. They've cracked and bled, and in one particularly horrifying misplaced attempt, they've even found a small chunk missing.
Yes, there have been casualties.
Also among the casualties has been my will to keep subjecting body parts to the type of treatment Snapdragon tends to bring to meal time. But I haven't quit, and here's why I'm thankful.
I've gotten to the point where I'm inwardly cringing every time I bring him to the breast. Particularly the left breast. I'm cringing because I don't know if the latch will be decent or not. I've come to think of it as a spectrum of how bad is it going to hurt, and based on the amount of pain, I determine whether or not to break latch and try again, but I'm getting lazy. Since its the pain gamble every time, worse or better, better or worse? I always ask "is this really bad enough to risk something worse and having to start all over?" (Isn't that the mentality that keeps women in failed relationships?)
At the other end of the spectrum is when he misses alltogether and there's no pain at all. Then its break that suction and start agin too, tireder and more fearful than last time.
But today something else happened. Snapdragon opened really wide, wider than I knew he could, I pulled him in, he latched on, his upper lip visibly curling outward, and nothing. No pain, nothing. I look closer, can it be he's really on there and not somewhere next to? But yes, really really latched on. Perfect. That's when it happened.
I cried.
I was so proud of him I cried. The nipples may deserve a purple heart, but that boy is my hero.
It isn't his fault, he's young and inexperienced. But even if we're not pointing fingers here, well maybe the one that's going to break the suction on this latch so we can try for a better one, all parties concerned have to admit that there have been casualties in Snapdragon's meal-time skills ettiquite.
My nipples take the purple heart here. They've been stretched beyone recognition, sucked and pulled into bizarre shapes as he suddenly arches his back like he's immitating famous buildings in St. Louis, pushes back with his legs, and turns his head. They've been bruised by bad latch gumming. They've cracked and bled, and in one particularly horrifying misplaced attempt, they've even found a small chunk missing.
Yes, there have been casualties.
Also among the casualties has been my will to keep subjecting body parts to the type of treatment Snapdragon tends to bring to meal time. But I haven't quit, and here's why I'm thankful.
I've gotten to the point where I'm inwardly cringing every time I bring him to the breast. Particularly the left breast. I'm cringing because I don't know if the latch will be decent or not. I've come to think of it as a spectrum of how bad is it going to hurt, and based on the amount of pain, I determine whether or not to break latch and try again, but I'm getting lazy. Since its the pain gamble every time, worse or better, better or worse? I always ask "is this really bad enough to risk something worse and having to start all over?" (Isn't that the mentality that keeps women in failed relationships?)
At the other end of the spectrum is when he misses alltogether and there's no pain at all. Then its break that suction and start agin too, tireder and more fearful than last time.
But today something else happened. Snapdragon opened really wide, wider than I knew he could, I pulled him in, he latched on, his upper lip visibly curling outward, and nothing. No pain, nothing. I look closer, can it be he's really on there and not somewhere next to? But yes, really really latched on. Perfect. That's when it happened.
I cried.
I was so proud of him I cried. The nipples may deserve a purple heart, but that boy is my hero.
Monday, June 01, 2009
Sustainable Baby & His Eco-chic Cheeks
Butt cheeks, that is.
Sometimes you have to ask yourself just what kind of eco-friendly you are being. Eco-green or eco-cheap? Well, sometimes you're being eco-green, and that's my favorite.
What does this all have to do with Snapdragon's bottom? Well, I've had a few epiphanies. That might be an overstatement, but nonetheless I've had some thoughts.
Baby wipes are A) expensive over time B) a waste of raw materials C)expensive to transport, and D) yet another avenue for human waste (and I do mean poo) to wind up in landfills where it doesn't belong. Clearly cloth wipes are the solution. Reusable to the nth power, and without all the questionable chemicals on that unscented wipe you can still smell from two feet away.
But, ewwww you say? Its no more grosstastic than wioing down your baby's newest abstract mustard art creation with a thin sheet of porous papertowelesque fibers, is it? If you're already using cloth diapers (fluffies is what we call 'em in our household) then you're already rinsing and washing, so these are actually easier. No more hunting for a trashcan near the grocery store enterance, wipes in hand after Mt. Babybutt's latest carseat explosion or peeling them out of the fluffies to throw away when you get home.
But greening baby butt wiping isn't so easy. We are easily seduced by the convenience we've been trained to believe disposable wipes are. So if you're having a hard time making the switch, here's a greener and cheaper way to do disposable while weaning yourself to cloth:
When you pull that wipe out of the container, rip it in half and put half of it back.
I'm not saying don't use the other half if you need to, by all means be clean about it. We don't want any rashes on any soft & sweet little bottoms, but make yourself use that first half til it is good and fully used. Then use the second half if your LO's bottom, legs, feet or any other part still needs it, heck use another half if you need to, but just remember to rip it in half and use them like you're serious about it. You'll be surprised how many fewer wipes you're suddenly using.
But if you're ready to take the risk and switch to cloth, you've still got options.
Eco-green: Buy some nice WHAM-made (not mega-corp commercial, while yes they're more efficient, I think the planet is also benefitted by supporting the WHAMs of the world who aren't commuting 2 hrs a day each direction too) cloth wipes. They're so pretty you'd never think of throwing them away, althiugh it might be tough to wipe that runny goo with some of the absolutely gorgeous fabrics that these wonderful ladies use to make their wipes, in the end you can wipe with a light green kind of pride.
Eco-cheap: Make your own wipes. Its pretty straightforward. They're typically two layers of a pourous and grabby material (flannel and terrycloth are pretty popular) about 7 or 8 inches square, surged or zigzagged copiously around the outer edges, or trimmed neatly with piping or bias tape. My mom is keen on sewing them inside out, right sides together, and turning them, pressing them, then topstitching. Viola! You have your own cloth wipes and didn't have to have them trucked to you.
Cheap-Eco-GreenER: make your own wipes out of t-shirts you stained and won't rewear or flannel pjs that you wore til they grew holes. Instead of sending the worn out yet wipelike materialed clothes to the big closet in the sky, give them a new lease on life as infant... er, bathroom attendants. You'll not even feel bad about botching your stitches on these. They're nearly free, prevent old clothes from hitting the landfill, and reduce future waste. Awesome.
Cheap-Eco-GreenEST: here's where the epiphany comes into play. Disposable wipes are just one layer of paper or quasi-cloth. Not too. Double your homemade wipe stash by making them one layer whenever doing so wouldn't bee too ridiculously flimsy. One layer of flannel is probably plenty. You don't double your washcloth to clean your bottom, why not turn that ratty towel into wipes that don't need to be doubled either? Waaaay greener. Just be sure to finish the edge if its a material that's given to fraying.
But what about the wetness of the wipes. Honestly, most of the time you could probably get by with just some water, but the interwebz are full of homemade wipe solution recipes.
So green it up a little already. Your baby's bottom will than you, becaise let's face it, would you rather get scrubbed with cotton or a damp paper towel?
Sometimes you have to ask yourself just what kind of eco-friendly you are being. Eco-green or eco-cheap? Well, sometimes you're being eco-green, and that's my favorite.
What does this all have to do with Snapdragon's bottom? Well, I've had a few epiphanies. That might be an overstatement, but nonetheless I've had some thoughts.
Baby wipes are A) expensive over time B) a waste of raw materials C)expensive to transport, and D) yet another avenue for human waste (and I do mean poo) to wind up in landfills where it doesn't belong. Clearly cloth wipes are the solution. Reusable to the nth power, and without all the questionable chemicals on that unscented wipe you can still smell from two feet away.
But, ewwww you say? Its no more grosstastic than wioing down your baby's newest abstract mustard art creation with a thin sheet of porous papertowelesque fibers, is it? If you're already using cloth diapers (fluffies is what we call 'em in our household) then you're already rinsing and washing, so these are actually easier. No more hunting for a trashcan near the grocery store enterance, wipes in hand after Mt. Babybutt's latest carseat explosion or peeling them out of the fluffies to throw away when you get home.
But greening baby butt wiping isn't so easy. We are easily seduced by the convenience we've been trained to believe disposable wipes are. So if you're having a hard time making the switch, here's a greener and cheaper way to do disposable while weaning yourself to cloth:
When you pull that wipe out of the container, rip it in half and put half of it back.
I'm not saying don't use the other half if you need to, by all means be clean about it. We don't want any rashes on any soft & sweet little bottoms, but make yourself use that first half til it is good and fully used. Then use the second half if your LO's bottom, legs, feet or any other part still needs it, heck use another half if you need to, but just remember to rip it in half and use them like you're serious about it. You'll be surprised how many fewer wipes you're suddenly using.
But if you're ready to take the risk and switch to cloth, you've still got options.
Eco-green: Buy some nice WHAM-made (not mega-corp commercial, while yes they're more efficient, I think the planet is also benefitted by supporting the WHAMs of the world who aren't commuting 2 hrs a day each direction too) cloth wipes. They're so pretty you'd never think of throwing them away, althiugh it might be tough to wipe that runny goo with some of the absolutely gorgeous fabrics that these wonderful ladies use to make their wipes, in the end you can wipe with a light green kind of pride.
Eco-cheap: Make your own wipes. Its pretty straightforward. They're typically two layers of a pourous and grabby material (flannel and terrycloth are pretty popular) about 7 or 8 inches square, surged or zigzagged copiously around the outer edges, or trimmed neatly with piping or bias tape. My mom is keen on sewing them inside out, right sides together, and turning them, pressing them, then topstitching. Viola! You have your own cloth wipes and didn't have to have them trucked to you.
Cheap-Eco-GreenER: make your own wipes out of t-shirts you stained and won't rewear or flannel pjs that you wore til they grew holes. Instead of sending the worn out yet wipelike materialed clothes to the big closet in the sky, give them a new lease on life as infant... er, bathroom attendants. You'll not even feel bad about botching your stitches on these. They're nearly free, prevent old clothes from hitting the landfill, and reduce future waste. Awesome.
Cheap-Eco-GreenEST: here's where the epiphany comes into play. Disposable wipes are just one layer of paper or quasi-cloth. Not too. Double your homemade wipe stash by making them one layer whenever doing so wouldn't bee too ridiculously flimsy. One layer of flannel is probably plenty. You don't double your washcloth to clean your bottom, why not turn that ratty towel into wipes that don't need to be doubled either? Waaaay greener. Just be sure to finish the edge if its a material that's given to fraying.
But what about the wetness of the wipes. Honestly, most of the time you could probably get by with just some water, but the interwebz are full of homemade wipe solution recipes.
So green it up a little already. Your baby's bottom will than you, becaise let's face it, would you rather get scrubbed with cotton or a damp paper towel?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)