adjusting to mommydom

I’ve really been wanting to update the blog but - and I was warned - I just haven’t had any time. It constantly astounds me how little time there is left for much of anything other than Nahanni - and she’s a really good little baby. I’m either feeding, changing rocking or sleeping. We don’t get long stretches of time, particularly when it’s just me here with her in the daytime. I maybe get a half hour here or there and I generally try to fly through some laundry or attempt to make the kitchen not look like a frat house (a feat at which I have yet to be successful, unfortunately). I still feel a bit run down and get tired before I expect that I should, but I have to say that I am feeling vastly better now that the antibiotics are done and this second bout of mastitis has passed (touch wood). I have been fortunate enough to be working with Marianne Brophy through the ihope centre on the North Shore and she is the resident breatfeeding guru, a woman who has clearly been called to help other women through what is often, but seems like it shouldn’t be, a difficult time. I cannot believe how much I took it for granted that breastfeeding would come naturally, that she and I would both know what we were doing so easily. I am ashamed to admit that I (wrongly) supposed lactation consultants to have been some trendy-richy kind of thing, that they were one more special thing to add to your ‘I’m up on the trends’ arsenal. I am now so thankful to have been able to work with one, I wish it had happened sooner, perhaps I could have averted the second round of mastitis - I’d been trying to make it to her group for weeks, since back when I suspected there was an issue but as I have alluded, there is precious little time to do anything. Eating is a luxury at this point, which is a particular shame considering how vital nutrition is to my healing in general and to breastfeeding as well. I’m reduced to standing in the kitchen amid the frat-house debris, jiggling her in one arm and eating cold spaghetti with the other. Peeing is yet another luxury, peeing alone being a particular treat. It’s a hilarioius dance you do, balancing this tiny baby on your shoulder, using your chin to hold her against you while you shimmy and shake and try to get your underwear down. I remember a friend talking about how life becomes what you can accomplish with one hand and I am here to certify that this is unerringly true.
At this point we are trying to foster a bit of independence in Nahanni, although not surprisingly there is a discrepancy between mommy’s version of this and daddy’s {and the older generation’s view, but that’s a whole other story...} I don’t deny that I seem to have a sort of wiring in my brain that makes it positively painful to hear my daughter crying, especially the sobbing, breath-gulping kind - it pulls tiny burning wires in my heart when she cries like that. Certainly I am more and more able to put her down and let her snuffle and whine a little but I am loathe to let her get into a full-blown state - for obvious reasons. I would rather have a happy child than a clean kitchen and that’s just that. I think she’ll have her whole life to be disappointed and to not get her way, but for now, she’s just a tiny new girl and I am still willing to cater to her every whim, if only to feel her soft head against my cheek, the sweet velvet smell of her, the vanilla scent of her breath. I love to watch her sleep on my shoulder, see the way her features relax, her skin smooth and translucent. I press my lips to hers knowing that someday she won’t let me and I inhale each breath as she releases it, thinking of the complex metaphysical miracle that brought that air into my lungs - how I somehow made her from a tiny piece of nothing and grew those little lungs inside of me and know, somehow I can breath the air that slides through them, pure and undiluted. It is a brilliant and shining joy for me, a salve for my weary tired self. I feel a love like I was previously unable to comprehend, as though all the love I felt before seems now sort of amateur and dilletante. This is by far, the greatest thing I have ever done - the hardest, the most challenging, but I know that someday I will look at this lovely girl and marvel at the wonderful human being she has become and I will be happy for every moment I gave to her.

Nahanni 7 weeks 3 days

Well, I don't think I have the time to write a significant piece - although I have been mulling around a few topics in my brain...unfortunately mostly in the middle of the night while I am feeding her (I'm brilliant!) and then I forget those pithy little bon mots come morning (not so brilliant!). So I suppose I will expound upon how wonderful Nahanni is and go from there.

Our little dove is now 7 weeks and counting and I have taken to heart what everyone says - they grow so fast! I have made a concerted effort every single day to concentrate on how lovely she is in this very moment, how much I treasure this time with her and how much I love to be her mom. I know that it won't always be this simple and pure, this version of my love for her as she is so innocent and vulnerable and dependent, so I try to really relish it, eat it all up, this sights and smells and sounds of her. She has begun to coo in a little voice that melts my heart and she is so focussed and determined to make the sounds and faces I make to her. She is very strong (we call her 'super strength') and she can almost hold her head up already and she loves to stand up on her own as she leans against you, and if you're lucky she pulls her head up and looks straight in the eye. Her lovely dark blue eyes are starting to change to the brown we suspect they will be but they are as beautiful as ever.. as you can see.

So, the little princess has felt her pea (or pee) and is starting to awaken - I am being summoned!

Pictures are of Nahanni in her first tattoo parlour experience - she was good as gold visiting daddy while he got his very special tattoo...

Redefining

The Canadian Oxford Dictionary defines vulnerable thusly: able to be physically or emotionally hurt; liable to damage or harm. I define it like this: motherhood.

Never before have I felt so susceptible to fear, pain, anxiety or loss as I have since I became a mother. Where before my fears and losses have been most singularly focussed on myself, my career, my vanities, now I feel an aching sense of standing at the edge of a chasm of potential grief when I think of something happening to my child. Worse still, I know that something is bound to happen - nothing catastrophic required, of course, but eventually, I will screw up. No matter how I try to envision and prevent every little thing that might harm her, I cannot protect her from everything and I think this is the first really fearful awakening as a new parent. It's difficult not to have anxiety about things, even the simple ones that I know will become commonplace, like putting her to sleep in her crib. A few days ago after a long sleepless night with her, grunting and cooing and wriggling in my arms all night, I decided to place her in her crib for the first time in the hopes of getting two solid hours of sleep from 4 to 6 am. There are no bumpers, the colourful bear sheets are pulled crisp and tight, there are no stuffed animals, the blankets are low and tucked with room for her to scooch upwards. I closed the door, put the monitor next to me in bed - and proceeded to have as fitful a sleep as had she been there. I worried that the blanket would somehow leap from its spot and smother her, that the cats might break into her room and smother her - that I would sleep too soundly and some tragedy would befall her - it was hopeless. But of course, it does not end there. Sometimes you just screw up - like the other day when holding her asleep in my arms I leaned over a still-hot burner on the stove - it didn't burn her but ohmygod it could have! She could fall from my arms in the night, she could roll off the change table, she could have a pillow fall on her when I run to the bathroom...it's a gauntlet!

And then real things happen. In the bath the other night we were having a lovely time - she really seems to love the water and has a dark calm that descends upon her in the tub. She was really loving it, smiling and cooing and kicking her feet as though she was swimming. I turned her away and was holding her little head, being careful to keep her ears above water (yet another hazard) when she did one of her 6-week old head bobbles straight into the water where she gulped a little, paused for a heartsick few seconds turned red and screamed for her life. I do not think I have ever felt more awful about anything, it was agony for me to think that I had somehow caused this pain, this fear - or at least failed to prevent it. Naturally, babies have short memories and she regained herself when she was warmed and caught her breath, but mommys have long memories and I don't think I'll ever forget it.

And still more - yesterday, Sunday, she was so completely out of sorts and she grew increasingly miserable as the day wore on - never wanting to be out of arms, crying, fussing, constantly at the breast - and with on-going very wet poopy diapers that were beginning to scare me. How many were there? When had it started? You don't always know when to pay attention - and then I realized that I don't yet have a system set up, I didn't really know who to call about it. I started looking in books and they were saying that it could be dangerous so many loose stools and then I called the nurse's line and they declared her to have 'severe' diarrhea since she is so young and she said I should take her to her doctor - 9 pm on a Sunday long weekend. The clinics are closed and the only option is a full and sickly emergency room. I cradled her in my arms, finally, mercifully asleep and I wanted to cry, I felt so awful to be at that point - why hadn't I know earlier? (even though I had called the midwife earlier in the day to ask her opinion which was that she was likely fine) What do I do??? I called the doctor on-call - I can't even remember where I got the number from and after more of the same questions he told me to just monitor her since the diapers were getting better, she had no fever and was eating well and not dehydrated. I held her on my shoulder, stroking her pink velour back and I inhaled the scent of my little girl really, truly understanding what it is to be a mother. To be a mother is to feel everything they feel, to worry about every little thing as though it were big, to place yourself in front of the moving vehicle that is life, that is growing up, that is chance. You have volunteered to make yourself the most vulnerable you have ever been in your life and you realize that tragedy is not something that might happen to you - it is something that might happen to your child.
I held her in my arms and she slept, she ate, she relaxed back into the sweet girl we know. She ate well, she went less and awoke today with a clean diaper and a lovely smile. She is fine, I know, but still-- a mother worries.

i'm a good girl

hi from nahanni!

i'm doing very well, i'm beautiful, super-strong and smart! i'm sleeping well and i'm smiling for mommy and daddy. here i am in my pink sleeper from nana and in my outfit that grandpa and pam sent with slippers from dianne - just when you think i can't get any cuter...i do!

and then there were three...

So here we are, finally learning ourselves as a family. It has been a mixed blesing having family come to visit us since we've spent so much time without them, living our independent lives and then when they are here and help so much you really see how much you miss them, how much you have to turn off your heart in order for it not to ache. I can't help but think that there was a day when they sat, as we do, holding a tiny baby and filled with intense love only to have that baby grow up and move away from them - it breaks my heart to think of it. It may seem silly as it is so far away, but it seems years fly by when you have children.

We are trying to put things together, learn our new lives with Nahanni. She really is a wonderful little girl, a good girl. I feel so very lucky and I really try every day to live in the moment with this child, relish every bit of it. I love her tiny face, her dark eyes, her funny little mannerisms and I know that getting to know her will be one of the singular joys of my life. I hate already to see how much she's grown from the little feather I would throw over my shoulder to this somehow warm, weighty little doll. Every look is a little death for me - I could die, I love her so much.

On Motherhood

It seems that with all the issues I have had that it has been most easy to talk about what has gone wrong, but in truth, so much of this has still been immeasurably wonderful. The hardest part for me now is finding the time - and the gray matter - to adequately describe my experience of becoming a mother.

First, I must say that I now have a deep appreciation not only for my own mother and all those women of my line, but for every mother. I now see what a deep and intense commitment it is to birth and nurture a child and how much of your own self must be subjugated to their needs. It is an awesome responsibility that is completely incomprehensible until you experience it and I feel like all I can say to my fellow mothers now is 'I get it'.

I get it that you become obsessed with your own child, their wonderousness, their utter perfection. Your child truly is the centre of the universe - I know mine is. I marvel every day at how absolutely beautiful and delicate and deeply interesting she is. I am profoundly affected by my love for her, sometimes it makes tears spring to my eyes and it fills my dreams with terrible fears - leaving her, losing her, dropping her. I cannot bear to hear her cry, even as I know she is fine and well cared for and will never remember these tears or how the carseat was uncomfortable or that sometimes I'm a little clumsy with her - still, it sends needles through my heart.

I am amazed by her tiny features, her porcelain skin and eyes like a little doll's. I love how her hair curls into fine wisps after her bath and how her little rosebud mouth forms a perfect cupid's bow with a little milkbud and a ring of opalescent white after she feeds. I love the little grunty noises she makes in the night to tell me that she's ready to get up and how when she gets very hungry she snorts like a little, mad creature and pounds my breast with her tiny, frustrated little fist. I love her little kewpie doll face when we prop her up to burp her and I still am amazed by the myriad of expressions that cross that little face within seconds of each other - eyebrows raised as if in surprise, brow furrowed in indignation or confusion, big gummy smiles that make teensy dimples in her pink cheek. I love her long, generous fingers that play piano in the air, the way she tickles the keys while she eats, the way she puts her arm over her eyes as though life is too much sometimes, how she presses her fingers to her brow as though she's thinking of a great solution. I love the clicking noises and the coos that are her first words, and when she presses wet kisses into my neck as I lay her on my shoulder. I love watching the gorgeous sweep of her eyelashes grow by the minute and the way she presses her fingers into her mouth to suck - since she was minutes old. I love to watch her sleep, arms forming a little square beside her head, her features like a painted cherub and the way she puts her two curled fists to her cheeks when she needs comfort. I love how her belly button squirms out when she is mad and hides itself when she is calm and I marvel that that once connected her to me. I love how much I love this child and I feel like the luckiest person that she has chosen me and that my becoming a mother has been to this already amazing child, that I was somehow destined to have a daughter named Nahanni. I love each day with her, whether hard or easy because I get to know her one more day. It is a singular joy that I relish, truly, madly, deeply.

Jumping Hurdles

Hurdles, Hurdles, always hurdles...

Obviously I haven't been much able to keep up with the blog as my litany of physical complaints continues. I got over round one of mastitis only to get a blocked milk duct in the other breast which then turned to mastitis on that side, complete with fever and chills. Unfortunately the antibiotics they prescribed did not work and for four days I suffered further fever and chills and then intense swelling and inflamation and pain and misery, with Nahanni growing increasingly miserable herself. It has been very difficult, but finally we are on the same antibiotics as the first time and things are finally settling down - I've never been so thrilled. Nahanni has returned to her lovely sweet self bit by bit and I feel like next week I have the potential to feel like a relatively normal human being again - hooray! I'm tired of feeling housebound and for certain, I'm sick of being sick. I want to be well, show off my baby, visit, do yoga, walk in the woods...in essence, live a little.

I do have to say though on a more positive note - this child is a wonder. I look at her little face and marvel at the miracle of her. She is gorgeous in so many ways and I am positively smitten. She has changed my life and I wonder how I can survive loving someone this intensely. I could eat her up. I look forward to every day with her - even the tough ones.

The Awakening

Ha!
That title amuses me on so many levels. Where on earth do I begin? This has been an awakening alright - I knew it would be hard, but how could I possibly have known just how hard? Sleep has become a commodity more precious than cheap gas. I never thought that 45 minutes would feel like a full night's sleep until this one came. It is especially challenging being a nursing mother as all the feedings, including middle of the night ones, fall to you. It is a commitment on so many levels to breastfeed a baby, I don't think I really understood. I think I may have had some foolish notion that babies had some sort of rhyme or reason, that they fed on a relatively reasonable if half-heartedly predictable fashion, but it is yet another crazy notion of which I have been absolved by my little dictator. Nahanni has a crimson temper and for her there is only perfectly placid and raging mad - no in-between. I try to keep on top of her and when that works it is a breezy wonderful thing, but then she changes, or there's a growth spurt (again?) or I get a milk blister (like I haven't already had enough problems??) and then we seem to be starting from scratch. These last couple nights have been the most difficult since the fever melt-down when I had mastitis. It is so difficult to run on such little sleep and last night, in the hopes of getting ahead of the game I nursed her for nearly 2 hours before bedtime, hoping she would sleep after a dreadfully restless night previous. But no, Miss Nahanni had her own plans and despite not sleeping until nearly 1 am she was back up at 2 am and I turned into a rotten parent. I actually told my 3 week old baby to shut-up. Horror!! I felt awful immediately after, but I was so tired and I literally couldn't believe she was awake again - but there I was facing already one of those fears I had before she came - that somedays it would just be work, and I guess last night was one of the work days. To her credit she settled down after and stayed pretty settled until 6 am and she is mercifully asleep in the sling right now so that I can do this, but my-o-my, I am learning to respect mothers the world over in a completely new way. It is really challenging to find a balance in this new life we are leading. Trying to figure out how to keep the house from crumbling, to feed yourself, to maybe leave the house once a day or even take a shower for that matter. And the worst part is that I am trying to relish every day that she is this tiny, gorgeous vulnerable creature while at the same time anxiously awaiting a time when it will start to get easier. It is this state of cognitive dissonance in which I find myself that I feel is the crux of having a newborn - especially for me as I feel that the first two weeks are a sort of blur that I can scarcely remember. In so many ways I feel like I missed that time altogether, even though of course, every day I marvelled at this darling creature that I had grown inside of me. I marvelled at her tiny fingers and toes, her tiny bum, like little pink moons. I did gaze into her eyes, I did smell her hair and stroke her little cheek - it just went by in such a blur of illness and fatigue that I feel like I need to see the movie to remember the plot. I suppose that is the biggest lesson I am trying to remember every time that it gets hard - this too shall pass, and faster than you can bear.