Am I imagining things, or did Marie get this look from me?
Monday, April 28, 2008
Saturday, April 26, 2008
OPP - other people's parenting
I was recently talking to a mom-friend of mine about the danger of criticizing other parents when you've only seen a snapshot of their child(ren) and parenting. For example, when you see a 4-year-old with a pacifier, your gut reaction might be something like, "Jeez, what's wrong with his parents? Are they just too lazy to respond to his needs so they stick a binky in him? Don't they care about his dental health?" At least that's what my reaction would be. But it wouldn't be fair because I know nothing about this boy or his parents, and I have no way of judging whether or not he needs a pacifier. Those parents might have some very good reason for letting him have one.
But you have to draw the line somewhere.
Toffi and I were taking a walk in the park with Marie and Oko today. The weather was beautiful, and we were enjoying it so much that we probably stayed out longer than we should have. Marie was tired, probably hungry, but not anywhere close to accepting the fact that she should perhaps take a nap. But for the time being, it wasn't critical. We were still hopeful that she would fall asleep if we pushed the stroller over enough cobblestones. Just as I dared to hope that she really was about to drift off, I noticed a little girl who had fallen off her bike and was crying miserably for her mother. She couldn't have been older than 4. I looked around for the mother, but didn't see anyone who seemed to "belong" to her. I expected to find one of two things: either a mom running over to rescue her little girl, or one standing a few feet off trying to act calm to thwart a tantrum and/or total despair on the part of the girl. I saw neither. All I saw was a woman in a red jacket who was looking at the girl with an expression of mild interest. More of a curious onlooker than a mother, really.
I was just about to go over to the girl myself when a woman with a bike approached her and knelt down beside her. "Ah, that's her mom," I thought. But somehow the interaction didn't look like a mother-daughter one. And the girl was pointing at the woman with the red jacket. Could that person really be her mom? Could a mom really do that? Stand 50 feet away and watch her daughter sob and cry out for "Mama" and then watch a complete stranger help the girl up? I didn't have time to think about it too much, though, because Marie was becoming very unhappy about our attempt to get her to sleep, and her fussing was quickly escalating to full-on crying. Toffi and I helped her sit up in the stroller so she could more easily look around, and this seemed to placate her for the time being. I looked back at the girl-bike scene to see what had happened. It was now clear that the woman in the red jacket was, indeed, the mother, and she still had that nonchalant look on her face. The other woman had helped the girl over to her mom. The girl didn't look badly hurt, but she was still crying. Not a tantrumy cry, but a genuinely distraught one. I was livid.
But our situation with Marie was quickly spiraling out of control. She was positively screaming at this point, and we were beginning to realize that the cobblestones wouldn't do their magic this time. She was too tired, maybe too hungry, and probably just too overstimulated from having been outside for several hours. We gave up just as she was about to start hyperventilating (less than 5 minutes after the initial crying began), and I held her close for about 15 minutes while she calmed down. Then, instead of getting something to eat, we headed straight home, and I carried her most of the way. I wasn't happy about the abrupt change of plan, but I also knew that trying to get Marie to go along with our plans would have been an exercise in futility.
Now I know that what I saw at the park was only a snapshot of this girl's life and her mother's parenting. And I'm not trying to compare my parenting to this mom's parenting. But this wasn't a 4-year-old with a pacifier; this was a 4-year-old who was scared, alone and crying for her mom, and her mom stood far away from her and just flat-out ignored her child. And so I am comparing our reaction to Marie's distress to this mother's reaction to her daughter's distress - just these two snapshots. I'm inclined to think that if this mother had been in our situation, she would have stuck to her plan and let her daughter suffer through it. I can't get over the totally serene look on her face as she watched her daughter's agony. And seeing this has made me determined to never be that woman. As a mother, I have made mistakes and will certainly make more in the future, but I hope that I will never so dramatically neglect Marie's needs. She deserves more, and so does the girl who fell off her bike.
I will now get back down off my soapbox and share this:
Last night, I went out (at night) for the FIRST TIME since Marie was born. It was Naf and Marek's birthday party, and so I went to a bar and drank two whole beers! Granted, I was home before midnight and cuddled up with Marie shortly thereafter. But holy crap, did it ever feel like freedom. I hadn't really missed going out to bars, but last night was just plain fun.
But you have to draw the line somewhere.
Toffi and I were taking a walk in the park with Marie and Oko today. The weather was beautiful, and we were enjoying it so much that we probably stayed out longer than we should have. Marie was tired, probably hungry, but not anywhere close to accepting the fact that she should perhaps take a nap. But for the time being, it wasn't critical. We were still hopeful that she would fall asleep if we pushed the stroller over enough cobblestones. Just as I dared to hope that she really was about to drift off, I noticed a little girl who had fallen off her bike and was crying miserably for her mother. She couldn't have been older than 4. I looked around for the mother, but didn't see anyone who seemed to "belong" to her. I expected to find one of two things: either a mom running over to rescue her little girl, or one standing a few feet off trying to act calm to thwart a tantrum and/or total despair on the part of the girl. I saw neither. All I saw was a woman in a red jacket who was looking at the girl with an expression of mild interest. More of a curious onlooker than a mother, really.
I was just about to go over to the girl myself when a woman with a bike approached her and knelt down beside her. "Ah, that's her mom," I thought. But somehow the interaction didn't look like a mother-daughter one. And the girl was pointing at the woman with the red jacket. Could that person really be her mom? Could a mom really do that? Stand 50 feet away and watch her daughter sob and cry out for "Mama" and then watch a complete stranger help the girl up? I didn't have time to think about it too much, though, because Marie was becoming very unhappy about our attempt to get her to sleep, and her fussing was quickly escalating to full-on crying. Toffi and I helped her sit up in the stroller so she could more easily look around, and this seemed to placate her for the time being. I looked back at the girl-bike scene to see what had happened. It was now clear that the woman in the red jacket was, indeed, the mother, and she still had that nonchalant look on her face. The other woman had helped the girl over to her mom. The girl didn't look badly hurt, but she was still crying. Not a tantrumy cry, but a genuinely distraught one. I was livid.
But our situation with Marie was quickly spiraling out of control. She was positively screaming at this point, and we were beginning to realize that the cobblestones wouldn't do their magic this time. She was too tired, maybe too hungry, and probably just too overstimulated from having been outside for several hours. We gave up just as she was about to start hyperventilating (less than 5 minutes after the initial crying began), and I held her close for about 15 minutes while she calmed down. Then, instead of getting something to eat, we headed straight home, and I carried her most of the way. I wasn't happy about the abrupt change of plan, but I also knew that trying to get Marie to go along with our plans would have been an exercise in futility.
Now I know that what I saw at the park was only a snapshot of this girl's life and her mother's parenting. And I'm not trying to compare my parenting to this mom's parenting. But this wasn't a 4-year-old with a pacifier; this was a 4-year-old who was scared, alone and crying for her mom, and her mom stood far away from her and just flat-out ignored her child. And so I am comparing our reaction to Marie's distress to this mother's reaction to her daughter's distress - just these two snapshots. I'm inclined to think that if this mother had been in our situation, she would have stuck to her plan and let her daughter suffer through it. I can't get over the totally serene look on her face as she watched her daughter's agony. And seeing this has made me determined to never be that woman. As a mother, I have made mistakes and will certainly make more in the future, but I hope that I will never so dramatically neglect Marie's needs. She deserves more, and so does the girl who fell off her bike.
I will now get back down off my soapbox and share this:
Last night, I went out (at night) for the FIRST TIME since Marie was born. It was Naf and Marek's birthday party, and so I went to a bar and drank two whole beers! Granted, I was home before midnight and cuddled up with Marie shortly thereafter. But holy crap, did it ever feel like freedom. I hadn't really missed going out to bars, but last night was just plain fun.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
cheerios champion!
And the winner is ...
... my mom! At least she's the first one to get the coveted O's over here. I know there are one or two other contest entries on the way - and all will be receiving their prizes. Thank you!!
Marie's first encounter with the Cheerios was a smashing success if I've ever seen one. She immediately liked them, gobbled them up, and only 2 O's landed on the floor (and thus, in Oko's tummy) in the process!
Sadly, however, we think Marie may have a corn allergy or intolerance. She doesn't seem to have a problem with corn products (like cornstarch or corn oil), but anytime we give her baby food that has actual corn in it, she gets a minor case of hives. The fact that other corn products don't garner a reaction makes me think it's probably not an actual allergy, but rather some kind of intolerance. Any thoughts? Anybody know about this stuff? 'Cuz I'm pretty clueless when it comes to allergies.
... my mom! At least she's the first one to get the coveted O's over here. I know there are one or two other contest entries on the way - and all will be receiving their prizes. Thank you!!
Marie's first encounter with the Cheerios was a smashing success if I've ever seen one. She immediately liked them, gobbled them up, and only 2 O's landed on the floor (and thus, in Oko's tummy) in the process!
Sadly, however, we think Marie may have a corn allergy or intolerance. She doesn't seem to have a problem with corn products (like cornstarch or corn oil), but anytime we give her baby food that has actual corn in it, she gets a minor case of hives. The fact that other corn products don't garner a reaction makes me think it's probably not an actual allergy, but rather some kind of intolerance. Any thoughts? Anybody know about this stuff? 'Cuz I'm pretty clueless when it comes to allergies.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Welcome to the Carnival of Breastfeeding!
Today, I'm participating in the Carnival of Breastfeeding, in which various bloggers are sharing their experiences with breastfeeding challenges and how they overcame them. My piece is on plugged milk ducts and blebs, which my faithful readers may remember me mentioning in my post on contortionist nursing. I hope you enjoy reading it, and don't forget to check out the links to the other Carnival of Breastfeeding posts (see below), which I'll be updating throughout the day.
My husband and I live in Germany, and it is common practice here for a midwife to deliver the baby – even in hospitals – and to pay house visits for the first few weeks postpartum. As per my midwife’s instructions, my husband had made sure to buy a head of cabbage before our daughter was born. He washed the leaves and stacked them in our freezer. This, Frederike assured us, would come in handy when engorgement inevitably followed my milk coming in, and although the thought of icing my breasts with cabbage leaves seemed pretty strange to me, we decided to follow her advice. But I never experienced engorgement, and eventually, we thawed the cabbage and used it in a casserole. My baby and I were nursing champs, or so I thought.
The German word for a plugged duct is “Milchstau,” and it literally means “backed-up milk.” I think it really captures the way plugged ducts feel. You can’t really feel the plugged duct; what you feel is the immense and ever-growing pressure behind the blockage as your milk collects and your breast swells. When our daughter was about eight or nine weeks old, I woke up on a rainy Friday morning and noticed that my left breast felt really heavy. I figured it was just fuller than the other one, and so we nursed on that side. But afterwards, it felt worse instead of better, which didn’t make any sense to me. By midday I was sure that something was wrong, and I spent every spare minute searching the Internet for answers.
After reading this description on kellymom, I was certain that I had plugged ducts. I followed the suggestions listed on the site and used heat before nursing, nursed frequently on the left side, and cooled the area after nursing. None of it helped. By the time my husband came home from work that day, I was a wreck. I was in tremendous pain, but worse still, I was completely frustrated by my inability to solve the problem. We were the breastfeeding pros! What had happened? Why had I thrown away that cabbage?!
That evening, as Marie slept on my lap, I searched the Internet high and low for other solutions. The information on plugged ducts was more or less the same everywhere, so I started searching parenting forums for threads on the subject. The forums at babycenter finally offered some new insights. In a thread on plugged ducts (which is no longer on the site now that they’ve changed their design), various mothers kept mentioning the “white dot,” something that was like a pimple and could be popped. I looked at my breast but couldn’t see any white dot, so I scrolled through the entire thread, searching hundreds of posts for a more detailed description of the famous dot.
The “white dot,” it turned out, was a bleb – a blocked nipple pore. By pressing on the painful part of the breast, the bleb would bulge out, making it more easily seen on the nipple. I tried it, and suddenly I saw what looked like a tiny whitehead on my nipple. After having found their white dots, many of the women on the forum had simply popped them like a pimple. So, after washing my hands thoroughly, I gave it a whirl. I squeezed out a white plug of milk, no bigger than a grain of sand, and as soon as I pressed on the painful part of my breast, a thin line of milk shot out in an arc. Relief!
Despite my success, however, I faced further discouragement. I started getting plugged ducts frequently – at least once a week – and there wasn’t always a bleb. In these cases, it often took more than 48 hours to resolve the clog, and those two days were always miserable. Also, I quickly learned that “popping” the blebs wasn’t such a great idea, as it took a while for the skin to heal. Still, when there was a bleb, it was much easier to clear the blockage, and the tips at the kellymom and Medela websites were very helpful. In particular, using a sterilized needle to “lift” the bleb off as described on kellymom worked really well, and the skin hardly needed any time to heal afterwards.
At some point, it seemed ridiculous how frequently I was getting plugged ducts and blebs, and I started to look for information on recurrent clogs. Several sources, including kellymom, advised taking a Lecithin supplement. I looked into it, but the cost seemed prohibitive, at least in Germany, where supplements are often sold only by pharmacies and thus include quite a mark-up. I also called my midwife for advice. She asked me if I had been under a lot of stress lately. I didn’t think I had been. The only trend I had noticed was that it always seemed to be raining when I had them. I joked that my left boob always knew when rain was coming. Based on what I told her over the phone, Frederike said she thought I was treating them correctly, and as long as they were resolving within about 48 hours and I wasn’t running a fever, they weren’t anything to worry about, no matter how annoying they were. She suggested I try positioning Marie so that her chin was pointing toward the painful area and that I keep my chin up and try not to get too discouraged.
I was discouraged, though, and I couldn’t imagine doing this over and over again for months on end. I tried Frederike’s suggestion of having Marie’s chin pointed toward the clog, and since this meant somehow getting her chin to point up toward my shoulder, I needed to get creative. With a nursing pillow and my husband’s help, I managed to practice what I call “contortionist nursing,” and it did seem like it took fewer nursing sessions for the clogs to clear up this way. And I realized that there was a common factor besides the rain: almost every time I had a plugged duct, it was the weekend.
When I first noticed this, I considered myself lucky. With my husband home, I had more time to take a bath, apply heat to my breast and try to open up blebs. And he was there to help with our contortionist nursing. But it was a little strange that I almost always woke up on Friday morning with plugged ducts. It reminded me of times when I only got migraines at the end of the week, just in time for the weekend. It also reminded me of getting the flu on the second day of winter break during college – and then again right at the beginning of summer vacation. Maybe I was experiencing the same phenomenon. Maybe I really was under stress but wasn’t allowing myself to feel it. Instead, I was concentrating so hard on making it through the week that I didn’t realize I was saving up all my stress and frustration for the weekend, when my husband was home. I talked to my husband about my new theory, and it seemed plausible to him.
Shortly before I had my first plugged duct, my husband had started a very demanding project. He had to work very late, and even if he did get home early enough for us to eat dinner together, he often spent the evening working on his laptop. He couldn’t do anything about his working hours until the project was over, but after I shared my theory about stress and the plugged ducts with him, he started to make some small changes. We began eating breakfast together every morning before he left. Rather than continue working after he got home, he made an effort to spend more time with our daughter and me. And he made sure that there was always some cash in a drawer so that when he couldn’t make it in time for dinner, I could order takeout food and save myself the trouble of cooking after a long day. I didn’t magically stop getting plugged ducts, but they became less frequent, and that gave me hope.
When my husband’s big project was done, he went back to working normal hours and could be with us much more. The plugged ducts became a rare occurrence, once a month, perhaps. Now our daughter is ten months old, my husband is on paternity leave, and I’m working from home. The flexibility we have in structuring our day has made my daily life far more manageable, and I haven’t had a bleb or plugged duct in over two months. I am a little worried about what will happen when he goes back to work in a month and a half, when Marie will be a year old, but I’m pretty sure that if we do our best to keep in mind what we learned a few months ago, it’ll be OK. Making time for each other made all the difference.
The Carnival of Breastfeeding: “Thrush and mastitis and blebs, oh my!”
• Mama's Magic
• Half Pint Pixie
• Mom on the Go
• Nurturing Notes
• Breastfeeding Mums
• The Motherwear Breastfeeding Blog
• Blessed Nest Perch
• Hobo Mama
• Breastfeeding 1-2-3
My husband and I live in Germany, and it is common practice here for a midwife to deliver the baby – even in hospitals – and to pay house visits for the first few weeks postpartum. As per my midwife’s instructions, my husband had made sure to buy a head of cabbage before our daughter was born. He washed the leaves and stacked them in our freezer. This, Frederike assured us, would come in handy when engorgement inevitably followed my milk coming in, and although the thought of icing my breasts with cabbage leaves seemed pretty strange to me, we decided to follow her advice. But I never experienced engorgement, and eventually, we thawed the cabbage and used it in a casserole. My baby and I were nursing champs, or so I thought.
The German word for a plugged duct is “Milchstau,” and it literally means “backed-up milk.” I think it really captures the way plugged ducts feel. You can’t really feel the plugged duct; what you feel is the immense and ever-growing pressure behind the blockage as your milk collects and your breast swells. When our daughter was about eight or nine weeks old, I woke up on a rainy Friday morning and noticed that my left breast felt really heavy. I figured it was just fuller than the other one, and so we nursed on that side. But afterwards, it felt worse instead of better, which didn’t make any sense to me. By midday I was sure that something was wrong, and I spent every spare minute searching the Internet for answers.
After reading this description on kellymom, I was certain that I had plugged ducts. I followed the suggestions listed on the site and used heat before nursing, nursed frequently on the left side, and cooled the area after nursing. None of it helped. By the time my husband came home from work that day, I was a wreck. I was in tremendous pain, but worse still, I was completely frustrated by my inability to solve the problem. We were the breastfeeding pros! What had happened? Why had I thrown away that cabbage?!
That evening, as Marie slept on my lap, I searched the Internet high and low for other solutions. The information on plugged ducts was more or less the same everywhere, so I started searching parenting forums for threads on the subject. The forums at babycenter finally offered some new insights. In a thread on plugged ducts (which is no longer on the site now that they’ve changed their design), various mothers kept mentioning the “white dot,” something that was like a pimple and could be popped. I looked at my breast but couldn’t see any white dot, so I scrolled through the entire thread, searching hundreds of posts for a more detailed description of the famous dot.
The “white dot,” it turned out, was a bleb – a blocked nipple pore. By pressing on the painful part of the breast, the bleb would bulge out, making it more easily seen on the nipple. I tried it, and suddenly I saw what looked like a tiny whitehead on my nipple. After having found their white dots, many of the women on the forum had simply popped them like a pimple. So, after washing my hands thoroughly, I gave it a whirl. I squeezed out a white plug of milk, no bigger than a grain of sand, and as soon as I pressed on the painful part of my breast, a thin line of milk shot out in an arc. Relief!
Despite my success, however, I faced further discouragement. I started getting plugged ducts frequently – at least once a week – and there wasn’t always a bleb. In these cases, it often took more than 48 hours to resolve the clog, and those two days were always miserable. Also, I quickly learned that “popping” the blebs wasn’t such a great idea, as it took a while for the skin to heal. Still, when there was a bleb, it was much easier to clear the blockage, and the tips at the kellymom and Medela websites were very helpful. In particular, using a sterilized needle to “lift” the bleb off as described on kellymom worked really well, and the skin hardly needed any time to heal afterwards.
At some point, it seemed ridiculous how frequently I was getting plugged ducts and blebs, and I started to look for information on recurrent clogs. Several sources, including kellymom, advised taking a Lecithin supplement. I looked into it, but the cost seemed prohibitive, at least in Germany, where supplements are often sold only by pharmacies and thus include quite a mark-up. I also called my midwife for advice. She asked me if I had been under a lot of stress lately. I didn’t think I had been. The only trend I had noticed was that it always seemed to be raining when I had them. I joked that my left boob always knew when rain was coming. Based on what I told her over the phone, Frederike said she thought I was treating them correctly, and as long as they were resolving within about 48 hours and I wasn’t running a fever, they weren’t anything to worry about, no matter how annoying they were. She suggested I try positioning Marie so that her chin was pointing toward the painful area and that I keep my chin up and try not to get too discouraged.
I was discouraged, though, and I couldn’t imagine doing this over and over again for months on end. I tried Frederike’s suggestion of having Marie’s chin pointed toward the clog, and since this meant somehow getting her chin to point up toward my shoulder, I needed to get creative. With a nursing pillow and my husband’s help, I managed to practice what I call “contortionist nursing,” and it did seem like it took fewer nursing sessions for the clogs to clear up this way. And I realized that there was a common factor besides the rain: almost every time I had a plugged duct, it was the weekend.
When I first noticed this, I considered myself lucky. With my husband home, I had more time to take a bath, apply heat to my breast and try to open up blebs. And he was there to help with our contortionist nursing. But it was a little strange that I almost always woke up on Friday morning with plugged ducts. It reminded me of times when I only got migraines at the end of the week, just in time for the weekend. It also reminded me of getting the flu on the second day of winter break during college – and then again right at the beginning of summer vacation. Maybe I was experiencing the same phenomenon. Maybe I really was under stress but wasn’t allowing myself to feel it. Instead, I was concentrating so hard on making it through the week that I didn’t realize I was saving up all my stress and frustration for the weekend, when my husband was home. I talked to my husband about my new theory, and it seemed plausible to him.
Shortly before I had my first plugged duct, my husband had started a very demanding project. He had to work very late, and even if he did get home early enough for us to eat dinner together, he often spent the evening working on his laptop. He couldn’t do anything about his working hours until the project was over, but after I shared my theory about stress and the plugged ducts with him, he started to make some small changes. We began eating breakfast together every morning before he left. Rather than continue working after he got home, he made an effort to spend more time with our daughter and me. And he made sure that there was always some cash in a drawer so that when he couldn’t make it in time for dinner, I could order takeout food and save myself the trouble of cooking after a long day. I didn’t magically stop getting plugged ducts, but they became less frequent, and that gave me hope.
When my husband’s big project was done, he went back to working normal hours and could be with us much more. The plugged ducts became a rare occurrence, once a month, perhaps. Now our daughter is ten months old, my husband is on paternity leave, and I’m working from home. The flexibility we have in structuring our day has made my daily life far more manageable, and I haven’t had a bleb or plugged duct in over two months. I am a little worried about what will happen when he goes back to work in a month and a half, when Marie will be a year old, but I’m pretty sure that if we do our best to keep in mind what we learned a few months ago, it’ll be OK. Making time for each other made all the difference.
The Carnival of Breastfeeding: “Thrush and mastitis and blebs, oh my!”
• Mama's Magic
• Half Pint Pixie
• Mom on the Go
• Nurturing Notes
• Breastfeeding Mums
• The Motherwear Breastfeeding Blog
• Blessed Nest Perch
• Hobo Mama
• Breastfeeding 1-2-3
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
the marie lena cheerios challenge
So y'all, I got a little private* contest: whoever can figure out how to send me a box of Cheerios in such a way that they don't arrive pulverized wins! Multiple winners possible! The winner(s) will receive a gift from Amazon.com that's worth roughly what they spent on the Cheerios and shipping.Why, you ask?
Well, Marie looooooves to be able to feed herself things. Little crusts of bread seem to work pretty well, as do spiral-shaped noodles, but o-shaped cereals seem to be the biggest hit.So what's the problem, you ask?
Well, you can't buy Cheerios in Germany (they have no idea what they're missing!), and the only German alternative is natural product sweetened with honey, which is a no-no for babies under 12 months.
So, Toffi and I would be ever so grateful for any Cheerios care packages to East Berlin (am having visions of the Berlin air lift of 1948). Let the contest begin!
* This contest is only open to people I know personally!!!
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