Kid Amnesiac

I’ve extolled the virtues of several baby products twice now. Simon is now over seven months old, and his list of favorites continues to expand and change along with him. Our current favorites are:

Dirty Dog: You may recall that months ago, Simon had a favorite blanket toy we called Dirty Duck. Well, some time ago, I was in the children’s department at Dillard’s and saw several blanket toys. I was looking for a duplicate dirty duck so I could have one in the wash while Simon slimed up the second. And they had dirty duck, but they also had a cute brown puppy. Since Matt and I have created an elaborate fantasy life for Simon that includes his love of puppies, I brought this home. Turns out the muzzle fits perfectly into his mouth and the ears provide nice handles. Welcome home, dirty dog. Sorry about your face.

Rainforest Jumperoo: We tried out Simon in a friend’s doorway jumper a few weeks ago, and he seemed to like it. So I went out and got one, only to discover that it didn’t fit over our doorframes. Sigh. Undeterred, I ran back out and got the freestanding Fisher Price Rainforest Jumperoo. What a hit! This jumper is attached to a steel frame and sports an activity tray with several-but not too many-toys, has palm leaf accents overhead, and features a sountrack heavy on monkey noises. Hilarious! We both love it. Simon jumps in it like mad every morning, and I jump right along with him, clap for him, and generally cheer him on. It makes us both laugh, and it gives us both our morning workout.

Footnote: Simon may love the Jumperoo a bit too much. When we try to stand him in our laps, he often puts his feet together to jump instead. Plus, he’s jumped to the point of rubbing the skin off his toes a few times, bringing about the new rule: no Jumperoo without socks or shoes.

Casio Soothing Sounds White Noise Generator: For over six months, our white noise generator was an old air filter that droned on and on. We finally got off our tushes a while ago and ordered one that does more than drone. Ahhhhh. For $13, the new model is a clock, a radio, and a white noise machine. Plus, it doesn’t hog up all the floor space in the nursery. Matt loves the running water. I’m partial to ocean waves. Neither of us misses the previous monstrosity.

I Love You Little One: This is a sweet little book about animal babies and their mommies. Each four page spread features a baby asking its mommy if she loves him, and the mom responding in reassuring metaphors. “I love you like the wild rye” says the mommy mouse, “I love you like the warm earth” says the mommy rabbit, “I love you like the oak tree” says the mommy owl. It’s a sweet book with very pretty pictures. I read it to Simon all the time. Matt has attempted to read it twice and failed. He just gets too choked up to make it all the way through. And that right there is enough to put it on my favorite list!

Feet: Preferably his own. About five weeks ago Simon finally discovered his own feet. Who knew such a fabulous toy was just inches away? Now he grabs on to them and plays with them regularly. It’s cute when he’s on the bed or on the changing table, but it’s especially amusing in the stroller. If I have him heavily reclined in it, there are times when from the profile all you can see is Simon’s outstretched hand grasping onto his foot. It makes him look like he’s doing pilates on the go.

Magazines: I read in one of my (few) parenting books that babies Simon’s age can play with fabric books, board books, or magazines you don’t mind being destroyed. As Matt and I are always drowing in newspapers, magazines, and catalogues, I figured I had something to spare for the experiment. Well, Simon grabbed the LL Bean Traveler catalog and went nuts! He crumpled it, he wadded it, he grabbed at it, and I’m pretty sure he ate part of it. It’s not just that this thing is only fit for the recycle bin by now, it’s that it looks like it’s already been partially recycled. I think the next magazine needs to be something printed with soy ink for health purposes!

I’m Leap, Let’s Sing the Alphabet Song: I have no idea what the actual name of this toy is. But it’s a small stuffed frog named Leap, and when you press it’s belly-or breathe real hard on it from what I can tell-he introduces himself and sings the alphabet song. At the end, he does a little two-phase giggle. “He-he-he-he-he…he he he he.” I do a mean imitation. Simon loves Leap and seemingly never grows tired of listening to him. I grow tired by time fifteen or so, but if it makes Simon this happy and can’t begrudge him it.

The Ball: When we stayed with Tony and Katherine last month, Simon enjoyed playing with a ball of Thomas’s. So much so that we decided to get him his own. If he’s in the right mood, you can roll a ball back and forth to Simon and he will laugh every time it moves. You’ve gotta love any low-key amusement like this.

Do you ever get the feeling that you are the least interesting person in your circle of friends? Or at least the one with the most unrealized potential?

I was reminded of a friend from Oxford recently, a beautiful German woman named-I think I remember this correctly—Anna Maria Milena Teresa von Brentano, because she once told me in passing that a forbearer of hers invented the mind-body problem. That would be Franz von Brentano (1838-1917), father of the school of act psychology or intentionalism. And I was thinking about him because the mind-body connection can both power and inhibit successful breastfeeding.

Anyway, one friend led to another, and before I knew it I had found an engineer doing consulting work in Scandinavia, a death row attorney (defense) in Texas, a published professor of antebellum literature at UC Irvine, a UK military commander, a D.C. socialite, and a prominent barrister at the Serle Court in London. I’m a part-time editor in Louisville Ky. Oy. Well, at least there’s no reunion to attend…

But back to the whole mind-body connection: I began thinking about it with last week’s nursing problems. I sat up early Wednesday morning at around 5:00 a.m. to nurse Simon and disaster struck. He sucked, pulled back, sucked a bit more, pulled back some more, and cried endlessly. When my milk didn’t let down at the beginning, I wasn’t alarmed. But after several attempts, Simon was getting more hysterical and it suddenly occurred to me that I might not be able to feed my child. That’s when the flop sweat began.

So now I was not only struggling to hold a bucking, sobbing baby while desperately wishing my milk would drop, but I was also nearly prone from heat exhaustion on top of it. In the end, I prepared a bottle, handed it to Matt to give to Simon, and went and had a little cry myself.

After this incident, I began to over-think something I had never really thought about before: let-down, or the milk ejection reflex, and the ability to nurse. Some women never feel let-down at all. For others, it fades over time. I, however, have been able to feel it every time I have nursed Simon-and by now we’re looking at around 1500 times-since he was born. It’s the comforting little burn that tells me Simon is getting what he needs and my body is functioning as it should. Of course, when that let-down doesn’t happen, it’s the least comforting thing in the world.

I can be quick to panic. So after that failed feeding, I went into the next one with the dread of a kid heading to the dentist. Would it happen again? Would I feel let-down this time? How long would it take? Was I doomed to never nurse again?

For anyone who has nursed before, you know that this is the worst possible thing you can do. Nursing works best when the mother is relaxed and confident in her abilities. When mom is a wreck, inhibited let-down-the very thing I was the most worried about-is the most likely to occur.

What’s the solution? Well, it depends on who you ask. Nursing school of thought number one holds that if you visualize a successful let-down, you can bring it on. So immediately after the first failed nursing attempt, I started visualizing let-down. It reminded me a bit of trying to will myself to sleep. “500, 499, 498…getting sleepy…497, 496, 495… drifting off, it’s getting harder to count…494, 493…Damn! I’m still awake and the alarm goes off in 3 hours.”

Only this time the interior dialog was more like: “I’m relaxing…this will work…I feel some warmth…Simon is suckling….I feel my baby close to me…I feel some pressure…Oh my God I’m not letting down and this isn’t going to work!” I could make visualization work a few times, but it was a mental strain.

The second school of thought is that if you are distracted-if you do not spend the whole time thinking “Do I feel let-down? Is it happening?” you will in fact feel it much sooner. Therefore, the prescription is to talk, listen to the radio, read, or watch TV to get your mind off of what you are doing and let your body take over.

If you are me, this approach has two downsides. One is that you nurse to enjoy the immediacy of the relationship, not to forget all about it. The other is that, if you are as single minded as I am, you end up listening to “This American Life” on NPR while thinking “Isn’t this nice? I love ‘This American Life!’ I’m paying attention to this moving story about taking care of one’s parents and not paying attention at all to whether I’m letting down or not. Nope, just sitting here, enjoying Ira Glass and his fine, fine show. Have I let down yet?”

In the end, I came out the other side from sheer force of will and my uncanny ability to research and spin. I have now read hundreds of pages on lactation, supply, let-down, and strikes. In doing so, I was able to settle on a theory of nursing problems and a prescription for help that suited my needs. My story is that Simon was teething and I was exhausted. Once I got some rest and got some fluids, and Simon got some Orajel and Tylenol, we’d both be OK. I’d pump after feedings and guzzle herbal tea to boost my supply. Once I had nursed 10 times without event, I’d be back in the game. And I was. Then three days after that fateful Wednesday, I failed to let down again. My story for this second incident is that I had some wine (alcohol can inhibit let-down) and that Simon woke up but wasn’t really that hungry.

Am I right? Who knows? And for that matter, who cares? As a professor of mine at Michigan once said, “Voodoo may not be scientific, but it can still kill.” Well, my let-down may or may not have been inhibited for the reasons I think it was, but it was inhibited and now appears to be no longer. With a little bit of luck, I can let this particular mind-body problem drop and move on to obsess about something else.

Future Finals MVP

I knew parenthood came with its sacrifices when I signed up over a year ago.  What I didn’t know is that such sacrifice could come so early in my tenure. And yet, after merely 7 1/2 months, I feel I have already missed one of life’s seminal events: The coronation of LeBron James as the true next Michael Jordan.

No, I’m not joking. I’ve been an NBA fan since the final years of the Bulls’ reign, and my love  only increased when I moved to California and local “exciting” NCAA games were match-ups such as Cal vs. Oregon. I kid you not. People actually got excited about that garbage.

Since shortly after I started watching, I’ve been listeing to people declare who the next Michael Jordan might be. Would it be Vince Carter? No, not enough drive in that one-and too spotty in his play. Would it be Kobe Bryant? Heavens no. He’s a brilliant player, but he’s also a selfish diva.

Then this 19-year old straight from high school arrived with an improbably emotional and physical maturity. I was convinced at first sight that LeBron was “the one”, and last night he emphatically proved this to the world in a double-overtime victory over the Pistons in which he scored Cleveland’s final 25 points.

So where was I? In bed. We finally gave a giant TV. We now have digital cable. The only salve for me in any of this was the promise of getting to watch some quality NBA games, and I was in bed for the big game because it was 10:00 and I was exhausted and could not keep my eyes open.

Meanwhile, my attempted slumber was punctuated by cries from downstairs. Cries of “Oh My God!”, “No Way”.  While I dozed, Matt was clearly enthralled with something in the game. And no offence to my hubby, but it is cosmically unfair that he saw the whole thing while I did not. After all, this is a man who bought me Warriors tickets in 2000 and said he picked the Houston game “so [I] could see Olajuwon” (the man had gone out with an injury months before). Heck, just last night Matt asked me “When did Riley leave the Magic?” Um, that would be the other Florida team, Matt, Miami. And dude, he’s already back.

So that is the price of nursing and trying to overcome a nursing strike. A definitive basketball moment is had, I finally have a TV to watch it on, and  it will be the lesser interested party in my household who will talking all about it today.

LeBron, you better do the same in a matinee, OK?

A quick update. Yesterday Simon successfully nursed at 8:00 a.m. and then again at noon, but took a bottle at 3:00 p.m. when I couldn’t get things to work and he was getting hysterical.

At around 6:30 p.m. I succeeded again, then again at 11:30 p.m. , 2:00 a.m., 4:30 a.m., 7:30 a.m., and 10:30 a.m. Mid afternoon will be the acid test, I think.

I’ve been guzzling Mother’s Milk tea and keeping close to him. Fingers crossed today will go well. I think if I can limit the bottles to one or two a day we might just get through to the other side of this thing.

After 32 mostly uneventful weeks of nursing, I have hit a wall. And I’m panicked.

Simon began teething a few weeks ago, a fact I confirmed last week on vacation when he once bit me during a nursing session. He had been drooling for ages, so we weren’t sure when teeth would actually erupt. The day we came home from San Francisco, I finally saw his two lower center teeth and got slightly misty about how quickly time is going by.

Then last night hit. Simon nursed around 1 a.m. and all seemed fine. Then he awoke at 5:00 a.m. and things took a wrong turn. He latched on, then pulled off. Probably because of teething pain, something that happened once during vacation as well. This time, he latched back on, didn’t stay for long, and pulled off and cried, probably from teething pain and frustration combined. After a few repeats of this, I began to worry that I wasn’t feeling let-down. And sure enough, by 5:15 or so I had a crying baby, no let-down, and enough stress that let-down in the very near future seemed unlikely.

And so, for the first time since Simon left the NICU, he got a bottle of formula. Which he, for the record, took like a champ and was plenty happy with. I, on the other hand, was left in tears.

Today I’ve managed to feed him twice, but it’s been a struggle both times and I’m quite nervous that I have a nursing strike or early weaning on my hands. I’ve also got calls in to two lactation consultants, who I’m hoping can help me before it’s too late. I’m quite worried about the timing here, because I’ve nursed Simon so much that my pump doesn’t really work for me anymore. It’s Simon or bust, no pun intended.

I understand that even if this is the end, that Simon got 7 1/2 months of my immunity, my DHA, and close bonding. I know he’ll be OK.

I, however, will be very sad, perhaps irrationally so. Nursing is such an immediate relationship. It’s unique in my experience. I hate to let it go. I hate to lose something that I and only I can share with Simon. I fear it’s the beginning of a lessening of our bond somehow. I hate to think I’ll never again see that little smile he gives me before or during a nursing session, that he’ll never reach up and pat my face while nursing, that in general I’ll become just another caretaker for him.

And I feel bad about feeling that way, because I’ve watched many dear friends and family not be able to nurse much or at all, and I feel like (1) I’m being an ingrate; and (2) I’m insulting many fine mothers. I’m sure this is mostly hormonal on my end. And the cure? You guessed it.

Nursing. Wish us luck.

Well, it’s been a pretty horrific few days over here, and tomorrow we test fate and take Simon on his first plane ride. Wish us luck!

Matt’s been working crazy hours — in fact, he’s working into the wee hours tonight — and Simon chose today of all days to not sleep. He woke up early from his morning nap. He woke up early from his afternoon nap. And he threw the mother of all screaming fits tonight. Worst I’ve seen him since those early and unlamented colicky days.

If I make it out the door with even half of what I’m supposed to, I will have the Whitworths to thank. They came over tonight to help me with Simon while I packed up all our gear. I’m sure I’m still going to forget something. I’m so tired now I can hardly focus to type. This post is only happening because I’m moving things around in my work inbox and that takes time.

Tomorrow we land in Oakland, where I hope to see many of old friends, meet many new babies, and get some much needed R&R. Look for some cute pics (I hope) and tales of being on the road with a seventh month old shortly.