Decided to take a new direction with this blog.
My mother in law showed me some letters recently that go with her geneology projects-- letters from people at war, far away from family telling about everyday life, about deeper things alongside the mundane, and accompanied by photos.
As I travel the road of motherhood, I often wonder what my parents thought and did and hoped for when I was 1, 2, 2 months. How they coped with two small children, then three. If there are things they wanted to capture, to teach us, things we could be reading and looking back on now.
So I'm going to make my posts from here letters to Juliet and/or Simon. Things I want them to know, to learn, to remember, things I want to remember. And the photos, of course.
Some might be lighthearted and short and others wordy and sappy, but I like the idea of capturing our life, my thoughts, feelings, hopes in letter form.
Stay tuned.
Thursday, 18 November 2010
Wednesday, 17 November 2010
Velcro Babies
I was one of those people who visits baby message boards, reads the phrase "attachment parenting," and scratches her head.
Truth be told, after much google research and book-reading, it turns out there are different interpretations of what it means, but it also seems I'm doing it.
I hesitate (and have) to label myself as "AP," mainly because Juliet wasn't breastfed, but it's kind of my natural way of doing things (that is, I don't do things because I want to follow the attachemnt parenting way or because I read it in Dr Sears-- I do it because it feels like what's right for my babies and my family.)
Both babies sleep/slept in our room, at least for 6 months. I don't co-sleep because our bed is too small and I would not rest well knowing they were right there under us, but I have brought Juliet into bed when she was sick, and I see the appeal. If our bed was bigger, we might. But they both have/had the moses basket in our room, so I can hear them, smell them, tend to any needs. It's nice.
I also don't believe in letting a child/baby cry. As Juliet's grown older, I've had to differentiate between crying and tantrum-ing, which I do let her do (but mainly because I want her to grow up thinking it's OK to have strong feelings and to get them out-- I'm forever saying, "I know you're mad/sad/upset-- it's ok to cry. I'll let you cool down a bit.") She never cried it out. I tried it once when she was jet lagged and I was desperate for her to go to sleep, and it was torture for us both. I wouldn't ever tell another mum not to do it-- every baby and every family has different needs and I respect a mother's right to do what's best for her baby.
I sling my babies. Babywearing has become more popular lately-- thanks maybe to Brangelina and their brood. I can say that I really fid it convienent now I have two-- it's easier to pop Juliet in her Maclaren and Simon in the sling when I'm out on my own with them both. We have a Moby Wrap (a long piece of cloth that you tie around yourself in a way that would make boy scouts blush), a Baba Sling (more like a pouch that goes around you and buckles at the shoulder), and a connecta (more like the baby bjorn carriers-- has a defined seat and straps around the waist and over the shoulders like a rucksack.) Each has its uses. Right now, while Simon is small, the Moby is working well. I love having his little head right there to kiss, feeling him breathe against me. I love how he snuggles his little head in. I love that he has a little stripey hat that matches the Moby (I'm a sucker for cute things!). It kind of reminds me of being pregnant again, and I suspect it reminds Simon of being inside, which is the point-- to make him comfortable and happy.
We did baby-led weaning with Juliet (more about that soon, I suspect, as Simon begnis weaning around 6 months). I "bottle nursed" her-- which is holding her close and giving her bottles-- she never had them propped up. I let Simon comfort suck at the breast if he needs it.
I also spend most of my babies' lives with them. I'm staying at home, more out of necessity (Steve's working hours would make any nursery arrangement difficult), but when I went into the hospital in July overnight-- it was the first night I'd ever been away from Juliet. Sure they go off with the grandparents now and again, to give me a break or whatever, but I am always there at the end of the day with cuddles and kisses. I kind of believe this is part of why Juliet is so confident with new people-- she's got the knowledge that I'm there to give her love and support and gentle guidance.
I think my way of parenting, my philosophy, is that I want them to feel loved. I want them to be confident in trying and doing things because they know I'm right there, I'm supporting them and doing anything and everything to be a gentle, loving parent. I believe that love oes a long way out in the scary, big world. SO I want them to have as much as possible.
I can see why this definitely doesn't work for all families, and how some people see it as spoiling children. As I said, I don't begrudge any family the right to do things as they see fit-- most children turn out fine in the end, no matter what, but this is what works for us. This is what makes me feel like a good mum, and like I'm meeting my children's emotional needs, which is very important to me, especially as I'm the only parent they have most of the time.
Truth be told, after much google research and book-reading, it turns out there are different interpretations of what it means, but it also seems I'm doing it.
I hesitate (and have) to label myself as "AP," mainly because Juliet wasn't breastfed, but it's kind of my natural way of doing things (that is, I don't do things because I want to follow the attachemnt parenting way or because I read it in Dr Sears-- I do it because it feels like what's right for my babies and my family.)
Both babies sleep/slept in our room, at least for 6 months. I don't co-sleep because our bed is too small and I would not rest well knowing they were right there under us, but I have brought Juliet into bed when she was sick, and I see the appeal. If our bed was bigger, we might. But they both have/had the moses basket in our room, so I can hear them, smell them, tend to any needs. It's nice.
I also don't believe in letting a child/baby cry. As Juliet's grown older, I've had to differentiate between crying and tantrum-ing, which I do let her do (but mainly because I want her to grow up thinking it's OK to have strong feelings and to get them out-- I'm forever saying, "I know you're mad/sad/upset-- it's ok to cry. I'll let you cool down a bit.") She never cried it out. I tried it once when she was jet lagged and I was desperate for her to go to sleep, and it was torture for us both. I wouldn't ever tell another mum not to do it-- every baby and every family has different needs and I respect a mother's right to do what's best for her baby.
I sling my babies. Babywearing has become more popular lately-- thanks maybe to Brangelina and their brood. I can say that I really fid it convienent now I have two-- it's easier to pop Juliet in her Maclaren and Simon in the sling when I'm out on my own with them both. We have a Moby Wrap (a long piece of cloth that you tie around yourself in a way that would make boy scouts blush), a Baba Sling (more like a pouch that goes around you and buckles at the shoulder), and a connecta (more like the baby bjorn carriers-- has a defined seat and straps around the waist and over the shoulders like a rucksack.) Each has its uses. Right now, while Simon is small, the Moby is working well. I love having his little head right there to kiss, feeling him breathe against me. I love how he snuggles his little head in. I love that he has a little stripey hat that matches the Moby (I'm a sucker for cute things!). It kind of reminds me of being pregnant again, and I suspect it reminds Simon of being inside, which is the point-- to make him comfortable and happy.
We did baby-led weaning with Juliet (more about that soon, I suspect, as Simon begnis weaning around 6 months). I "bottle nursed" her-- which is holding her close and giving her bottles-- she never had them propped up. I let Simon comfort suck at the breast if he needs it.
I also spend most of my babies' lives with them. I'm staying at home, more out of necessity (Steve's working hours would make any nursery arrangement difficult), but when I went into the hospital in July overnight-- it was the first night I'd ever been away from Juliet. Sure they go off with the grandparents now and again, to give me a break or whatever, but I am always there at the end of the day with cuddles and kisses. I kind of believe this is part of why Juliet is so confident with new people-- she's got the knowledge that I'm there to give her love and support and gentle guidance.
I think my way of parenting, my philosophy, is that I want them to feel loved. I want them to be confident in trying and doing things because they know I'm right there, I'm supporting them and doing anything and everything to be a gentle, loving parent. I believe that love oes a long way out in the scary, big world. SO I want them to have as much as possible.
I can see why this definitely doesn't work for all families, and how some people see it as spoiling children. As I said, I don't begrudge any family the right to do things as they see fit-- most children turn out fine in the end, no matter what, but this is what works for us. This is what makes me feel like a good mum, and like I'm meeting my children's emotional needs, which is very important to me, especially as I'm the only parent they have most of the time.
Sunday, 14 November 2010
Breastfeeding
So Simon is a boob man.
This is no small thing for me. I'm so thrilled he's doing so well. I wanted it to work out badly. But, the questions, outside pressure, and doubts have started to creep in and I'm freaking. A little.
Before I had Juliet, I just assumed she'd be breastfed. It's what women do. My mother did. I never doubted it-- I bought bras, nipple creams, tops, and a pump. I was sure it'd be easy.
It wasn't. I lost a lot of blood during her birth and ended up with low iron. The midwives on the hospital ward told me this would affect me supply. I couldn't get her to latch on without help, and when I asked, the (admitedly overworked) midwives came along, grabbed my boob and her head and then left. On the second night in the hospital, a midwife suggested I give her a bottle. That was the beginning of the end. I learned once home to get her latched on, but I kept giving the bottles. Sometimes it was easier to let someone else feed her while I saw to other things (including looking after myself). I never established a good supply, for whatever reason. Probably some combination of my not knowing what to do to get things going well, and stress, and PCOS, which I later learned can cause supply problems. I considered every bottle a failure on my part. I was overcome with anxiety that not breastfeeding her meant she would defintiely die from cot death. I struggled on my own without asking for more help for 12 weeks and then quit and started taking antidepressants. I was devastated. Heartbroken. I'd failed as a mother and a woman.
A day didn't pass (and still doesn't) that I didn't regret how it ended. I ached to see mothers nursing their young toddlers. I wanted to do the same. I had to grieve for it, accept that she thrived on the formula, and move on the best I could, but my heart still hurt over it. Still does.
However, had I still been breastfeeding, we might not have had Simon. So God's plans sometimes work in mysterious ways.
Within 10 minutes of Simon being born, I had him latched on without help. I'd worried in the end of my pregnancy about it-- I wanted it to work, but I think I was scared of the heartache if it didn't work out again. I kind of tossed around the idea of just giving him bottles from the beginning, but decided to give it a shot. I had more help. Hindsight. Articles read. I was much better prepared.
In the hospital, my iron was very low again (talk of a transfusion floated around). I kept on. He spent most of those first three days on the breast. All night. I was exhausted and very sore, but so stinking proud to be actually feeding my baby that I kept on. And on. A midwife came the second evening and had a talk with me. She and the other mideives had obseerved how much he was feeding, and how tired I was. She told me that I'd never establish a supply if I didn't get some sleep and heal. I knew she was right. She suggested topping him up with 1 oz of formula. My heart sank.
I left the hospital giving him 1-2 oz after most feeds, and feeding every hour, at least. This is part of where I got it wrong the first time-- it's bloody hard. Nobody tells you that. It's a lot of work in the beginning, and work you can't get help with. It's exhausting and painful and full of worry that he's not getting enough to eat. My mum came to visit and told me I was feeding him too much. He cried a lot and I let him suck for comfort. He gained a pound in a week when the midwife came to weigh him 1 week after we got home. I worried I was overfeeding him. She said cut out the supplementing. I did-- he hasn't had that since.
So now we're at 6 weeks. People say it's supposed to get easier now. It has in some ways. It doesn't hurt anymore. I've been taking goat's rue, and seem to have a good supply. He's getting enough because he's growing. I love the way he puts his little hand on me when he's feeding. That I'm the only one who can give him that. It's kind of nice. And I'm not depressed about it.
But I'm still worried. I think he has a milk allergy. He was having loads of mucus in his throat at night-- breathing funny and causing more worry. I gave up dairy and he stopped. He was throwing up loads after eevry feed, even on reflux medicine, and crying. Bringing up clear stuff I assume was acid. Struggling with loads of gas. He still feeds every 2 hours. I made the mistake of reading a breastfeeding book that said babies should be able to go 3-4 hours at his age. He doesn't.And he doesn't feed for the 20-45 minutes I've been told he should. He's a 10 minutes every hour or so kind of baby. Is that down to his reflux? And he's gained 3 lbs in 6 weeks. Am I making him fat? Am I overfeeding? Am I setting him up to associate food with comfort? Or am I projecting my own issues with food and body onto him? Doesn't it count for anything that he's very long?
I don't know the answers. Often with parenting, that's the way-- you have to try to do what's best without letting everyone else tell you what you should be doing, to take all the advice with a grain of salt and without letting yourself feel insulted and incapable when it doesn't match what you're doing. Sod the baby whisperer-- he's my baby and I'll have to make my way. I'll have to find the right balance. I want to parent him with love. I can't let him cry-- it's not my style. I can't "hold him off" until it's 3 hours since the last feed. Maybe I'll have to learn to, I don't know. I have my health visitor coming tomorrow and plan to unload all this craziness on her. I have our 8 week GP check next week. I've started going to a breastfeeding support group. We'll see what happens, but right now, I feel confused and worried.
And I have no beef with anyone who formula feeds for any reason. I understand why. I did it. My baby was fine. In some ways, it was easier. But I will keep on with this as long as I can, because I love doing it. It's maybe a little selfush, but it makes me happy, so that's the right thing to do.
This is no small thing for me. I'm so thrilled he's doing so well. I wanted it to work out badly. But, the questions, outside pressure, and doubts have started to creep in and I'm freaking. A little.
Before I had Juliet, I just assumed she'd be breastfed. It's what women do. My mother did. I never doubted it-- I bought bras, nipple creams, tops, and a pump. I was sure it'd be easy.
It wasn't. I lost a lot of blood during her birth and ended up with low iron. The midwives on the hospital ward told me this would affect me supply. I couldn't get her to latch on without help, and when I asked, the (admitedly overworked) midwives came along, grabbed my boob and her head and then left. On the second night in the hospital, a midwife suggested I give her a bottle. That was the beginning of the end. I learned once home to get her latched on, but I kept giving the bottles. Sometimes it was easier to let someone else feed her while I saw to other things (including looking after myself). I never established a good supply, for whatever reason. Probably some combination of my not knowing what to do to get things going well, and stress, and PCOS, which I later learned can cause supply problems. I considered every bottle a failure on my part. I was overcome with anxiety that not breastfeeding her meant she would defintiely die from cot death. I struggled on my own without asking for more help for 12 weeks and then quit and started taking antidepressants. I was devastated. Heartbroken. I'd failed as a mother and a woman.
A day didn't pass (and still doesn't) that I didn't regret how it ended. I ached to see mothers nursing their young toddlers. I wanted to do the same. I had to grieve for it, accept that she thrived on the formula, and move on the best I could, but my heart still hurt over it. Still does.
However, had I still been breastfeeding, we might not have had Simon. So God's plans sometimes work in mysterious ways.
Within 10 minutes of Simon being born, I had him latched on without help. I'd worried in the end of my pregnancy about it-- I wanted it to work, but I think I was scared of the heartache if it didn't work out again. I kind of tossed around the idea of just giving him bottles from the beginning, but decided to give it a shot. I had more help. Hindsight. Articles read. I was much better prepared.
In the hospital, my iron was very low again (talk of a transfusion floated around). I kept on. He spent most of those first three days on the breast. All night. I was exhausted and very sore, but so stinking proud to be actually feeding my baby that I kept on. And on. A midwife came the second evening and had a talk with me. She and the other mideives had obseerved how much he was feeding, and how tired I was. She told me that I'd never establish a supply if I didn't get some sleep and heal. I knew she was right. She suggested topping him up with 1 oz of formula. My heart sank.
I left the hospital giving him 1-2 oz after most feeds, and feeding every hour, at least. This is part of where I got it wrong the first time-- it's bloody hard. Nobody tells you that. It's a lot of work in the beginning, and work you can't get help with. It's exhausting and painful and full of worry that he's not getting enough to eat. My mum came to visit and told me I was feeding him too much. He cried a lot and I let him suck for comfort. He gained a pound in a week when the midwife came to weigh him 1 week after we got home. I worried I was overfeeding him. She said cut out the supplementing. I did-- he hasn't had that since.
So now we're at 6 weeks. People say it's supposed to get easier now. It has in some ways. It doesn't hurt anymore. I've been taking goat's rue, and seem to have a good supply. He's getting enough because he's growing. I love the way he puts his little hand on me when he's feeding. That I'm the only one who can give him that. It's kind of nice. And I'm not depressed about it.
But I'm still worried. I think he has a milk allergy. He was having loads of mucus in his throat at night-- breathing funny and causing more worry. I gave up dairy and he stopped. He was throwing up loads after eevry feed, even on reflux medicine, and crying. Bringing up clear stuff I assume was acid. Struggling with loads of gas. He still feeds every 2 hours. I made the mistake of reading a breastfeeding book that said babies should be able to go 3-4 hours at his age. He doesn't.And he doesn't feed for the 20-45 minutes I've been told he should. He's a 10 minutes every hour or so kind of baby. Is that down to his reflux? And he's gained 3 lbs in 6 weeks. Am I making him fat? Am I overfeeding? Am I setting him up to associate food with comfort? Or am I projecting my own issues with food and body onto him? Doesn't it count for anything that he's very long?
I don't know the answers. Often with parenting, that's the way-- you have to try to do what's best without letting everyone else tell you what you should be doing, to take all the advice with a grain of salt and without letting yourself feel insulted and incapable when it doesn't match what you're doing. Sod the baby whisperer-- he's my baby and I'll have to make my way. I'll have to find the right balance. I want to parent him with love. I can't let him cry-- it's not my style. I can't "hold him off" until it's 3 hours since the last feed. Maybe I'll have to learn to, I don't know. I have my health visitor coming tomorrow and plan to unload all this craziness on her. I have our 8 week GP check next week. I've started going to a breastfeeding support group. We'll see what happens, but right now, I feel confused and worried.
And I have no beef with anyone who formula feeds for any reason. I understand why. I did it. My baby was fine. In some ways, it was easier. But I will keep on with this as long as I can, because I love doing it. It's maybe a little selfush, but it makes me happy, so that's the right thing to do.
Friday, 12 November 2010
What Day Is It Again?
I have a list in my head of all these wonderful things I want to write about, to explore and get out, but tonight, I just can't.
It's 8:40 and I've been awake anout 17 hours now. I'm pretty tired.
But, I feel good. I took Juliet to a Mini Movers class this morning, which she did really well in and which she seemed to enjoy. I took her and Simon on my own, which made me feel really good-- capable, even! Simon slept in the sling for most of it, but I have to say crouching down, kneeling, bending, jumping and skipping with an 11 lb baby strapped to you is hard, especially when seriously unfit following rough pregnancy. Still, I managed and the exercise might be good! Think we'll go back next week.
And I felt good also because my Juliet is so cute. I know all kids are cute, but she looked so sweet with her little ponytail bobbing and, even though I know I look like a hot pile of rubbish at the moment, I take great pride in having a well-dressed brood. I'm always really happy in what I dress her in to go out, and compliments just make me that little bit more proud (not as proud as compliments on her behaviour, but still, I like having a cute, well-dressed kid!)
Also managed to do some washing, bathe the baby and list about 20-odd things on ebay (out of about 100 that need to go on!). Not bad for half-zombie state, really. I feel like I have a million and one things to catch up on. The filing. Ordering prints of photos. Christmas lists/budgeting. Washing and organising the toys. But those things can wait. My babies need me. I need to slow down and love them.
By the way, it's Friday, apparently.
It's 8:40 and I've been awake anout 17 hours now. I'm pretty tired.
But, I feel good. I took Juliet to a Mini Movers class this morning, which she did really well in and which she seemed to enjoy. I took her and Simon on my own, which made me feel really good-- capable, even! Simon slept in the sling for most of it, but I have to say crouching down, kneeling, bending, jumping and skipping with an 11 lb baby strapped to you is hard, especially when seriously unfit following rough pregnancy. Still, I managed and the exercise might be good! Think we'll go back next week.
And I felt good also because my Juliet is so cute. I know all kids are cute, but she looked so sweet with her little ponytail bobbing and, even though I know I look like a hot pile of rubbish at the moment, I take great pride in having a well-dressed brood. I'm always really happy in what I dress her in to go out, and compliments just make me that little bit more proud (not as proud as compliments on her behaviour, but still, I like having a cute, well-dressed kid!)
Also managed to do some washing, bathe the baby and list about 20-odd things on ebay (out of about 100 that need to go on!). Not bad for half-zombie state, really. I feel like I have a million and one things to catch up on. The filing. Ordering prints of photos. Christmas lists/budgeting. Washing and organising the toys. But those things can wait. My babies need me. I need to slow down and love them.
By the way, it's Friday, apparently.
Thursday, 11 November 2010
Why My Hands are Full...
Sometimes I see these people with 9 kids (or 19), or sextuplets, or even 3 or 4 kids and I feel guilty for feeling so frazzled having two. How can I possibly be so busy?
Well, I have two under two, which probably isn't as hard in many ways as having multiples, but it is hard. I have one who does things and moves at her 22-month-old pace, and one who wants to be held constantly. Juliet's had me her whole life to herself, and expects me to give her some of me. I expect that, too. Doesn't always work out like that, but I try. She needs her meals at mealtimes, and snacks. She need stories and baths and Simon needs a lot. I'm breastfeeding him, which is a whole new world to me, and so satisfying, but also means that I simply can't do everything I want to be doing. I can't hand him off to someone with a bottle. I can't take a nap with Juliet after a particularly rough night. Simon has reflux (and possibly a milk allergy), which means he cries a lot. He needs to be held and winded and wiped up a lot. It's exhausting without a toddler to contend with at the same time.
Then there's the fact that I'm doing it mostly on my own. There are a lot of reasons for this. The biggest is Steve's working schedule. He's gone a lot of hours each week and when he's on nights, we're a bit like passing ships (not to mention the need to keep the kids relatively quiet while he sleeps). Then there's his general personality, which is not to get involved in the parenting decisions. He has had to step up some since Simon has arrived, but he's fairly hands-off. This is an area we have to work on. Marriage is hard, but we love each other and love our children-- those are hard truths, so the rest we can work through. Things had got a lot easier for us when Juliet reached sort of 10 months, and that happened so quickly-- I know we'll be back to that easier stage before I know it.
Oh, and I'm a little obsessive compulsive when it comes to tidyness and housework. How I love my lists, and even more than that love ticking things off the lists. Letting that go is in itself hard work, but I'm trying.
So I think I'll give myself a little break. I'm doing a pretty good job. My children are smart, loved, cuddled, clean, fed, and kissed to death, so overall I think I can just about manage these hectic early days. My days are pretty packed, and sometimes I look up and wonder how we got to 8 pm without accomplishing much of what was planned, but every single day I go to sleep saying thank-you prayers for my babies and our little family. I wouldn't trade it for anything.
Well, I have two under two, which probably isn't as hard in many ways as having multiples, but it is hard. I have one who does things and moves at her 22-month-old pace, and one who wants to be held constantly. Juliet's had me her whole life to herself, and expects me to give her some of me. I expect that, too. Doesn't always work out like that, but I try. She needs her meals at mealtimes, and snacks. She need stories and baths and Simon needs a lot. I'm breastfeeding him, which is a whole new world to me, and so satisfying, but also means that I simply can't do everything I want to be doing. I can't hand him off to someone with a bottle. I can't take a nap with Juliet after a particularly rough night. Simon has reflux (and possibly a milk allergy), which means he cries a lot. He needs to be held and winded and wiped up a lot. It's exhausting without a toddler to contend with at the same time.
Then there's the fact that I'm doing it mostly on my own. There are a lot of reasons for this. The biggest is Steve's working schedule. He's gone a lot of hours each week and when he's on nights, we're a bit like passing ships (not to mention the need to keep the kids relatively quiet while he sleeps). Then there's his general personality, which is not to get involved in the parenting decisions. He has had to step up some since Simon has arrived, but he's fairly hands-off. This is an area we have to work on. Marriage is hard, but we love each other and love our children-- those are hard truths, so the rest we can work through. Things had got a lot easier for us when Juliet reached sort of 10 months, and that happened so quickly-- I know we'll be back to that easier stage before I know it.Oh, and I'm a little obsessive compulsive when it comes to tidyness and housework. How I love my lists, and even more than that love ticking things off the lists. Letting that go is in itself hard work, but I'm trying.
Wednesday, 10 November 2010
Intorducing...
A new start with blogging for me. I don't want to forget some of these precious moments and wonderful (and sometimes not-so-wonderful) thoughts and memories, so going to try to get them down in one place. For serious this time.
The star players in my blog:
1. Me. I'm Ellie. I'm a mum, an American ex-pat, a lover of photography, music, books, and coffee.
The star players in my blog:
1. Me. I'm Ellie. I'm a mum, an American ex-pat, a lover of photography, music, books, and coffee.
2. Steve. My husband. Brilliant musician, hard-working taxi driver. Lover of Cricket, Deadliest Catch and computer games.
3. Juliet. My first child. Lover of In the Night Garden, sweets, the outdoors, and shoes.
3. Simon. My new man. Lover of boobs, swaddling, and bathtime.
That's our little family. We have a larger family, of course, who will be introduced I suppose as we go, but those are the three people who make up my little world right now.
Hopefully more to come tomorrow.
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