Babies

Mylostone – Pulling Up

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Last night my son Mylo pulled himself up on to the shelf underneath the coffee table – about a half foot off the ground.

Up to no good.

I was proud of this mini-Mylostone but was also under the impression we had some time before he could actually pull himself up. Well, the very next day he crawled over to the TV console, held on to the drawers and pulled himself up. The video I snapped below is of him performing this new trick for the second time. We’re screwed, right?

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I guess rolling off his playmat and chewing on the rug tassels is soooo two months ago!

 

 

 

My Unexpected Relationship With Breastfeeding

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I feel compelled to write something about my unexpected relationship with breastfeeding. Just this week I read a great, balanced post about breastfeeding on a mommy blog I like, and then today, one of Hollywood’s newest moms, Kourtney Kardashian, blogged that she just stopped nursing her 15 month old son.

I was about eight weeks pregnant when my family began asking if I would be breastfeeding my baby. I say “asking,” but really it was more like telling. They were quick to advise me about the health benefits of breastfeeding and about the bonding, too. I told them that I hadn’t given it much thought, and that I’d need to do my own research.

The truth is that I can’t stand being told what to do. The other truth is that I was scared of breastfeeding. It was one thing to squeeze out a baby the size of a watermelon and it was a whole other thing to put my breasts to work, too. And if I were to be really honest, I was terrified I would fail at it. I was more fearful of failing at breastfeeding then I was of giving birth, but now that I have done both, I can say that I should have feared the latter, more.

Soon after I gave birth to a healthy baby boy we named Mylo, my midwife introduced him to my breasts and we fumbled quite a bit. I was in awe of what just happened, of what just came out of me and I remember wanting to be on my Blackberry more than I wanted to breastfeed. And because Mylo was exhausted from the whole birthing experience I turned him over to his father while I got to work fielding calls, emails, texts and Facebook. What a mistake that was.

While my son did suckle a little bit during his first couple of hours of life, it was not enough. The doctors on the maternity ward informed me the next day that his bilirubin level was dangerously high and that we would have to spend another night.

So while the first night in the hospital was exciting because my husband roomed in with the baby and me, the second night was just me and a cast iron, industrial size hospital breast pump machine. Jason went home to our menagerie and Mylo spent the night in the NICU under the lights. The indescribable high I felt from labor, birth and the fact that this incredible little person had just entered my life was gone, and a cold hard reality about my new found responsibilities had set in.

I woke every two hours to pump my breasts only to fill the NICU bottles with droplets of my colostrum. My nipples were the size of my big toes and I was in pain. At the behest of the NICU nurse I mixed my colostrum with formula to help Mylo’s bilirubin level go down. By the next day it had gone down a little and we were reluctantly discharged.

Breastfeeding my son in the hospital on day two of his life.

Only I am to blame for how breastfeeding began and believe me, I feel great regret about it. But I also think I have redeemed myself. After the bilirubin setback, I made breastfeeding a priority for at least six months.

When we got home from the hospital I walked around the apartment in an ugly nursing bra feeding Mylo almost every hour until my milk came in on the fourth day. I kept a journal. I fed him until he dozed off and until I dozed off. Eat, sleep, feed. That’s all I did. I had new found respect for our four-legged friends.

But breastfeeding did not come without its challenges. The first few weeks of breastfeeding were met with mind-numbing headaches almost the instant as my son began to suckle. My midwife thought I was dehydrated (but I was and always have been a BIG water drinker). I didn’t know how I could possibly continue until Mylo’s pediatrician and my lactation consultant confirmed it was a common hormone-related side effect that would work itself out. Three weeks into breastfeeding the headaches were gone for good.

After my painful experience with the hospital pump, I feared my Medela Swing Breast Pump and put off using it for weeks. (Little did I know that it was 1,000 times gentler than the hospital pump.) Then there was the bucket loads of spit-up to manage and the reflux that Mylo was diagnosed with.

After Mylo’s two-month appointment with the pediatrician I proclaimed to my husband, “two months down, four months to go!” But the challenges that accompany breastfeeding have a way of working themselves out. The pain goes away, you find a rhythm, the baby’s stomach matures and the reflux goes away, the spit up becomes less, and, dare I say… you grow to love it. I sure did.

It also helped that I found comfort and friendship in an army of new moms in my Brooklyn neighborhood who were struggling with nursing issues of their own. I have breastfed Mylo in public with 20 or more women at a time, in movie theaters, in my car, in dressing rooms, at restaurants and even in bars.

A little over a month ago I wrote a post in which I called breastfeeding a 2 1/2 year old “strange.” While I know that is definitely not for me, I do regret saying what I did as I know I offended many women. It was shortsighted of me to put an end date on nursing my son. For someone who didn’t even know if I wanted to breastfeed at all, I have not only passed my six month goal, but I have not set a new one.

People always have something to say about how long is too long or not long enough to breastfeed. I was one of them. But I have learned that this is a personal decision that is best left up to the baby and their mommy, as I have decided to leave it up to my son and me.

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I would be delighted to hear about other mother’s struggles and/or fears about breastfeeding and how they overcame them.

 

Mylostone – Sitting Up

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This Mylostone is a precursor to walking: sitting up. My son Mylo has been sitting up quite well and pretty much unsupported since he was almost 6 months old. That’s not to say he doesn’t lose his balance or topple over from time to time, because he does. But the little guy can sit up, thrust his head from side to side and bang toys together in the air with the best of em.

Sitting surpringly still for a change.

While I am in awe of my son’s rapid development and just how strong he is, I only wish he would stay sitting like he is in the picture above for more than five minutes at a time. Usually what happens is he gets bored, or frustrated and he throws himself down on the ground in protest (hitting his head on the way) and proceeds to crawl all over the apartment getting into things he should NOT be getting into. Like let’s see, the dog’s water bowl. The cat’s food bowl. The power cords (we have to child proof those, I know), the shoes on the shoe rack, the front tire to his stroller and the list goes on.

My mother-in-law said to me today, “wait until he starts walking.” Really? Here I am thinking that walking could/should make our lives easier. NOT HARDER! We. Are. So. Screwed.

Mylostone – Smartphone

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This Mylostone is for you, Granna…

I’ll admit, I am on my Blackberry a lot and if I’m not on it, it’s never not within arm’s reach. During my son Mylo’s early days when I became a new mom and nursing was long and arduous, when I fed him for up to half an hour at a time, sometimes every hour, I found a lot of solace and comfort in my trusty smartphone. When I wasn’t texting or playing Word Mole I would read Facebook status update after Facebook status update after Facebook status update. And when that got old I installed the Twitter app on my Blackberry.

A couple of months ago when I was at BuyBuy Baby with my mom we saw a onesie that read, “Stop Texting and Change Me.” She quipped that mine should say, “Stop Texting and Feed Me.”

Let me make something clear before I go any further. I never denied my son a feeding because I was on my phone. My mom’s objection with my phone is a generational one. She has a cell phone but it’s never on because she doesn’t like being found. I know what you’re thinking, why bother having one, right?

My mom couldn’t believe that I was on my phone during a time that is meant for fostering a deep bond between mother and infant. To that I say there is little bonding going on in the early days of breastfeeding. Until Mylo was about 1 month old I was hard pressed to see any bonding in breastfeeding. It was painful. It was demanding. It was lonely. It was time consuming. And it instilled in me a deep appreciation for our four-legged mammal friends. (Especially since they don’t have a smartphone to turn to.)

The good news is that Mylo is 6 months and almost 2 weeks old and I am still nursing and absolutely loving it. I am no longer on my Blackberry during feedings the way I used to be. Feedings are shorter and hours apart and when he is on my breast I coo at him, caress him and delight in making him smile or laugh while he is sucking. The bonding part of breastfeeding is in full force now and no text message, Facebook status update or Tweet would ever take precedence over what I share with my son during this time.

On the other hand, all that time spent on my Blackberry coupled with my son’s development has made him a budding smartphone candidate. He is obsessed with my phone. And much to my mom’s chagrin, I tell him, “Soon enough baby boy, you will have your own cell phone. Mommy’s gonna track you down everywhere!”

Hopefully by the time he has a phone, the "ignore call" option will be a thing of the past.

Sleep Training

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I’ve been keeping a dirty little secret. Ever since our son Mylo was born, we’ve only slept through the night once, and even then it was a fluke. I understand that during the first few months of his life the no sleep thing is normal, but he’s 6 months old now and we just cannot go on like this.

My group of mom friends with babies the same age as Mylo have been buzzing about sleep training for the last couple of months. A few have returned to their full-time jobs and so establishing a routine in order to help prepare their babies for daycare was important. But we were not in the same boat so I did nothing with the useful information they were sharing. Ferber who?

Putting Mylo to bed usually goes something like this: breastfeeding, rocking in the rocking chair, walking around the house with all the lights out, breastfeeding, breastfeeding, breastfeeding. Jason and I have been stuck in newborn mode, scared to put Mylo down in his crib while he is still awake.

Our middle of the nights go something like this: get woken up by him in the middle of the night, deliriously transport him from crib to bed, nurse, sleep, nurse, sleep, nurse. Although there’s always much more nursing going on then there is sleeping.

Recently, my husband Jason asked me why weren’t doing sleep training like my mom friends were. For starters, we have a one bedroom. Granted it’s large, but how could we sleep train in a one bedroom when I’m still breastfeeding? Everything I read says that a mom in the same bedroom as baby who is not planning on nursing is like holding cake up to someone but not letting him have a bite!

But then Mylo’s pediatrician emailed us a sleep training book that she’s a big fan of — The Sleep Sense Program by Dana Obleman. I read it and finally understood how important it is to have a bedtime routine.

This past Monday, we began sleep training. While I didn’t have high hopes because of our one bedroom, I decided to put more emphasis on putting Mylo to bed at night and lessened my expectations of him actually sleeping through the night.

It’s been four nights now and I cannot believe the way he has taken to it. The routine takes a half hour each night and begins with a bath, followed by pajamas, a book, nursing and putting Mylo in the crib awake. He cried the first night for 13 minutes, fussed for less then five the next two nights and cried hysterically for six minutes last night.

In the middle of the night on the first night of sleep training he woke up twice. Both times we laid there and did not go to him. He didn’t cry but moaned and played and then eventually fell back asleep. Or maybe we fell asleep first. The second night he woke up one time in the middle of the night. And then the last two nights in a row… knock on wood… baby boy SLEPT THROUGH THE NIGHT!!

The routine, while time consuming, is fun. And in reality it takes less time and energy than our previous routine of rocking, nursing and soothing him to sleep. What’s more, this new routine gives me and Jason more time together. Time to connect and be intimate, which I almost forgot how important and fun that can be.

Putting baby boy in the crib awake. Who knew that's what you were supposed to do.

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Does your infant sleep through the night? Do you have any other sleep training tricks I don’t know about? If so, share the wealth!

Our Midwife, Beverly Woodard CNM

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This post has been a long time coming. It’s about our midwife and has been brewing in my mind and in my heart for some time now.

Last March when I was halfway through my pregnancy, we ended our prenatal care with our OB/GYN and set out to find a midwife. My husband Jason and I had just seen The Business of Being Born which was an eye opener for us since we were new to everything regarding birth and babies.

We first met Beverly Woodard of Fruition Midwifery at her office in Chelsea on March 30, 2010. She was the only one of a half dozen women I had called who was willing to take me into her practice. I write about our decision to switch from an OB/GYN to a midwife in an earlier post, here.

Before I met Beverly my impression of a midwife was someone who was was warm, maternal and perhaps a bit crunchy. Beverly was anything but that. She was a whippersnapper. She was autocratic, and she took great pleasure in shooting down our fanciful, liberal hopes for a drug-free birth. She was also impeccably groomed.

The months that followed in the rest of my pregnancy I would come to question our decision to leave our OB/GYN for a midwife. Beverly’s care was top notch, but we were not gelling the way I had hoped. When I brought my mom along to my 34 week appointment to meet Beverly, she said she understood how I felt but that one thing was for certain: Beverly knew her babies.

And so I kept this mantra in my head for the next six weeks and it helped. At my 38 week appointment Beverly advised me to buy some castor oil from Duane Reade and to drink it if my water broke but contractions did not follow. This was the first of many signs that Beverly was in fact fully supportive of my plans for a natural birth.

My labor and delivery was long and arduous, but also all-natural. I say the following with not one iota of uncertainty: I would not have had the labor and birth that I did had it not been for Beverly. I have written in length about my son’s birth story, here.

I labored for 30 hours from start to finish. Beverly provided phone support via text earlier in the day when I was very functional and then over the phone with Jason later on at night when I had moved from the latent phase of labor to the active phase of labor.

Beverly was also very supportive in the hospital. She staved off interventions such as an epidural, excessive fetal heart monitoring, internals and more. She held me from behind and swayed with me when I was at my worst. She patted my forehead with a damp washcloth. She told stories to distract me from the pain. I was wrong all along. Beverly was in fact extremely maternal.

At 9:00 am on Monday, August 9th, after six hours of blood, sweat, tears and other bodily fluids, Beverly even let me deliver my own baby! How selfless. Here’s a woman who’s job it was to present me with my baby and instead, presented me with my crowning moment in life.

With our midwife Beverly Woodard who is not just magnificent and maternal but modest, too. We had to beg her to pose in this family photo with us.

Later that day, when the endorphins and excitement of the arrival of our son began to settle in, my husband said it best: “If you were going into battle, Beverly is just the kind of person you would want next to you in the trenches.” I could not have agreed more. Beverly is not just the person who delivered our first born. She is a part of our family now, and I cannot wait to go into battle with her again. Let’s just hope it won’t be for a couple of more years. :)

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What about you, do you have a lot of love for the medical professional who helped bring your children into the world? Why or why not?

Granna’s Lentil Soup

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My mom makes the best lentil soup ever. She makes a lot of things well but her lentil soup has turned me into a sort of lentil soup snob. The recipe, which happens to be 100% vegan, is quite simple from what I understand. It has four ingredients: water, lentils, salt and onions. The most labor intensive part is the mincing and sauteeing of the onions. And since onions make my eyes tear and my hair smell, I’ve never bothered to make it.

But it may be time to learn because not only do I love my mom’s lentil soup, but my husband Jason is a big fan, and, well, so now is our son! Mylo had his first taste of his granna’s lentil soup today and the child could not get enough. He delighted in every slurp and moaned in between spoonfuls while his dad would go back to the bowl and reload. And as you can see from the below photo, he sported the brown remnants of each bite with pride!

Granna, it's delish!

I watched adoringly from the side as this was all going on. But I was also quick to finish every last lentil in my bowl aware that Jason was frustrated by what started out as HIS bowl of soup, had quickly become our 6 month old’s. And, well, if you know Jason and how well he does NOT share food, then you would have gotten a real kick out of it, too.

NOT YOUR SOUP!!

Six Months: From Helpless to Human

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There’s been so many milestones, or as I like to call them, Mylostones, from birth to 6 months. The rate at which my son Mylo has developed from 5 months to 6 months though, has been most remarkable. I had to tell my son “no” quite sternly for the very first time recently.

I can’t hep but marvel at how much he’s developed from a helpless little baby to a small human with clear likes and dislikes and the magnificent ability to manipulate the things, and the people, around him. He army crawls around the floor with amazing dexterity and speed, h kicks things forcefully, he pushes things towards him and away from him. He negotiates the space around him with the precision of a watchmaker. Ok, not quite. But you get my drift.

Mylostone – Times Square

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A New York City Mylostone down the hatch! We celebrated the birthdays at Carmine’s in Times Square Friday night and I think my son Mylo enjoyed himself more in the middle of Times Square than he did at the restaurant. Lights it seem, are more fascinating than eggplant parmasean the size of Texas!

No, seriously, the boy loves just about ANYTHING that lights up. Our Blackberries, his baby mobile, and now the busiest neighborhood in Manhattan. While his dad carried him around, he stared dead ahead with his eyes affixed to the blinking billboard monstrosities and his mouth was agape with wonder. It’s anyone’s guess how I was even able to get his attention long enough to snap this photo!

Times Square is nothing. Wait until he see Vegas!

Times Square: A baby mobile on steroids.

Cool Pad, School Bad

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We went to look at a new-construction apartment last Sunday in Brooklyn. We weren’t initially looking to move until this summer, when our son Mylo is about 1 year-old, but that ever-ticking time bomb that serves as a reminder that we need a bigger apartment, is beginning to tick louder and louder.

We saw a few different units, and the one I liked the most was the one with the biggest open kitchen – which is ironic given the amount of cooking that I do. Another appeal of the apartment is that the bedrooms and living room overlooked a New York City public school yard. Convenient, I thought seeing how we’re looking to get at least five years out of our next apartment. But my Internet search on the school when we got home quickly killed any visions of me baking a casserole in the big kitchen while watching Mylo play in the schoolyard.

The apt. overlooked this NYC public school.

The school rated a 1 out of 10 and was hurting in the test scores and in the quality-of-teachers department. We didn’t take the pad. But even more alarming was that some parents reviewed the school as home to “Brooklyn’s roughest”. These are kids mind you, PK – 5! One parent wrote that her son came home with bumps and bruises. Bumps and bruises?!

It fast-forwarded me to a place of parenting that I haven’t even considered yet. Math homework, mean kids, schoolyard scuffles, bullying… was I prepared for any of this? No, not yet. Which is why we high-tailed it out of there and back to our cozy one-bedroom apartment complete with Manhattan views and our innocent, not-yet-ready-for-school 6-month old baby.