Cake...

A thing of beauty cake is a joy forever for the 3.2 seconds it takes me to snarf it down.

John Keats Autumn

Why yes, that is a fork on the cake plate.

Mother's Day

I'm going to keep this short, since I'd rather be spending time with my children than sitting in front of a computer, but... I feel like I'm becoming a worse mother as my sons get older. I feel like I started out so great. Patient, kind, wise... But now that I have a three year old, who does what all normal three year olds do, and a baby, who does what all normal babies do, I feel like I'm slipping. Not as patient, not as wise. I'm regressing, guys.

I love being a mom. I love, love, love it. I don't regret, for one second, leaving behind a corporate job with a great salary for my new life as a stay-at-home-mom. Sure, the hours are crap, and the pay sucks, but the benefits are outstanding. Hugs and bedtime stories and the smell of freshly washed hair. "Sing it again, Mama." 

Having said all that, I don't always like being a mom.

It's hard! I don't go to the bathroom alone. Ever. I have to gulp down food when I can, and try to be kind and patient while also setting rules and boundaries. I fail. A lot. I succeed sometimes, too, but the failures weigh heavily on my heart. I should have said, "I don't like when you make that face" instead of, "I don't like that face." I should have used a gentler tone of voice. I should remember that he is three, not seventeen. I want to be someone who can say the same thing over and over again and never get screaming, pull-out-my-hair, lunatic angry after the 3,972,438th time. 

My parents have an old friend who was a huge part of my childhood. He raised five amazing boys (with some pretty amazing women), and is the kindest, most gentle man I know. I never once, in the 38 years I have known him, ever heard him raise his voice. Not once. He is loving and sweet, and every time I am having a bad parenting moment, I try - oh, how I try - to call up his face and take a deep breath, and ask myself what he would do in this situation. My own parents have shaped much of my parenting style, both in what to do and what not to do, but this friend is the parent I aspire to be. He is the gold standard in parenting, and right now I feel like I'm hovering somewhere around aluminum... Shiny and useful, but not exactly a precious metal, you know?

On this Mother's Day, and every day, I will forgive myself my faults and mistakes, and try to remember that I have another day to try to get it right. I will never be perfect, and I will fail many, many more times, but I will also never stop trying to be better. And I'm okay with that.

Happy Mother's Day to all the mamas out there. Give yourself a little extra love and forgiveness today.

My new mantra.

"The days are long but the years are fast with kids."

I came across this article in my Facebook feed today: Breaking Up with Guilt. It's an important piece about letting go of guilt and regret. How no one ever says "I wish I'd spent more time at work" or "watching TV" or "on twitter", and how we should be living the lives we want, rather than guilting ourselves out of them. It's all around good advice, though not necessarily as easily achievable as dropping everything and moving to the country. But still. I try to live my life guilt-free (in terms of how I spend my time, at least), and I'd say I make it about, oh, say 10% of the time. I clearly have some work to do...

But this one line caught my attention. It is such a short and simple sentiment, but captures everything I feel about raising children in a small, neat package. The days are long, but the years are short. I am living that, daily. It seems like just yesterday that my second son was born (5 months ago), and last week that my first was born (3 years ago). Some days fly by - those are the really good days, when everything just flows and works - and some just seem to drag. Those are the tired days. The days where everything goes wrong and I just. Can't. Even. But how has it been 3 years since I held that little marvel in my arms for the first time? Almost four since the second little blue line on the pregnancy test stick? More importantly, how do I slow it down? How do I let the tears and tantrums and every day frustrations roll off my back, and focus on the big picture? The hugs, the kisses, the smiles, the laughter. Knowing that in 20 years time, I won't remember any of the bad moods or tantrums; I'll only remember that time we went to Disney World, and how much fun we had. Or the overwhelming feelings of love and fierce protection. The bedtime stories. The songs. Listening to Winnie the Pooh in the car.

I don't think anyone is exempt from monotony, and there are things we all have to do every day, whether we'd like to or not, but I think there is room in my life to rearrange some priorities. The problem for me is that I don't know where to start, or how to achieve these lofty goals. Ideally, I'd love to live overseas, in Europe, or Japan, or New Zealand, have a big enough piece of property for a garden, maybe a few animals, and a cozy little house. Somewhere close enough to amenities to not be daunting for day trips, but far enough away for some peace and privacy. But how to achieve that? No idea. There is only so much you can accomplish without an income stream, and since I don't foresee becoming suddenly independently wealthy in our future, I guess one of us will need a job. So I suppose it starts with finding a job...? Or maybe it starts with deciding where we'd like to be?

I do know that right now we are focused on getting our lives organized - maximizing the space in our small house, getting rid of stuff we don't need. It's taking longer than I'd like - there are never enough hours in the day - but it's an important job that needs to be done. Maybe part of that process needs to be figuring out how to set aside some money for trips, or a possible move? All I know is that right now, we are working our asses off, hoping that the pay-off will be that we get to do whatever we want at the end, when we retire. But why waste the prime years of our lives just trying to survive to retirement? What if we spent this time doing exactly what we want, instead of waiting for some mythical time in the future? I can't think of a better gift to ourselves, and our children.

Thug Kitchen: A review.

This cookbook is amazing. I didn't bother marking the recipes I wanted to make out of it because I wanted to make every single one. And every one I've made has turned out delicious. And you should absolutely, unequivocally, never, ever buy this book.

First, the review. This book is amazing. I had heard, obliquely, of the Thug Kitchen blog*, but never looked it up. I also heard all about the controversy surrounding the cookbook when the authors, who had previously been anonymous, went public to promote the book. If you missed any of it, you can read about it here and here, and a very nuanced and important critique here, by Bryant Terry, a prominent African-Amercian vegan chef and cookbook author. (Honestly, you can stop reading what I'm writing right now and just read Terry's piece. He says what I am trying to say, and says it beautifully.) Up until this point, I had not seen the website or cooked any of their recipes. After the controversy came out, I looked up the site and gave a few of the recipes a spin, to see what all the fuss was about. (And falling prey, no doubt, to the old adage, "there is no such thing as 'bad' press.") But back to the cookbook itself...

The book caught my eye amidst a display of cookbooks as I was wandering through a big box bookstore. I picked it up and flipped through - literally fanning the pages - and every recipe that caught my eye made me think, "Yum! I want to try that!" I tend to get into food ruts, and I've been feeling a little monotonous lately, so I am constantly on the look-out for new ideas. And, given that I have two young children at home, anything that is fairly fast, nutritious, adventurous, and will withstand the "help" offered by a three year old while cooking is fairly high on the "must-try" list. The first recipe I made was a lemony red lentil soup that is outstanding. I rapidly made 4 more meals out of the book, including Vietnamese style noodles, ramen style noodles, a sesame-ginger tofu marinade that is, hands down, the best marinade I have ever had on tofu, and a fantastic chickpea salad sandwich filling. I am not exaggerating when I say that every meal I have attempted out of this book has turned out amazing. Like most vegetarian/vegan food, it borrows from many ethnic cuisines - Asian, Mediterranean, Latino - and makes them easily accessible. Plus, it has gotten me out of my food rut, which is itself a small miracle. And I say again: you should absolutely not purchase this book.

Given the negative press, I was reluctant to buy the book. I only half-assedly followed the controversy as I was extremely pregnant at the time and had other things taking my time and attention, so I didn't really understand the full scope of the issues surrounding the book. I had a discussion about it with some friends at a vegan Oktoberfest gathering we had at our place. One friend pointed out that even if this was a case of cultural appropriation, if it helped bring alternative eating styles (namely vegetarian, made-from-scratch from whole ingredients) into communities that traditionally did not identify with that style, wasn't that a good thing?

Another friend took the stance that there is a difference between cultural appropriation and being "profane as fuck" (direct quote). Now, this guy knows of where he speaks. He is one of the most profane people I know, and is constantly littering the conversation with colorful language. He is a profanity artist, making small masterpieces out of everyday conversations. It's one of his most endearing qualities. I absolutely love talking to him and hearing the novel interjections he comes up with, seemingly on the fly. I find myself swearing more when I speak with him, and enjoying it immensely, though I think I come off as a hack compared with his mastery of the profane. But back to my point. He is a white good ol' boy from South Carolina, swears to make a sailor blush, and uses urban street slang without it seeming affected. He comes by his gritty urban dialect honestly. So I could see his point that maybe, just maybe, this wasn't a case of cultural appropriation, but rather a case of honest white folk who spoke a certain way being lumped in, unfairly, with a racist stereotype.

Then I bought the book.

Let me take a moment here to say that I do not speak for the black community. I have no experience with being black, with living that reality. I am sympathetic and even empathetic to the systemic racism and social violence experienced by people of color in America, and I am keenly aware that we have swept slavery under the carpet of our collective unconscious and not dealt with the lasting ramifications of a society built, literally, on the backs of men and women who were considered property and not people. I am white, and as such, extremely privileged in this country. I am trying to be an ally to the black community in any way I can. Even if it's just speaking out about a stupid cookbook.

First and foremost, the authors are a white couple that live in Hollywood, California. Hollywood is not the first place you think of when you hear "thug". Second, they take great pains, in both the book and website, to disguise themselves. The cookbook has beautiful pictures of food, and an occasional hand or arm (white and tattooed) in the frame, but the only photo of a black person is a guy who is clearly not cooking anything. He's drawing graphic novel frames while enjoying some (presumably "thug") cookies and blended latte (I can't make this stuff up. It would be laugh-out-loud hilarious if it weren't so sad.). There are also photos of urban settings - graffiti and the like - all to reinforce the "thug" of "Thug Kitchen".

If this were a case of just using a lot of profanity, it wouldn't be an issue. Profanity is not singular to any one community, at least in my experience, and in my sampling of pop culture. (Take that with a grain of salt: I am a white woman speaking from a place of extreme privilege.) No, this is not a simple case of profanity, though it figures prominently in the hook. The language used by the book relies heavily on phrases and sayings lifted directly from black culture. For example: "...you do you," "dope," "dropping knowledge," etc. The more I read, the angrier I got.

Cultural appropriation has been in the news a lot lately, stemming from the coverage of white police killing unarmed black men. There have been too many to even list off the top of my head, and it makes me cry to think of these men and their mothers (being a mother of sons, myself), so I won't even go into those stories, except to say it's bringing to light a deeply rooted problem with our country. Racism is alive and kicking in the US, and cultural appropriation is an often overlooked, hidden-in-plain-sight aspect of it. White people claim black culture as their own, make tons of money off of it, and then get upset when accused of cultural insensitivity (at best), or outright racism (at worst). America is a melting pot, so it is unrealistic and naive to think there will be no cultural blending and borrowing. But that's not what is happening here. This is a white couple, hiding the fact that they are white, using black slang and urban context to sell a product and make money. Period.

If you haven't seen it, and I can't imagine too many people who haven't, check out Amandla Stenberg's outstanding video (made for a school project!!) "Don't Cash Crop My Cornrows." She makes some excellent (and eloquent) points on cultural appropriation, and ends with one of the most profound statements I've heard on the subject: "What if America loved black people the way it loves black culture?"

As for Thug Kitchen, don't buy it. Don't give these people any more money. Check it out from the library, make copies of the recipes you love and return it. I'm returning my copy to the store, because while I love the food, now that I've seen where it's made, I can't stomach it.

*I will not be linking to the website or book so that you don't you don't make the same mistake I did and give them clicks out of curiosity. You are, however, free to look them up on your own. They aren't hard to find, so to speak.

Starting Fresh

I've been fretting over what to do with this blog. I love slice-of-life blogs. Blogs where I feel like I know the authors and their families, and get glimpses into lives that are different (and not so different) from my own. But deep down, I just can't be that person. I can't put my family on display, for myriad reasons. First and foremost is safety. The Internet is a scary place, and I while I want a safe space to explore ideas, I don't want to invite threats or harassment. I know that is not the usual way with blogs, but with the recent explosion of coverage of threats made against women - anonymously - on the Internet (Gamergate and such), I just feel the need for a bit more of a safety cocoon. It's paranoid, I'll grant you, but there it is.

The second issue is consent. This is probably one of the most important words in my vocabulary. While I revel in photos of my friends and family and their children, I also cringe at what people will post online about their minor (unable to consent) children. For example: potty training? Really? It's one thing to show a prom date your son's forays into using the potty, but it's another to post them online where his future boss may see them. I firmly believe that everyone should have the right to control their own digital footprint, and even though I am their mother, it doesn't give me carte blanche to display whatever I want about my children. They are not property. I do not own them, and they have the right to be in control of their own destinies, digitally and otherwise. Also, as we have learned from Edward Snowden and Facebook, there are no digitally safe places. If it is online, it is captured in a database somewhere, possibly forever, and could re-surface at any time, to be used for any reason. No thanks. I realize this is somewhat of a oxymoron, considering that I am blogging about all of this, but I am hoping for that niche where I can explore without being too exposed, if you know what I mean?

Ultimately, I want this blog to be a place to explore. Ideas, opinions, adventures, hopes, dreams. I have a lot rattling around in my head, and I need a place to organize it into something cohesive, instead of making 30,000 half-assed plans and never quite following through. So, here goes. There may be photos, occasionally. There will be plenty of pie-in-the-sky dreaming and a lot of bad prose. I can at least hope that practice will improve my skill, if not perfect it.

So. Fresh start...

All in good time.

We get little lessons in this all the time. Most recently, as it pertains to sleep. We are re-entering the land of sleeping, here. Our little guy is sleeping longer and waking less frequently, though we still have "bad" days where he wakes up 4 or 5 times a night. But the most recent victory pertains to falling asleep.

We have all heard the maxim from pediatricians to put your baby down drowsy but awake. That has never been feasible in our house. One: because we don't "cry it out" and two: because he cries if he's put down to bed awake. At first I fretted over it. Worried it around in my mind and in my conversations like a dog with a bone. Then I embraced it. I nurse my son to sleep. It doesn't seem all that unreasonable. He tops off his belly for the long haul and get soothing comfort at the same time, and I get a quiet half hour to revel in the miracle that is my growing baby. Win-win. Sometimes the transfer from arms to crib gets a little dicey, and I botch the landing pretty often (necessitating a start-from-scratch), but overall, it works for us.

But in the past week, something amazing has happened. Baby Guy nurses like usual, but then sits up and seems fairly awake. I put him down in his crib on his belly (his preferred sleeping position) and... No crying. He's awake, occasionally talks to himself or kicks his legs, and I walk out of the room. A few minutes later, he's asleep. All by himself. We didn't "train" this behavior, he came to it naturally, in his own good time.

Babies are amazing little creatures. I'm not sure if this is a sign of deep attachment or just plain old growing up, or what, but I am, well, amazed by the transformation. I guess it's most gratifying because it re-affirms my belief that you don't have to force behaviors on babies. This is not to say babies (and children) don't need structure and discipline - they do - but rather to say that with patience, anything is possible. It's a lesson my son teaches me every day.

Football.

I was raised in north central Florida, and I am a Gator fan. A huge, unrelenting Gator fan. A Gator football fan. I wear my Gator jersey every game day in the Fall, whether I can watch the game or not. I tried to get on my high school team as the kicker (I played soccer). The coach laughed me out of his office. (I was 5'7" and about 120 at the time. He said I needed to gain 50 lbs to carry the pads alone.) I went to grad school at Clemson, a school known for its football team and devoted fans. I considered becoming a donor so I could get box seats at Death Valley. I am certainly not the biggest or most rabid football fan, but I love college ball.

Amendment: I loved college ball.

My relationship with violent sports has changed dramatically since I became a mother. The sport has become too violent and too amoral. By amoral, I mean that we allow criminals to play football for our amusement, and pay them millions of dollars for it. We don't seem to care what their crimes were, as long as they can run or throw or block a tackle. (Michael Vick, anyone? And he's just the tip of the iceberg.) The sport also incentivises young men to play when they shouldn't. Concussions, ligament damage, sprains and strains. The explicit message is "Get back on the field. Now." Colleges don't care about the student part of "student-athlete". That term is a joke. They violate NCAA rules about recruiting and paying college players, but honestly, they should be paying those kids. A decent football program brings in literally millions of dollars to a school and pays for almost every other sport at the top schools, all earned on the blood, sweat and tears of young men who get no education for their trouble. Only a small number go to the NFL where the real money is made, but even those men are trading their health and longevity for a paycheck. Studies have been coming out for years now about the dramatic incidence of traumatic brain injuries among football players. Much higher than the national average among people who don't wear helmets for a living.

When I was younger, I thought it would be so great to have a football player for a son. How much I would enjoy going to the stadium every game day and cheering him on. How I would proudly point him out to people. But now that I actually have a son? That thought terrifies me. I feel, deep in my soul, that I need to give up watching the sport because if my son fondly recalls watching football with his parents, then maybe he will want to play. And how can I tell him it's okay for us to watch other people's sons risk life and limb for our entertainment but I can't allow him to do the same?

I saw a game last Fall where a player got hit, went down and didn't get back up. I don't remember the details save one: his neck was broken and he was air lifted to a hospital in critical condition. I spent a lot of time thinking about his family. How they saw that on TV when they were cheering on their son, brother, nephew, grandson. I can't, in good conscience, participate in the spectacle any more. It's not just the violence, though that's a large part of it. It's the society that tells our young men that in order to be men, they must participate in violent sports for our amusement. They can't be kind or gentle or feminists. The have to be hard and mean and remorseless. I want my son to be the former, not the latter.

I barely watched football this past Fall. I didn't watch the Superbowl tonight. I don't know if I ever will again.

A happy ending.

I'm not sure if I ranted about this at the time... I was so furious and upset about the whole thing that I may have just buried it and refused to talk about it. I know that's what I did in real life, at least.

The short story is this: I saw a combo changing table/dresser at our midwife's offices when I was pregnant and fell in love. I scoured the Internet to find it, and finally found it on Craig's List. Now, we've been burned by CL before, but it seemed okay. The exact changing table I wanted and a crib, all for $250. I was pretty excited. The crib wasn't exactly what I had envisioned, but it would do and matched the changing table. We met the people, saw the changing table, it was perfect. The crib was broken down, but they had the hardware with it, so no big deal. I asked if we could just buy the changing table, they said no, it was a set. I asked it the crib was a drop side, they said no. Turns out the crib was a drop side and they didn't even have all the pieces needed to put it together, which we didn't find out until we got home. After a series of increasingly ugly phone calls and reports to the federal agency that enforces the ban on sales of drop side cribs, we had to let the whole thing go. The take away is that I would never, in a million years, have paid $250 for just a changing table, no matter how awesome. But, that was the reality we were left with. I was so upset that I couldn't even look at my awesome changing table for months. I wanted to get rid of it and put the whole experience behind me, but Allen wisely kept it and let me cool off. In the whole pregnancy process, there have only been two sour notes: my OB and this. Every once in a while I still get a bad taste in my mouth about it, but I've put it behind me.

Fast forward to this weekend.

BG has been sleeping in a Pack n' Play and he is outgrowing it. Allen and I both came to the conclusion that he needed a proper crib, and I got a flyer from Babies R Us for a trade in special. Bring in your old crib and get 25% off a new one. We took a chance and popped the hated drop side crib parts in the car. When we got to BRU, they took it, carted it away and gave us a 25% off coupon! It was the perfect karmic return on our terrible experience. We ordered a new crib and saved almost $100 by bringing in the Hated Crib. I had to wait over a year, but now I can look at our changing table and smile. Perfect.

Meatless Monday: special interests and law making.

This could easily turn into a rant. I'm going to try really hard to not rant, but fair warning: it could happen.

I was listening to NPR the other day - the Diane Ream show - and the topic was Occupy Wall Street. One of the guests, a professor of economics at George Mason University, made the argument that in order to have less corruption in government, you needed less government. That the way to insure that corporations and wealthy individuals paid their fair share and were generous to the rest of us was to limit the ability of government to interfere in their business. Less regulation equals more income for everyone.

...

This has been outed again and again as a blatant and outright lie. Having less government regulation is what got us into this mess in the first place, so I have no idea why people keep insisting that continuing down that path will fix everything. Banking regulations disappeared or were severely curtailed in the past decade, which led to increasing predatory behavior, bad lending policies and general douche-baggery on the part of large finance-based corporations. So how will even less regulation fix that? I'm digressing a bit, but it's coming full-circle, I promise.

The way this relates to Meatless Monday is the following article from the Washington Post. It showed up on other news outlets, as well. The story is that Congress is trying to pass a bill that would count school lunch room pizza as a vegetable, because it has some tomato sauce on it. I'm not kidding. Remember Reagan and "ketchup is a vegetable"? Yeah, like that only worse. This is a good example of Congress bowing to special interests at the expense of our children's health and safety. The USDA and FDA are trying to insure that kids who eat school lunches are getting good nutrition. It's an uphill battle considering those two agencies are also operating at the whims of some pretty powerful groups - meat and diary industries, etc. But the bottom line is that your senators and congressmen (and women) are selling out to lobbyists and special interests, and any child in the public school system is the sacrificial lamb on the alter. (I'm mixing metaphors here a bit, I realize. I'm just so mad about this that I can't seem to keep them straight.) This is, in part, what the Occupy Wall Street movement is all about. Corruption in our government that has a direct impact on the people who rely on that same government to keep them safe.

Let's not beat around the bush about this. If you do even a tiny bit of investigation into what passes for nutrition in a public school cafeteria, you will be appalled. This information isn't even hard to come by! You can just watch any episode of Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution. They're free on Hulu. Go ahead - look them up! I won't quote statistics, because I don't have any at my fingertips, but there are many children - I'd venture to say millions - who rely on the public school they attend for at least one meal a day. So feeding them pizza and calling it a "full serving of vegetables" is borderline criminal.

You pay taxes, I pay taxes, we all pay for these services. The public school system is certainly underfunded, but we all have a stake in it if we pay taxes. So why aren't we demanding better? Why aren't we raising more of an outcry about this kind of abusive treatment? This isn't just an issue of corruption in our government, though that's certainly a huge issue here. This is also an issue of public health - we are allowing these children to be fed foods that will turn a large number of them into obese, or diabetic, or heart disease, patients who rely on our crumbling health care infrastructure. This will cost hundreds, thousands, millions more to the taxpayers than just insuring that they get a healthy lunch! This is also a social justice issue. Some of the poorest kids in our communities are relying on the school meals as their source of food. "Bring your lunch from home" isn't an option for a lot of these kids because there is no food at home. And instead of providing them with a full meal that will feed their brains and bodies, we are feeding them to death. And our governing leaders are aiding and abetting the people who are profiting off of our children's health and well-being.

So where is the outcry? Why is this story not being ridiculed in the public sphere? It is, sort of, but on such a small scale compared to the "ketchup is a vegetable" incident. I was alive then. I remember how ridiculous everyone thought it was. I remember how much backpedaling had to be done over it, and the outrage that something that stupid could even be considered by our great government. So where is that same outcry now? Maybe it's slipping under the radar because we have some many other problems confronting us? Maybe it's outrage overload? Maybe a combination?

Okay, I admit it, this totally turned into a rant. But how can we call ourselves civilized, how can we call ourselves "the greatest nation" if we can't provide good, nutritious food to all of our citizens? If we let special interests and profit margins dictate how we feed and raise our children? I just really don't think we can.

Okay, now I'm just mad.

Has there been a week of full moons? Is the Earth suddenly reversing its polarity? Something in our water supply? I ask because my baby has woken up in the middle of the night three times in the past week and decided that it is time to be awake and play. For 2 or 3 hours. At 2 am. And then woke up again at 7 am, ready to go. This has to stop. For my sanity.

Maybe he was just super excited about Obama being inaugurated again.

I spoke too soon.

It took three long hours to get Baby Guy to sleep last night. And us parents are taking turns throwing up. (Thanks Norovirus!) Then, a 30 minute nap that he refused to take until the time when he normally wakes up from naps! I had to put him in the Beco and walk around with him (crying because he was so tired) for a freaking hour before he would fall back asleep. It's going to be a very, very long weekend.

Sleeping purgatory.

It sounds better than sleeping hell because hell is forever and purgatory is only for 10,000 years. And though 10,000 years sounds daunting, it is less than forever, so I'm clinging to hope with what remains of my sanity.

Around 8 months old, BG started sleeping through the night. It was a process to get there since we are not "crying it out". We put him down to sleep and Allen would go up and console him and/or hold him until he fell asleep again when he woke up. He was waking up maybe once or twice between bedtime at 7 pm and when we went to bed at midnight or so. Then he had a solid two weeks of either sleeping through the night completely (waking up anywhere between 4-7 am for a nurse and falling back asleep), or sleeping until at least 2 or 3 am before waking up to nurse. It was miraculous. We were so pleased with him and ourselves for getting to that point without crying it out.

Then he stopped. I don't know why, but I suspect it was a combo of teething and growth spurt. And it kept going and going. Teething and growth spurt was replaced by travel, then illness. He slept through the night for 2 weeks and then stopped for 2 months.

Here's the thing with baby sleep: you expect to be sleep deprived with newborns. But when I went off narcotic painkillers and BG started sleeping next to me, we were getting miraculous amounts of sleep because he would just roll over and latch on and nurse himself to sleep again. I wasn't necessarily sleeping as deeply, as I was always peripherally aware of the baby next to me, but every little bit helps when you have a young infant. Then as he got older and more mobile and moved into the crib, getting long, uninterrupted stretches of sleep became harder. We still got time to ourselves in the evening because he goes to bed before we do, but after we went to bed, if he cries, he comes into our bed. It's just easier on everyone, but he's so much bigger that he is more disruptive to our sleep. When he started sleeping through the night, it was like the clouds parted and the angels sang. And when he stopped, it was like we had been snatched from the arms of heaven. You know in Star Trek: Generations, when Guinan gets taken out of the Nexus and explains that you'd do anything to get back there because it's so perfect? It's like that.

So losing a full nights rest, even after only 2 weeks, seemed pretty devastating. Was it something we did? Was it something we didn't do? Will he ever sleep through the night again or are we going to be the only parents in history with a 40 year old son who still nurses to sleep and won't sleep through the night? These are the thoughts that go through your head.

After a few weeks, I borrowed a friend's copy of "The No Cry Sleep Solution". I was hopeful when I opened it, thinking it would give us some new tricks to try. After I finished it, my reaction was, "Crap! We already do all that stuff!" Kind of like when you read the article about how to save money every month, but it's all stuff you already do. One the one hand, I was peeved because we were getting desperate, but once I let it all sink in, I realized that it meant we were already on the right track and just had to stay the course. If we keep doing what we're doing, eventually, he'll sleep again. She made several great points in the book, but the one that stuck with me was that sleep training requires either crying or time. Since we would prefer to avoid crying, we choose time.

So, after all of that, Monday night, BG made it until 2 am only waking up once or twice. Unfortunately, he was wide awake and wanted to play between 2 and 4 am. Not. Fun. Then Tuesday night, he made it to 2 or 3 am without waking. Then last, clouds parted, angels sang and he slept from 8:30 pm to 5:45 am! Hallelujah! And the only reason he was awake so late is because we all have stupid Norovirus and he threw up as he was falling asleep.

When I started writing this post a few days ago, I thought we'd never sleep again. But it looks like we're seeing the light at the end of a long tunnel!

First birthdays...

Is it just me or is there ridiculous pressure to have a perfect Martha Stewart first birthday party? Pinterest is the culprit, I think. I am trying to decide on a theme for Baby Guy's first birthday. It seems ridiculous! A theme?! For a one-year-old?! But I'm totally doing it. It's more for me than him, I guess. He won't know or care, really. He's just happy to have some stuff to play with and people to hold him, so going all out on a birthday party is a little lost on him.

I'm trying to rein it in a little. I can make the cake, but I don't really need hand-crafted party favors or decorations. I don't have to have a special outfit - he'll just get cake on it anyway - but a special t-shirt is okay. Paper invitations are nice, but I can order them online instead of hand making each one.

I'm looking for theme ideas on Pinterest, but I'm kind of at a loss. There are a lot of cute ideas out there, but I need to balance that with realistic assessments of what I can and cannot do. Crafty mama? Yes. Martha Stewart? No. Minimal free time means I won't have the most awesome first birthday bash for Butterbean, but it also means he's a happier baby every day, not just his birthday.

Deep breath.

New uses for nipple balm.

FYI: you can use nipple balm for a chapped nose. I have been ridiculously sick with a cold and have gone through about 750,000 tissues (for real). As a result, my nose is raw and red. Or, it was, until I started rubbing nipple butter on it. True story. I have a bunch leftover from the early days of nursing, and it is just heavenly on my poor chapped nose. And my poor chapped nose actually isn't chapped anymore.

(I use Earth Mama Angel Baby Nipple Balm, and as a bonus, I smell chocolate when I put it on my nose, because of the cocoa butter! Yum!)

A royal rant.

Let me start this post with a caveat: Being pregnant is hard, no matter who you are. Even the easiest pregnancies are tough on you. You are growing a person! It's hard! So, though this post is about to get a little rant-y, please understand that I am not knocking anyone who is pregnant. It's a tough job and anyone who does it is amazing.

Now.

I know I'm little late to the Duchess Kate party, but I can't take it any more. I got really frustrated seeing all the "news" stories about how she and Prince William went to her family for Christmas because the strain would have been too much for her at the Palace. Because, you know, they have a night where they have to make their own dinner. The horror. And a night where they have to play charades. Gasp! So, as I mentioned above, I am totally sympathetic to the Duchess. Being pregnant is hard enough without having crippling morning sickness and being a public figure. I really do just want to rub her back and tell her she's beautiful and doing an amazing thing. But it really upsets me to hear all of this talk about how easy she should take it, not because she shouldn't take it easy, but because of the privileged status. Here is a woman who is being told she shouldn't have to make her own dinner for a single night because she is pregnant and having a tough time, but what about the millions, hundreds of millions of women, worldwide, who don't have that luxury?

It's not that I begrudge the Duchess some R&R. God knows how hard it must be to have your every move scrutinized while you are throwing up your lungs and growing a human. I just wish we could instead have a larger conversation about how women are treated as second class citizens, even in first world countries. Why not turn this into a meaningful discourse on the need for better access to health care and maternity leave for ALL women? Not just the royal ones.

I am a stay-at-home mom. My husband and I worked pretty hard to be able to afford to live on a single salary, but even so, we are incredibly lucky to be able to do it. We are both well-educated and have (or had, in my case) jobs that are fairly skilled in nature and fairly well compensated as a result. But I have friends who don't have the luxury. Women who want nothing more than to stay home with their babies but are forced to find day care while they go back to low-paying jobs so that they can keep their insurance and feed their families. It breaks my heart to see these women struggle. I know, first hand, what they are forced to give up, because I am lucky enough to not have to give it up. But that's the whole point. Luck shouldn't have to be part of the equation. If you want to stay home and raise your child, you shouldn't have to be lucky or rich.

So, can we please turn this into a conversation about granting extended maternity leave and health care to all women? We can all still empathize with Duchess Kate, but it's time to turn this into something more meaningful than celebrity gossip.

Exercise is the devil.

I started a spin class. I feel about exercise the way I feel about sleep. It's awesome when you are in the middle of it, and it's hard to stop once you get going, but starting is so hard. I never want to go to bed at night - so many projects I could be doing! I also never want to start exercising - so many cookies I could be eating! And spinning is some kind of medieval torture. For real. And don't even get me started on how much it hurts to sit on those hard bike seats!

Here's hoping a little perseverance will go a long way in shrinking my waist line. I also have an awesome friend who is doing the class with me. It is absolutely necessary to have a gym buddy. I have to go so I don't let her down!

I am going to start padding my pants, though.

Babywearing!

My favorite babywearing site is hosting a giveaway to celebrate 10,000 fans on Facebook. Check out the Paxbaby giveaway and enter!

Amazing.

I hope and strive to be a parent who will raise a person with this kind of strength and sense of their own self-worth. "Having good parents is like winning the lottery." But it doesn't have to be. We all have the power to love and be loved and inspire greatness.

Watch Lana Wachowski's speech to the HRC.

Food fight.

So, Baby Guy is six months old. And adorbs, but you already knew that part. I'm having a tough time with the transition to solid foods. Our pediatrician has been pushing us to start him on solids since our four month appointment which is way too early, in my opinion. And, frankly, I haven't heard anyone quoting from medical studies to support starting solids at a particular age, other than the WHO recommending breastmilk exclusively for at least six months. (Note the "at least".) I get a little irritated when pediatricians resort to scare tactics to force compliance. Some examples: "Breastmilk is deficient in iron after nine months." "Breastmilk is deficient in iron after six months." (Which is it, guys? Get your facts straight.) "You need to increase his caloric intake because he's moving around a lot and needs more calories." (Really? My 86th percentile in weight baby needs a bigger caloric intake? My breastmilk doesn't have enough calories to keep up with him? Pfft.)

So, I'm trying to walk the line between doing what's best for my baby and just digging my heels in. The problem is the conflicting reports. One pediatrician says you need more iron after 9 months. One says 6 months. One says start rice cereal right away, one says rice cereal is just empty calories. I'm being as diligent as possible, doing research and trying to take the advice of my (well educated, experienced) pediatrician, while also remembering to take that advice with a grain of salt.

In the end, like everything else in parenting, I have to go with my gut. I have to do what feels right for me and my baby. I will admit that some of my trepidation in starting solids lies with my fear of losing the breastfeeding relationship. It's a tough transition for me. I am the center of his world right now. I am his Mama and his food and everything that embodies love and caretaking. Soon, he will discover a whole wide world beyond me and the selfish part of me wants to avoid that as long as possible. But the realistic part of me knows that it is better to foster his independence from a place of security, rather than shelter him from the world.

So the short answer is: I don't know. Breastmilk is still, without a doubt, the most nutritious thing he can be eating right now. No one food can replace that. We'll start solids soon, but I'm not in a hurry.

Nap time.

I have had nearly two (count 'em! Two!) solid hours of Baby Guy napping. So what did I do with my time, you may ask? I trolled the Interwebs. Yep. That's right. I sat on my butt and did nothing productive. I kinda wish I had spent it knitting, but I did (re)discover a fabulous blog:  White Chocolate Superstar.

My house is messy and I have a millions projects in the queue, but sometimes it's nice to just veg.