This is what a post-partum shot-gun wedding wife looks like.

While driving my friend Chelsea to the airport today, she said something to me that shed some light on my recent identity crisis. I was doing the usual bitch and moan routine, filling her in on the details of my life she had missed from so much travelling. She listened thoughtfully, then said, "I think part of the reason things are so hard for you, is that it seems your life was so different before the whole baby-marriage thing." Thunderbolt strikes, the ground opens up, the undead begin rising from their dusty graves...



In a more roundabout way, I have considered this fact. I do a lot of comparing my current life situation to my peers--a game that only gets me into more trouble. I also find myself thinking longingly of the days of yore--of late nights and blurred vision, of holding hands with handsome strangers, of entire days spent in bed, of travelling to distant lands, of independence, of coffee and cigarettes with my best friend. Sure, perhaps I idealize the past. Perhaps the rock and roll lifestyle really wasn't what I wanted... but I think that before I was able to really figure out what it was I DID want, I ended up here. Life took me in this direction, and now that I've come out of the new-mom haze, my thoughts are...WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED??



I'm married, with a baby and feel like I am stuck. One thought I've had is that Jared and I have very few role models. Most married people we know are middle-aged. So we've been copying that scene, and I feel like a bitter housewife, who gave up her dreams to roast chickens and do laundry. However, I have learned that roasting chickens and doing laundry are important-you gotta eat, you gotta be reasonable clean. On the other hand, I'm sick of both of them. What does a young married couple look like? How do THEY cope with the stresses that this life brings? Are they happy? And if so, how the hell did they pull it off??



I feel like I've been telling myself that there are ways for me to still accomplish my dreams as a mother and a wife. I know this is true. BUT HOW? I want to travel, I want to have adventures... are these just the unreasonable ramblings of a nieve and unrealistic babymama? This is where the identity crisis comes in. I'm not really happy. Okay, I've admitted it. What am I unhappy with? That I'm a stay at home mom? In theory, I should love this. I get to not work, I get to make whatever kind of breakfast I want, I get to do all sorts of things that many only get to do on the weekends. BUT. I do it with a soon-to-be-toddler. I once thought, "This is great! No boss to tell me what to do...ahh!" But, now I think... I don't have a boss, but I have a child who demands most of my attention, and a husband with high expectations of me to keep our Kombucha business afloat. So, I don't have a job, but I have many responsibilities, most of which I kind of was tossed into. Is it wrong of me to want to walk out? Really, this all just happened so fast. I might be having the freak out that many thought I should have had months ago.



I have been really hellbent on finding a community for myself--finding creative endevours, making new friends, trying new things... however, I still come home to the same people. I am still a mommy. I am still a wifey.. I can't make those things go away. I ultimately feel trapped. I am stuck with these two dudes for the rest of my life. Its a hard call. I love them, but I have sacrificed what feels like everything for them. It could just be a melodramatic episode, but it sure feels like hell to me. How can I be a mom/wife, and still feel like me? Part of the trouble is that I will never again feel like "me" or the "me" I was before I ended up a stepford wife. Too much has changed--I mean, I became a mother for christsake.



I've been told and I've learned through hearsay that close friends and family have trouble identifying with and relating to the person I've become. Who is she? they ask. Who did she used to be? And... What has she become? What happened to that old Amanda spunk? My response to this is...I've been asking myself the same goddamn questions. I think it is important for me to take some initiative... but, christ, its hard to get anything done without real childcare.

September is this kind of Month

This is what is going on with me, other then what is going on with Lev in relation to me:

Did I mention that I started helping out on this amazing parenting zine called HipMama? Well guess what!! I am now the staff illustrator of this seasonal publication. The fall issue is about to come out. Its also the first issue that I've drawn for, in addition to doing some editing work as well. This has really been an amazing experience and opportunity for me to build my portfolio, learn the tricks and trades of smallish-time-DIY publication and to hang with some hip-ass mamatchkas. I like it, I like it. If you have a chance to pick up a copy, or to even go as far as subscribing, you could see my little drawings hither and thither within. I'm doing a comic for each zine, located on the inside of the cover as well as illustrating for the articles where needed.

Super cool.

Check out this place for a better look...HipMama!

Goodness, gracious. In addition to these goings on, there are other goings on as well. Think big! Think bigger! Think... muffins? Alright, its really nothing more than a temporary obsession with almond meal--the wheat-free enthusiasts new dream of culinary possibilities. I have this idea of making delicious coffee with hot baked-goods with butter. Somehow, this vision also includes an open window, a stretch of green, lush landscape with livestock braying in the nearby barn. Yes, my barn to be exact. I've been having more ideas about chickens and making my dream of living off the land come true...while still keeping a Portland zipcode and being close by to Jared's job. Alright, so its not going to happen this year, or even the next...but a gal can dream. And if almond-meal muffins can bring me even an iota closer to that dream, so be it!

Meanwhile, our kombucha business continues. We have big plans for the fall--more advertising, bigger classes and more buyers. If you're a friend of ours, you live nearby, and you drink kombucha, there is no reason to continue buying it in the store. I know you're out there, kombucha friends! Do yourselves a favor and buy it cheaper from us! I won't beg, but I will stop saying Oh, Its okay...when you make apologetic faces at us with your bottle of GT's in hand.

In conflusion, Lev is playing with big kids, little kids and with our toes. He is pulling chairs over and on top of himself. He will stand upright unassisted for up to a full minute. And... everything else you'll have to see for yourselves. I've been meaning to post more pictures here and I swear I'll make a better habit of it in the future.

Night Nurse

We went camping to a beautiful spot near Mt Hood called Lost Lake. Georgous, simply breathtaking. 30 miles or so from any towns, totally isolated, crystal clear water... I was ready to give it all up and become a hermit, forage for huckleberries and live in an old log. We settled into our tent for the night and I found that I was more comfortable on the hard ground than ever before! The air--so fresh! The stars--so bright! At first I felt wide awake from all the excitement of the day, but then...my lids got heavy and I found myself so ready to slumber at a shocking 9:00pm.

And then it began. Lev woke up to nurse, thrashing around to find me through the sweaters and sleepingbags, about every two hours. Maybe more frequently (I should have been charting it by the movement of the stars I suppose). And everytime I woke up, I marvelled at how well I had been sleeping, how deeply I was resting, how comfortable I was in our little tent. (Ususally, I sleep like hell in the great outdoors...) The night was long, made even longer by our early to bed routine. When the sun finally rose, I felt Jared move around in a well-rested outdoorsman seize-the-day type way; I tossed Lev to him with a snarl and fell back to sleep.

I woke up a few hours later and announced to Jared that I was through! "I'm through!", I said. "I am no longer a night nurse! I've had it!" Jared basically knows every reggae song ever written, and began singing a Greggory Issac song entitled "Night Nurse". I felt outraged. He began singing the lyrics to me: "Night nurse Only you alone can quench this Jah thirst. " I saw red. "I said, I"m through!" I said. And, struggling with the zipper on the tent door, I managed to make as impressive an exit as I could.

I feel it appropriate to post the lyrics to this song here. This is basically my life. Minus the broken heart stuff. I've bolded the lines that speak to my experience the most...

Tell her try her best just to make it quick
Woman tend to the sick
'Cause there must be something she can do
This heart is broken in two
Tell her it's a case of emergency
There's a patient by the name of Gregory

Night nurse
Only you alone can quench this Jah thirst
My night nurse, oh gosh
Oh the pain is getting worse

I don't wanna see no doc
I need attendance from my nurse around the clock
'Cause there's no prescription for me
She's the one, the only remedy

Night nurse
Only you alone can quench this Jah thirst
My night nurse
Oh the pain is getting worse

I hurt my love
And I'm sure
No doctor can cure
Night nurse
Night nurse

Lev continues to have very wakeful sleep...G-d, make this phase end soon!!

Now I lay you down to sleep...

Its been some time since my last update, and with good reason! Summer began, J-daddy got out of work, we moved, Mirabel arrived from Vermont and J's mom from Japan. So its been nuts.

One thing that I've been up against recently is the old "let your baby cry themselves to sleep" routine. When I express my sentiments against this practice, I have noticed that some people react with an internal "well, she's just hysterical", while others share my feelings and make me feel pretty right on. J tends to think that my maternal instincts are "too strong", which is a load of shit as far as I'm concerned. I know he means well, but I also know that there is no way in hell I'm letting Lev cry it out just so I can watch action movies all night.

We're in Vermont visiting my family right now. A member of my best friend Meara just had a baby, and also has a three-year-old son. Today I had the chance to be in the same room with both of them, and it made me feel very acutely how fast children grow. Lev was once the size of this little newborn, but is far from being 3...however, he is on his way. He is on the brink of crawling, he is about to sprout his third tooth and today he called out "Mama" as I was leaving a room. What does this tell you? Lev is going to be a little boy in no time. He is going to grow, and change, and develop and evolve dramatically all in this amazingly short amount of time. So what's a few action movies compared to precious time soothing my child to sleep?

I now understand that it is all about your additude. You can take the same scenario and see it either as a problem or as a night-time routine. Take Mom A for example:

"He justs wants me to hold him and nurse him until he falls asleep. I find myself just laying there and wishing that it would just end already! I can't stand how he depends on me and forces me to make him comfortable, while all I want is to relax after a long day!"

And then we have Mom B:

"Every night at bedtime, I lay down with my baby and nurse him until he falls alseep. Sometimes it takes an hour, sometimes it takes ten minutes, but I know that eventually he will drift off and then I can spend the rest of the evening doing what I want to do. It is sometimes hard knowing that I am the only one who can help him fall asleep, but I know that this is only temporary."

So there you have it. I don't want to be too judgy to all those Mom A's out there. I have it easy compared to some women; I don't have to go to work in the morning and I have the luxury of a caring partner. However, just because I nurse him to sleep doesn't mean he has a problem. Or, if I am willing to spend the time doing this, it doesn't mean I am hysterical.

Just wanted to clear that up.

So, in recent more creative news, I've been having inspirations to try and develop a comic for this parenting zine in Portland. They don't know about it yet, but I think they'd go nuts for it. Thus far, my vision is a comic of the experience I had at the Dr's office regarding vaccines and breastfeeding... Once I've got something throw together, I might post it here!

Lev updates include that we are feeding him bananas and mashed carrot. His poop smells bad, he loves eating, and that's basically all I have to say about it.

Also, its dark and rainy and I have next to no energy... Lev will wake up from his nap soon and I'll be back in sluggish action.

More to come...

My Lovely Lady Lumps

It has been a week and a half of plugged ducts from hell. For those of you who aren't in the know: this means the milk duct is not allowing the milk to flow, resulting in a hard lump that grows increasingly more painful as you try your damnest to get the milk flowing again--this means, pressure, squeezing, massaging and holding it under hot water in hopes of loosening up whatever it is that is keeping it clogged...

This is not a sensual experience, this is not a laughing matter...this is probably the worst part of breast feeding. Every mother has their "thing"--apparently this is mine.

I've talked to a Le Leche League leader, who advised me to rest up and keep drinking water. I talked to a Board Certified Lactation Consultant, who basically didn't really hear me and kept repeating her standard phrases...however, she told me about the use of ultrasound as a way to break up the clog. I'm considering this as a seriously last resort. She also informed me that it can take up to TWO WEEKS for some plugged ducts to heal, so she wasn't too concerned with my measley week and a half. Have I mentioned that I've had FOUR flare ups in that time? Each time, I was so relieved when it ended, only to find myself in a panic as it returned some 24-36 hours later...

Picture this: your breast has a lump in it and you know that if you don't do something about it, there is a chance it will become infected meaning that you'll likely get a fever and be treated with antibiotics. Picture this: you are nursing your baby on that breast hoping that they will help unplug that duct, all the while "massaging" the affected area. Picture this: you're irritable as all hell, dragging yourself around the house in a baggy house-dress (no bras! nothing restricting), grumbing as your baby insists on being bounced/sang to/played with/fed/cooed at/entertained and all you want to do is pull the covers over your head and hide from your own boob. Picture this: you're half-clothed, dipping your boob in a hot-tea-concoction while grating potatoes, which you plan on applying to the affected boob once you're done leaning over a bowl of tea.

Listen, I've done this a thousand times. I've done it more times than the average woman. I've done this so many times that I don't even want to have breasts anymore. I'm done. I'll have them removed, donated, returned! Take them back!

But for the rest of you out there--don't let this dissuade you from breast feeding--I'm just this freak show with a boob lump. I don't know anyone else who has suffered from this like I have. Its just my thing--a thing that I would like to end NOW.

The Break Hath Cometh...

My parents came for a short weekend visit (from Vermont--it nearly killed both of them I think). They got to be grandparents up close and personal--it made me feel so good to have them here, namely, because it meant that I got to take a little time off. This experience has really made me wish that more of these relative types lived closer--Mirabel, my sister, will be here in June, which will make a huge difference, but still! How do new families manage without grandparents??

So here is a toast to grandparents--we wish you were closer, because we need a break! Hip, hip, horray!

Speaking of breaks, my back is nearly broke. This baby-child of mine has hit the 20 pound mark, making him both adorably healthy and freaking heavy.

In other news, we may be moving to a new place--more room for this child to grow. He is like a goldfish.

I'm starting to have fantasies of feeding Lev solid foods and him sleeping through the night... My patience really started wearing thin this past weekend. I think part of this is really due to the little known fact that mothers DO NOT GET A FUCKING BREAK. Alright, with that outbreak taken care of, I can address the real issue: baby mama is tired... Once again, the late humorist Erma Bombeck is starting to feel like my personal muse. She wrote a weekly column about the woes of being a housewife that eventually were turned into books. Titles like "The grass is always greener over the septic tank"... etc etc. She gave a voice to the housewife of the 1970s and 1980s that was a post-feminist/pre-new wave feminist--basically, she missed out on it all--but that really truly spoke to millions of American women who also, through generation gaps etc, totally were your definition of the "unliberated", "unenlightened" American woman. But also--even if you are a "liberated" modern gal, you still gotta load the laundry, wash the dishes, feed your kids and make happy with your husband. So where is our break?

Jared is starting to get it--that his job ends at 4pm everyday, and my day stops for a few hours in the night when Lev is asleep, between feedings. Oh, alright, so it doesn't stop. (Here is my disclaimer where I remind you all how much I really, truely love my baby and I'm grateful for everything I have.) Anyway, you get the picture: the modern gal, her non-stop baby, her tired and loving husband and the movies they watch at night to take the edge off.

All that said, I am thinking about trying to pump breastmilk again so that I can have a little time apart from the family... however, this thought also makes me kinda nausiated. I hate pumping. Hence, thinking about starting to feed Lev solid foods... which, I am pretty conflicted about. So it continues... in the mean time, come visit and hold the baby for a few minutes so I can make myself some eggs and toast.

Did I say that he cut one tooth? I meant to say he cut TWO teeth. Soon, he will look like the darling little Jack'o'Lantern that I've always dreamed of giving a name to.

In other news, I'm reading this book that every woman in this country must read. It is called Wild Feminine, written by Tami Lynn Kent. She is a Portland writer, she is a healer (Women's Health Physical Therapy) and is basically the shit. She has written a book that more or less details everything that needs to be said about the nature of the feminine in modern times. Feminine, not as a adjective, but as an energy force. Please, please, please--ladies.

Read it. Get into it. Right now.

--->check this out please!! http://www.wildfeminine.com

Enter the Hero

Lev cut his first tooth--it broke through the gum and he is *much* happier. Its kind of a funny phrase "to cut a tooth", but as I am gathering the mama rhetoric as I go, I've learned not to question.

This milestone, (here is another part of the rhetoric I have picked up) has not occurred alone--he is also taking this time to develop his vocal chords. Really, I think there is something about cutting teeth, screaming from the pain, and then, once the pain has subsided, understanding that "Holy shit! I can scream for fun too!". That's right, Lev sounds like a baby pterodactyl. His tooth is emerging like a bean sprout, and his voice is bursting forth like a cabin-fever crazed banshee.

Its pretty amazing--I love hearing him, and he loves being heard.

Passover: the Exodus from Machoism

I could be wrong... but I think that Lev slept through the night last night... Its hard to tell really. During the night when he wakes up to feed, I'm usually half-awake and still dreaming. But what I really want to talk about is Passover. This is my favorite holiday--not because of the matzo, though of course that plays a huge part. I love revisiting this story--its full of drama, suspense, heartbreak and eventual (after 40 years of wandering in the desert) freedom. Each year I feel affected by different parts of the story--this year, naturally, I felt affected by the order of the Pharaoh that all Jewish sons be murdered. I found myself remembering this song that my mother wrote called Rachel--which I'll post what lyrics I can remember here.

Rachel, ooohh, Rachel
Rachel, ooohh, Rachel
She held him in her arms this morning, Rachel.
She nursed him at her breast this morning, Rachel.

This morning the sun came out to warm her,
There was no way to warn here.
She rose to greet the day and break her fast.
She could not know that day would be his last.

Pharaoh, the king, commands them,
Cut down all the boy children...

That is as much as I can remember--she wrote this song when I was in third grade. This was during her stint as a Bible-story playwright. She wrote a nativity play, and 2 Easter plays (one was an opera actually). This Rachel song is still so powerful to me, especially now that I have my own little boy.

Last Passover, I remember learning about the Egyptian midwives who would cunningly disobey the orders of the Pharaoh to steal male babies from their Jewish mothers by claiming that the Jewish women were like beasts in the fields--by the time the midwives were called upon and reached the laboring women, they had already given birth to their babies unaided.

I want to write a song about all of this...like my mother's song, but not as focused on the tale of one woman. I want to use this story as a metaphor: our sons, our future, being threatened by the mass concepts of what it is to be alive, healthy, and mindful--raising more children to become fearful, rigid and driven towards production, production... I know "the children are our future" type themes are overkill, but through my entire pregnancy and now postpartum life, I am really coming to understand how we are as parents and the kinds of environments that we present to our children are so powerful... that of course brings up the ol' nature vs nurture, but I say to hell with that. Bearing children into the world without focusing on fear is the first step towards eliminating the fear-based culture we find outselves in today. In a sense, this is what Passover is showing me this year: the Hebrew ladies of old feared bearing sons into the world because they would be taken from them and murdered. I shared that fear-- I literally think about my son being "taken" from me by the men in his life and shown what it is to "be a man"; there are such rigid and oppressive rules and expectations that are placed on men in this society. This fear is something that I deal with in my own marriage and family. It is something that I will continue to deal with: but I have faith that I will be able to resolve this for myself and, hopefully, in my family and marriage.

Next year in Jerusalem, Next year in Freedom--always looking towards the positive, always looking towards a brighter future. For me, that means trusting that the man my son becomes won't be afraid of his own emotions, that he will find ways to communicate without violence, and that he will learn and experience this world in a respectful and honest way. Its hard though--I see how defenive men can get when I talk about this--they immediately equate my feelings with: you want to raise a pansy son, a faggy son, a weakling. This is the issue: you're either a man, or a girl. Ahhh... anyway, passover has a lot of really powerful themes. These are some of the issues that are striking me most this morning.

Baby doctor don't know shit

During the early days (read: oh say, maybe two months ago), I read this wonderful book called Attachment Parenting. Its a so called "style" of parenting that is coined thus because of the tendency of these parents to wear their children in carriers instead of hauling them around in strollers or car seats. This book covered the "Seven B's" of attachment parenting which are:

1. Birth Bonding (this is where you don't let the doctors take your baby away to a nursery and instead let your baby nurse, sleep and feel you skin-to-skin. Hugely important.)
2. Breastfeeding (instead of bottle feeding)
3. Baby wearing (instead of transporting from one plastic bucket to another)
4. Bedding close to your baby (instead of putting them in a crib on the other side of the house far, far away from you)
5. Belief in the language value of your baby's cry (as opposed to letting them "cry it out")
6. Beware of baby trainers (people who want to encourage you to put you new infant on a schedule instead of letting them naturally come to their own schedule. For example: feeding your baby on a schedule instead of waiting for them to let you know they're hungry)
7. Balance (It is what it is...balancing your life and your needs with the high demands of a baby. Totally crucial, however, it can happen without totally reducing the value of your child in your life to a mere house plant)

One of the best things about this book is that for every area it covered, it quoted parents and their experiences. It also brought anthropological research and scientific evidence to support the validity of these parenting values. One section that was especially interesting to me was on breast feeding and the relationship with the pediatrician. A common misconception and support of putting your child on a schedule is that you can over breastfeed your baby. Furthermore, there have been claims that you could even give your child an eating disorder by feeding them "on demand" instead of every 2 to 3 or 4 hours. (On demand means: whenever the child is hungry.) I read these accounts from other mothers about their rough experiences with their doctors. They felt as though they were being talked down to, ostracized and their mothering instincts were not valued at all. I remember thinking "thank god that doesn't happen at my pediatrician's". How wrong I was!

The point of all this is that we are royally switching pediatricians. Our Dr seemed totally rad and wonderful--so good with Lev, so caring and helpful. However... over time, I've come to realize that I don't like being around him and I certainly don't like how he talks to us about parenting and making choices for our son. He is most blatantly an asshole when talking about vaccines, but that can be expected. However, when he asked me how often Lev was feeding I laughed and said "all the time". I tried to give him a rough estimate--once an hour? twice? Its really hard to even say because every day is different--how much Lev eats depends on a variety of things. He has started teething, so he eats more. He had a cold, so he eats more. Surprise! He had a growth spurt, so he eats more. Or, conversely, he had a growth spurt and so he was sleeping more often and for longer than he had been. Plus, I'm usually running around like a crazy woman with no schedule of my own which means he certainly has no schedule either...

So I mumble some of this, realizing that he is just listening and staring blank faced at me. ( This is, incidentally, some time after we've weighed Lev--he is a healthy and beautiful 18 pounds 6 oz. ) The Dr begins lecturing us about how we need to offer him other ways of dealing with his feelings other than nursing. He added, that in fact, we are interrupting an important process of coping skills by nursing him when he is upset. We should instead sing to him, bounce him, talk to him etc. He said with a laugh that if we weren't careful Lev would end up like him "eating a pint of Ben and Jerry's every time he gets upset"... I said, "But he is so little!" meaning that he is 4 months old and not eating his cares away. The Dr's response was "Look at him!" meaning, he isn't so little--take a look at that chunky boy.

He basically insinuated that I am emotionally stunting Lev, giving an eating disorder, that I am over feeding him and that I need to regulate his eating instead of feeding him when he is hungry. The entire exchange was totally ridiculous--I got really defensive about the whole thing. He shut up about it once I explained that I'm not force feeding him--we look at each situation and decide what is best for Lev, whether it be nursing, singing or whatever the hell else he might need. If there is anyone who knows when to feed their child and how to help them through their feelings its the goddamn mother! Not to mention its basically impossible to over breastfeed--I only produce enough for him and my milk production is based solely on his needs. That's the beauty of the relationship between a mother and her baby--nature figured it all out for us.

I was pretty riled up about all this--now I've calmed down and moved on. I do need a new pediatrician however...

Public Outcry

I'd like to make a shout out to another superhero, though he is the milk producing kind.
Our pal Tucker aka Kidd aka Uncle Tucker has spent many nights at our house in the last few months, the reason of which isn't really important. He and his enormous dog Soda hung their hats here and really, truly gave Jared, Lev and I something that we didn't know we were missing: another member of our little family. Not only was he good with Lev, he entertained Jared for hours on end playing shoot 'em up video games. Every morning I enjoyed his company and made him king's breakfasts while he slowly came into consciousness with cups of coffee.
We already miss him--its been less than 24 hours since his departure from our home.

I will sincerely never forget this time in Lev's early, early childhood. So here is a public:

THANK YOU!

WE LOVE YOU!

to the greatest Uncle Tucker we have ever known.
And now! A picture!

Poop Cadet

Lev is here next to me and urging me not to write in this here blog.

Morning ritual--just leave me alone!

Every person has ritual in their life to some degree or another. This ritual enhances their lives, gives more meaning to the little things and enriches the waking moment to a point of higher enlightened consciousness. Right, this ritual for me starts when I wake up and ends once I've downed my last cup of tea. Let me digress.

Lev and I have restless nights, he wakes up, I wake up, we nurse and fall back to sleep. Sometime later, he wakes up again, I wake up, we wrestle with the nipple for a while and then fall asleep. This means I do not have a solid 8 hours, I probably don't even have a solid 4 hours. However, I've accepted this and do my best to compensate by sleeping in as long as I can. This means, probably, until 8:30-9:00am. There is nothing shameful about this.

Upon waking, Lev and I start our morning conversation, which basically is the same conversation every time. A series of coos and gurgles; I'll sing the baby song and he will do his best to be totally adorable and amaze me with his smiles and squeals. I change him, he waves his hands in the air, Luba lies by the heater. Its a slow and easy time that allows me to wake up to the day, greeted by my son's energy and enthusiasm for being naked from the waist down.

Sometimes he pees on me. Sometimes he pukes on me. Sometimes I leave him on the changing table in a spot of sunlight and he squirms, while I take care of some of my own needs--primarily, peeing, drinking a cup of water, and beginning the long process of checking my email. After I've dressed him again, we settle down into the rocking chair to nurse. Lev grins at me with his mouth full, looks at the bookshelf behind us, and makes beautiful little sounds as he nurses his face off. Finally falling asleep, I lay him down and begin the second part of this ritual: breakfast.

I've managed to get my timing down pretty perfectly--the toast, tea and eggs will all be hot and ready at the same time; this means a lot to me and I don't care who knows it. This is how I like every day to begin. Maybe I'll read from a novel while I eat, maybe I'll make some notes to myself... really, the ritual is about my independence from the world and from my baby. Lev is totally content asleep, Jared is at work, and I am alone with my tea and toast--I don't rush it, I savor every second. I have tried to find ways to draw it out as long as possible, but really, this ritual makes its own time frame and I enjoy it while it lasts.

Once its over, I know Lev will wake up and I'll begin to shift my thinking and my energy towards the activities of the day (even if on this particular day, I plan on doing laundry and reading novels).

***

Even before I had a baby, it was virtually impossible to wake me up in the morning. Today, Jared woke me up as he was leaving for work because I was supposed to bring my car to get the battery replaced. I knew this was coming, but I also knew that I resented the very idea of getting up before I was ready. My morning ritual cannot be rushed--it either happens or it doesn't. That said, my ritual with Lev is also incredibly important, and when it is rushed, I know that he and I will have a rough day. Jared lovingly began waking me up. I could hear he was doing his best to try and be sweet about all this, knowing that I was going to resist.
"Honey--*kiss, kiss*---Darling--*rub, rub*--its time to wake up now".
"Stop being an asshole!"
"Amanda--I know you don't want to do this, but you have to. Come on honey..."
"Get out of here! Go away!"

Lev starts to stir, and I feel my hysteria growing... Jared starts feeling defensive, I start waking up more than I want to... We agree that Jared will set an alarm for me and I start to fall back asleep as I hear the front door slam. Within seconds, the alarm has gone off. Literally, seconds.
Thanks, Jared. Always looking out for me.

Hear this! Making a new mom wake up in the morning is basically the worst idea you've thought of. This situation was made worse, when I received the call saying that actually, I didn't have to bring the car in until after 12. Now, I'm awake, but surly. I've drank more tea than I should, and my heart is pounding. Lev is still asleep and its snowing. I feel as though a recipe for disaster has been thrown together and I'm not sure how to avoid it. This is what my morning ritual saves me from: myself.

Sure glad shes fighting on my side...

So, I had this idea that I needed an image for this blog--a visual, a mascot, whatever. I'm thinking...superhero lady with udders.. or that shoots breastmilk to fight crime... or that has like six babies clinging to her like baby monkeys...

But then I found this image---->

It is not a permanent fixture, let me assure you. Then again, maybe it will be.

Make milk? What else can you do?....

I got to thinking in the shower while I pulled out handfuls of hair (a postpartum glory) that it might be nice to have a blog. A blog, where I could post about babies and me and the new world I'm experiencing being a stay at home mom. There is a different language, a different first impression, and a wholly different age group with which I'm finding myself in direct contact. I've gone from early twenties, soul-searching gal to... a baby wearing spit-up enthusiast.

Believe me, this transformation took time (the standard 40 weeks) and now that I'm here my eyes are open to this baby world--a world I never noticed before: I'm newly arrived to this target audience. But now that I'm here and as tuned in as I can be, I am starting to understand that this tender time is taken for granted. I keep hearing "Cherish this! Oh... they grow up so fast". And I wonder...what were these people doing while their children were young? Were they frustrated with the neediness of their little ones? Did they find themselves guiltily wishing "oh, once they're a little older it won't be so hard..." What I'm really wanting to address is the reality of convenience parenting and the effect it is having on our American society.

If you've ever had to enter a Babies R Us, or attend a baby shower you will find yourself overwhelmed by the "necessities" deemed, well, necessary for raising a child. Pacifiers, strollers, bouncing chairs, vibrating saucers, plastic foam props, polyester bunnies that dangle and tangle...everything you need to distract your baby while you continue living your life. A crib that sings your baby to sleep for you--perfect. Soothing vibrations that replace human contact or swings that jet set your baby into a life of isolation and forced independence...

I'm kind of exaggerating, but I'm also not really exaggerating. I suppose its how you look at it... We have been shown that its okay to allow your baby to be alone, and that in fact its good for them. They are trapped in these plastic cages and containers from birth, lulling them into a buzzed slumber. Ultimately, we're all doing the best we can, right? We as parents are doing the best we can with the resources available etc etc... A book I read on attachment parenting posed this question: do you want your child to look to inanimate objects for comfort, or to people?

This first post isn't supposed to be high and mighty.... I am just really feeling how industry and money men and business is turning what is supposed to be a slow, baby focused and led experience into a fast paced, plastic packed, convenience for the sake of a hands free life...
I don't want to look at other women's babies ten or twenty years from now and wish that I had, had more time with my own children. I don't want to regale them with warnings of how fleeting the experience is... I love my son. I love where he is TODAY.