tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62140088523404716852024-02-19T14:31:37.734-08:00Kim's Kitchen Sinkeverything / anything / wherever / wheneverKimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12548150437127473109noreply@blogger.comBlogger1090125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214008852340471685.post-16147644680254333052021-01-04T12:10:00.003-08:002021-01-04T12:10:51.973-08:00Oh hi, we're in a new year.<p>I suppose I should recognize the passage of time, and the fact that we've crossed the artificial border between Last Year and This Year, but frankly it all feels sort of nebulously fake still, so, well, I've been unmotivated. We are still quarantining with my in-laws, and closing in on 6 months of basically being housebound. Weekly trips to Target for driveup/curbside pickup, the occasional walk through the neighborhood or to a playground or park (if we get lucky and there's no one there), and, well, that's about it. I should get outside more, but it's cold and rainy and I am a weak Californian unaccustomed to the Pacific Northwest and its constant cold dampness. Sure, walks in the rain are fun. I remember enjoying that in college, in particular, for some reason. The novelty, maybe, given that Los Angeles isn't exactly prone to rainstorms. But the persistent dark, cold, wet weather is a little hard for me in terms of activating. I find myself staying in bed longer in the mornings (thank you thank you grandparents and beloved husband for taking the kids for that first hour or two) and generally dragging my feet when it comes to exercise or even just going outside. I should get better at that, but...well, ok. Maybe not. </p><p>Anyway, I do have some fun and exciting things brewing in this new year, and I am trying to keep my resolutions simple and achievable, but motivational. Intentions that will serve me as we enter another uncertain year.</p><p><br /></p><p><b>1. Shoot my shot. </b>You miss 100% of the shots you don't take, and all that, right? This year, I'm committing to asking for what I want, putting myself out there, and just going for it. Too much is at stake for me to worry whether I'm ready or good enough, and I'm done messing around with imposter syndrome. </p><p><b>2. Recharge. </b>I need to put this in writing so that I commit to it, and make the time for myself to recharge. Ideally every night, but at least a couple times a week. Reading a book, taking a walk alone, taking a long shower...I need to do something regularly that fills my cup, that doesn't involve being touched by my children or doing things for other people at all. </p><p><br /></p><p>That's it. I want to take bold chances and do things that are restorative. Wish me luck.</p>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12548150437127473109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214008852340471685.post-36995391672245440662020-10-15T00:41:00.001-07:002020-10-15T00:41:23.575-07:00Surprise, it's a birth story! <p style="text-align: left;">Oh hi. It's been almost a month since <a href="http://www.kimskitchensink.com/2020/09/conversations-with-my-preschooler-god.html">my last post</a>, where I mentioned that I had planned to sign on to write Wes' birth story, but instead accidentally deleted the many, many words I'd typed over the course of several months' worth of tiny moments to write. Sigh. I guess I've finally come to terms with deleting that post, and feel ready to re-write some version of the tale. And <strike>today</strike> yesterday (took me a few hours to write this and now it's tomorrow), Wes is 6 months old, so it felt like a good time to get this story out of me already. Margie and I made him half a cake today (well, really a whole cake, but I cut the layers in half, and it's a 4-layer "half cake"), and gave him one tiny lick of frosting. He has two teeth, has mastered rolling in one direction, is doing okay with bedtime sleep training, LOVES eating baby food and teething crackers, and has a smile that lights up his whole face. His sister makes him laugh a lot. He thinks I'm hilarious, too. We've been staying with my in-laws for the last couple of months because of covid and needing childcare help, and while I am incredibly grateful for their hospitality, care, and companionship, it's heartbreaking that my family hasn't met this guy yet. He's good with FaceTime, but it's obviously not enough, and I'm hopeful we can make it work to see them soon, because wow does it make me sad to be so far from them as this guy just keeps growing. He is usually a bundle of smiles and happiness, though right now he's crying because he woke up and I haven't gone in to nurse him (sleep training).</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjqO_64shiBI1J8ubp8BemI5JBVwouPb_H6C_1V_Rcd-Aj7wCHPUorxjDfV1AM_2cRMhmFPKAusLcSByjVzB4LsQ69CA1W0Z5Bi4hjkblQbXA2fIHdC5-PfSeCx2OuRw5-QJQnPuvvvAxJ/s3264/IMG_8074.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjqO_64shiBI1J8ubp8BemI5JBVwouPb_H6C_1V_Rcd-Aj7wCHPUorxjDfV1AM_2cRMhmFPKAusLcSByjVzB4LsQ69CA1W0Z5Bi4hjkblQbXA2fIHdC5-PfSeCx2OuRw5-QJQnPuvvvAxJ/w181-h241/IMG_8074.JPG" width="181" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib8iUbT7XNeJZmSEYigv6tJ-dQFEAAASElkpj9_KVUbzQNJlqkYjcbm82w9j6UXEHWmzb3O7cmXAtMRK5k7A36J2TIAQZubyTvuNhbdElq3HeAr6GXbBwnogWeP07oRCeaXA75PMur5vdR/s3264/IMG_7818.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib8iUbT7XNeJZmSEYigv6tJ-dQFEAAASElkpj9_KVUbzQNJlqkYjcbm82w9j6UXEHWmzb3O7cmXAtMRK5k7A36J2TIAQZubyTvuNhbdElq3HeAr6GXbBwnogWeP07oRCeaXA75PMur5vdR/w181-h241/IMG_7818.JPG" width="181" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But I digress. This was supposed to be a birth story. I don't really have it in me to do the super detailed paragraphs of prose, but I'll tell the story. It will probably end up being long.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My last month of pregnancy was the first month of shelter-in-place. To say it was weird is an understatement. Margie home from preschool, Will working from home, me trying to figure out if I was going to go into labor or get induced (gestational diabetes, yay), and our families not knowing how and when and if they would be able to come visit. We all assumed this would last a few weeks or a few months, tops. Sigh.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We eventually landed on our beloved nanny quarantining for two weeks and then coming to stay with Margie the day I was scheduled to be induced (one day before my due date), which was honestly wonderful from a planning perspective. We were able to be relaxed and calm about the whole going to the hospital experience, which was great for Margie. We had a day at home all together, hanging out and packing our bags and waiting for our time to go. I'm so grateful that we got to do that, instead of being home when I went into labor, hurried and stressed and in pain. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When we arrived at the hospital, around 3pm, we were delighted to run into Nurse Kate (from Margie's birth) in the parking lot. We were giddy with anticipation and the joy of seeing a friendly face, and she escorted us into the building (we were all masked but social distancing wasn't really a thing yet). We were taken to the delivery room quickly, since they were expecting us, and settled in for the day. They started me off with a dose of misoprostol and fentanyl (wow, fentanyl is the good stuff. I can see why it's addictive and nobody should be allowed to self-administer it. wow.), but nothing really started happening. I was feeling chipper, and excited that Kate and our other friend Bry were both working (we had definitely tried to plan for this, but there was no guarantee). They weren't assigned to us, but it wasn't too busy so they were able to come and hang out, and our other nurses were delightful as well. It felt like a big clubhouse of women, coming together to socialize and get a baby born, and I definitely felt a sort of high just from being in a room of friends, laughing and talking, as if we weren't in the early stages of a pandemic. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After several hours, and another round of miso+fentanyl, we amped it up to a foley balloon and catheter. Now, originally we had considered a plan that would have me getting the foley and going home for 12 hours to begin labor at home before returning...I am very glad we did not do that plan. I can't imagine waddling around the house with a balloon in my cervix and a catheter taped to my thigh, Margie hanging all over me, as I went into labor without medication. No thanks. The balloon did its thing, but eventually we moved on to pitocin and an epidural. The pitocin moved things along, albeit slowly; I had gone from zero to 5cm over the course of about 24 hours, and it was time to make things happen. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">At about 3pm or so, on April 14 (my due date), someone manually broke my water, and labor picked up. Within the hour, I was at 7cm, but then it became harder to get the baby's heartbeat on the monitor. The doctor checked me (still at 7cm), and suggested we place an internal monitor and have me move onto all fours for better tracking positioning. The nurse started to place the monitor, and was going to have me switch to all fours, when the doctor decided to check me one last time before leaving. It had only been about 90 seconds, but suddenly I was at 10cm and ready to push! Apparently the reason they were having trouble getting a heartbeat was that Wes was in the birth canal trying to be born. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After only two rounds of pushing, Wes was born. It took less than 10 minutes (barely more than 5 minutes, really - they call it "two pushes" but technically it's like, 6 pushes, 3 at a time?) and when they pulled him out and handed him to me, I couldn't believe it. One minute I was pushing and they were exclaiming that they could see his head, and the next, I was being given a baby. I remember thinking, "what?! already?! I'm done pushing (possibly forever? since this is likely our last baby? I'll never push again? that was it?) and somehow being disappointed that it had happened so quickly (after 24 hours in the hospital, but still). It was super smooth, with no tearing, and as Margie had encouragingly requested, "fast as a shooting star." 4/14/20 at 4:59pm. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I delivered the placenta without much fanfare, and we have a nice video of the placenta coming out and the doctor explaining all the parts of it (we did the same when Margie was born, though we didn't capture the actual delivery that time), and it's pretty neat to see that now. I nursed Wes just a little, and he latched easily, though I'm not sure he was getting much at that point. Eventually, the epidural had worn off and the nurse said it was time to see if I could get to the bathroom on my own. I had no trouble walking the few feet to the toilet, but once I sat down I instantly got very dizzy. I mentioned this to her, and she asked if I thought I would pass out, and I remember thinking, "no, of course not oh yes actually I am going to pass out this is what it feels like when you're going to pass out I guess" and she shoved an alcohol wipe under my nose to wake me up. She told me to try to stay with her, and moved me back into the wheelchair, since I could not walk to the bed. I felt ok after a minute, but when she asked if I could stand up and get back in the bed, I think I may have laughed. At the very least, I said no way.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Somehow they got me back into the bed, and that's when the fun really started. I was still dizzy, and had to lay down with my eyes closed. I was cold, but feverish. Started getting uncontrollable shakes. They started in on my fundal massage, and I was just splooging clots out...apparently some very large ones. Will reports that they were golf-ball-sized. The nurses and doctor seemed concerned, and tried a few different things to stop the hemorrhaging. I don't remember what they all were because I was pretty out of it; I remember asking for blankets, mostly. I don't remember feeling stressed out or scared. They had hooked my epidural back up, I think. Or maybe given me fentanyl. It was 6 months ago and my memory is pretty blurry. And the post-visit summaries are...long and kind of hard to read. But I know that they tried a few things before eventually resorting to the ole "doctor sticks her hand up into your uterus and literally scrapes out the remaining blood clots with her hand" trick (I couldn't feel a thing), which worked. The whole thing probably lasted about 10-15 minutes. Will remembers that suddenly there were a bunch of people in the room when I came out of the bathroom and was put back in bed, and then just as suddenly, when the bleeding had slowed enough, they all left. That whole time, he had Wes and had given him a bottle (baby's first formula!) and really just was a champ taking care of Wes even though I know he was stressed out.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I spent the next several hours laying in bed hooked up to a variety of IVs that I don't remember - except the big bag of iron, because that was, well, iron-colored. Once I had perked up a little, we started ordering copious amounts of delicious hospital food (seriously, the selection was great) and our friends did a socially-distant sidewalk dropoff of burgers and milkshakes. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I wasn't feeling great, emotionally, and we had a great visit with a doctor who was able to prescribe me Zoloft to start in the hospital. I don't know if it's the pandemic, the second-kid, or what, but I am really grateful to have had that help. I recognized some of those "first 3 weeks" hormonal rollercoaster feelings that I had had with Margie, and I thought that since I was already feeling them in the hospital, and I knew we were going home to zero extra support and help in person (thanks, covid), it was better to address it head on. I remain really grateful for modern medicine and my personal (privileged) education and destigmatization of mental health. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Anyway, Wes was a happy, sleepy baby in the hospital, and really remained a great lil sleeper for the first several months (he's still pretty good, just going through a bit of 6-month old "oh I can get snuggles instead of sleeping alone? I'll take that, please!" at the moment). Bright eyed and bushy tailed and just a very mellow lil dude. We love him very much. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpoWI0-6JdYxh5i3ZlyuGoKqQ3J8iuDuFR8qy6n6b1RodSZcqFCl_C9HCHotjTbqF2Nl-tBWW1kJ9cgOJqly7VJNpYGgqTsjK6V03fgSyPyuofu60VSM-y21ZNqlm7Un8XGpDAX4DicUdn/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpoWI0-6JdYxh5i3ZlyuGoKqQ3J8iuDuFR8qy6n6b1RodSZcqFCl_C9HCHotjTbqF2Nl-tBWW1kJ9cgOJqly7VJNpYGgqTsjK6V03fgSyPyuofu60VSM-y21ZNqlm7Un8XGpDAX4DicUdn/" width="180" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVkhDCssF3ithPXt3LRSgWiaMEBgTzyknrXDGmxK0AeOM60J53uzUVCiSAGJntsJcztgslqbaKPDAOPhw1et3Zq_7f5ecifzvACkn4bkpD7-O59R6LAWHJkIWXp512ZenicZnqvYK-aUkZ/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVkhDCssF3ithPXt3LRSgWiaMEBgTzyknrXDGmxK0AeOM60J53uzUVCiSAGJntsJcztgslqbaKPDAOPhw1et3Zq_7f5ecifzvACkn4bkpD7-O59R6LAWHJkIWXp512ZenicZnqvYK-aUkZ/" width="180" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Margie is a loving big sister, and is starting to enjoy interacting with him (though she still does not like how drooly he is, and has decided that his middle name should be Goo-ball) (he still doesn't have a middle name; we have not agreed on one yet, nor have we found the time to discuss it at enough length). It's wild to see them together. Sometimes I can't believe we have two kids. I can't believe Margie is four. I can't believe Wes is 6 months old. I can't believe it's October. Every day is still a bit of a blur, and time stretches on and shrinks down predictably (it's "the longest shortest time", after all). But I'm grateful for our little family, and our health, and that in general, we have two happy and well-adjusted (adjust<i>ing</i>, I suppose) kids. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We're doing our best to give them a full and joyful life amidst the awfulness of covid and racial injustice and the general political shitstorm that is our country right now. Every day is a new chance to try again, and every night is another opportunity to stay up way too late, carving out tiny moments of quiet time to myself. It's a bizarre time to have a new baby. I miss my family, and our friends, and home. I grieve the maternity and newborn experience I wanted to have and will never have again. I am exhausted and sad and grinding my teeth constantly even though I try to stop. I often have two children touching my body, and rarely have more than 5 minutes to myself in any given day (hence the staying up way too late). I smell like maple syrup from the fenugreek supplements I take to increase my milk supply.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />But we keep moving forward, and making the best choices we can with the information we have, day by day. And here we are.</div></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkz2_D3_cumGRNM6-aBBNmGobJKZ7p63dP9qGtlrAHy0eUOentBZbJveYyP8rGAOOrSoCvxz4WKlQhkkHsoaLgonaiB_1nTZTu-X-5OF8kAFY_f_dWSXgJ_bOD2NkW4Ribskt7nv_mZjCL/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkz2_D3_cumGRNM6-aBBNmGobJKZ7p63dP9qGtlrAHy0eUOentBZbJveYyP8rGAOOrSoCvxz4WKlQhkkHsoaLgonaiB_1nTZTu-X-5OF8kAFY_f_dWSXgJ_bOD2NkW4Ribskt7nv_mZjCL/" width="180" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQA42YY0mn06hQmVD2xEHmjYFrlLiJ5NPKgdYncRDdzR5HGKkx3DPnUtGJRwwYXgf60ddSZ9MNyaGiRkmS48jeEYF0Msh15V3lcBTT3-MamnBm3GQGxAGsnzJOUDLq-Ye5uv2V-NUdxkHf/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQA42YY0mn06hQmVD2xEHmjYFrlLiJ5NPKgdYncRDdzR5HGKkx3DPnUtGJRwwYXgf60ddSZ9MNyaGiRkmS48jeEYF0Msh15V3lcBTT3-MamnBm3GQGxAGsnzJOUDLq-Ye5uv2V-NUdxkHf/" width="180" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD99-GkH_zV4L8b2HskBrxIah0c0oxqef_xoSBodBbeKVRN5HEKxy-SkTBmrOII5wllZBFkquW_cG96XevZgiMKYzoUmmFQhRa9n5MXyfI8W91ShR8pjP0-0aAd7JAm2e6BdH5_moZY7k5/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD99-GkH_zV4L8b2HskBrxIah0c0oxqef_xoSBodBbeKVRN5HEKxy-SkTBmrOII5wllZBFkquW_cG96XevZgiMKYzoUmmFQhRa9n5MXyfI8W91ShR8pjP0-0aAd7JAm2e6BdH5_moZY7k5/w163-h218/IMG_7309.jpg" width="163" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRueuwIIo4XaBiKdZ2F4SAyfa6aNRZi5LepffZyHS5qWEWUMgMD23yFB2mLoN8okMmOn2KkfbWb0T3S4Jpkqy5xz51ubPzMJGWLjI4TLPGwCdzgdJWaxgyCyUnQUP95NYeJTm14hmI_ZY7/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRueuwIIo4XaBiKdZ2F4SAyfa6aNRZi5LepffZyHS5qWEWUMgMD23yFB2mLoN8okMmOn2KkfbWb0T3S4Jpkqy5xz51ubPzMJGWLjI4TLPGwCdzgdJWaxgyCyUnQUP95NYeJTm14hmI_ZY7/w288-h216/IMG_5406.jpg" width="288" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDqUezF9MW3PTI7FCgIHRhOqwGk0vV2l4lUDJ9Ndh3LZ0BMrOOkV-RTyr4_c6CjV9X-i6HvRRmMRe20bADNTf6LkN2tCuyNqkH0OFo3RfoEl2vefBPHMACjYhmwy1oDtsiymb0P6-57w_L/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="808" data-original-width="606" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDqUezF9MW3PTI7FCgIHRhOqwGk0vV2l4lUDJ9Ndh3LZ0BMrOOkV-RTyr4_c6CjV9X-i6HvRRmMRe20bADNTf6LkN2tCuyNqkH0OFo3RfoEl2vefBPHMACjYhmwy1oDtsiymb0P6-57w_L/w240-h320/IMG_5502-ANIMATION.gif" width="240" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12548150437127473109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214008852340471685.post-38104628924860434982020-09-19T22:43:00.001-07:002020-09-19T22:43:29.542-07:00Conversations with my preschooler: GodBefore I begin, I want to acknowledge that today I was going to post Wes' birth story. Yep, we had that baby. He was born in April, right in the early days of the pandemic, and I spent 2.5 months typing up the whole thing in way too much detail. I typed in the little scraps of time I had when my brain and fingers were both available, here and there, in stolen moments. For two. and. a. half. months. And tonight, somehow, I accidentally deleted the whole thing. I don't know how. But that's why his birth story isn't up yet. He's 5 months old. I'll start over and I'll write and publish it, hopefully soon, but it's going to take me a minute to sit with the loss of that piece I'd written before I'm ready to rewrite it.<br /><br />However, I would like to share (for those of you not following me on Twitter), an enlightening conversation I had with Margie today. She just turned four, and we have some really interesting chats these days. I tweeted it, and you can view the original thread <a href="https://draft.blogger.com/#">here</a> if you like.<br /><blockquote>This morning, my 4yo wanted to talk about Passover (because it’s Rosh Hashanah, so she’s thinking about Jewish holidays, I suppose). And she LOVES the Passover story. She has such a greater understanding and more interesting questions than she did last Passover, only 5mo ago. <br /><br />For example, she wanted to know HOW Moses talked to god if he couldn’t see him. And where is god and who is god, etc. The classic intro to religion stuff. We are not a religious family, and I believe in choice, so I told her that everyone can believe different things.<br /><br />I explained that Moses could hear what he believed was god’s voice. “Like Elsa can hear the spirits!” Exactly. And that we don’t know for sure where god lives, but some people believe he lives up in the clouds. “Like Mary Poppins!” Yup.<br /><br />And that some people believe that god isn’t real, and that the world can be explained with science. And some people believe there are many gods. Some believe god is a man, some believe god is a woman. And some people believe in a combination of things.<br /><br />She was thoughtful for a while and said, “well I believe that god is real and lives in the clouds like Mary Poppins, but I ALSO believe that god is pretend because I never seen him before. I think he is real AND pretend.” My little skeptic.<br /><br />She asked what I believe, and I was honest. I don’t believe there is a god living up in the clouds, but I do believe there are magical mysteries in the universe that we don’t always understand with science. And that I am ok with just not knowing the answer.<br /><br />I asked what she thinks god looks like, what she was imagining when she is thinking about him right now. She thought for a minute and said, “I think god is blue, like a will o the wisp, because they are spirits and god is a spirit.” Logic checks out!<br /><br />She also thinks that Moses looked like Elsa because he could hear a spirit too. I think she’s a little freaked about the idea of god, like she is with Santa. Interested in learning and talking but doesn’t want him coming anywhere near her. It’s fun to have these conversations!<br /><br />She is so thoughtful and creative, I love hearing how her brain is turning these things over and mixing them up and around with the Disney stories she loves so much. We talked about the Passover story again. She likes hearing about the matzah and Pharaoh and the plagues.<br /><br />She was curious about the death of the firstborn (I don’t think we’d talked about that one before but I figured she could handle it now). “Why Pharaoh didn’t want to die though? Everybody dies.” I said he didn’t want to die just yet, he has a lot of living he wanted to do still.<br /><br />She also likes the part about the Red Sea, where the water splits apart so the Jewish people can walk across the bottom (“like Moana when she gives the heart back to Te’Fiti!”). We talked about traditions (“like Anna and Elsa in Olaf’s Frozen Adventure!”) and prayers.<br /><br />We talked about how singing the prayers is a way to remember the traditions and say thanks, even if we don’t believe we are actually talking to god. And that it’s ok for people to believe different things about god.<br /><br />“But people think that god lives up in the clouds?! That is ridiculous! That’s where MARY POPPINS lives hahahahaha!!!!” She’s still not sure what she believes. She’s 4. But we talked about not laughing at people who believe something that we don’t.<br /><br />And I love that she believes that god is “both real and pretend” - that is such classic 4 year old logic and I just love it. It’s like how her dolls and stuffies and puppets are somewhere between real and pretend. Make believe at this age is so wonderful.<br /><br />It’s fun to be able to share stories from the Torah, talk about the holidays, tell traditional tales of our ancestors, with this hybrid context that she innately understands. That some of it is real and some of it is pretend and it’s ok if that line is a bit fuzzy.<br /><br />Now she wants to watch the Rugrats Passover special and talk about god some more. Sounds like as good a way as any to spend the morning of the new year. The apple cake I made (<a href="https://twitter.com/smittenkitchen">@smittenkitchen</a> recipe) should go nicely with it.<br /><br />Anyway, Shana Tova. Happy new year. May the memories of those we’ve loved and lost be blessings, and may we channel the strength of our ancestors to build a better future for our children.</blockquote>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12548150437127473109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214008852340471685.post-83715943806188038772020-04-09T22:42:00.001-07:002020-04-09T22:42:19.378-07:00Breaking my heartThe last week has been rough. Margie knows that baby brother is coming soon, and naptime and bedtime (and really any time she can't be glued to my side, except when she's watching Daniel Tiger) have become rough. They're not even battles -- she's not fighting so much as collapsing. She doesn't want to be alone. Her stuffies don't count because they're not "real persons". Choice quotes from this week:<br /><br />"I only want to be with the girls." (me and her)<br />
"I am so lonely when I am alone in my room."<br />"I don't want to sleep alone in my room because there are no real persons here with me."<br />
"I'm just not sleepy enough to go to sleep."<br />
"Mommy now, mommy later, I just want mommy all the time"<br />
"But we can just have a sleepover here in my room, you don't have to put your laundry away."<br />"In my room I am lonely without a grown up real person."<br />
"Mommy mommy mommy mommy mommy moooommmmmyyy"<br />
<br />And tonight, on the 3rd (4th? 5th?) time I walked her back to her room, we had a little chat, and it turns out she's worried about us being gone at the hospital. I mean, I know there are layers of recognition that she won't be the only kid, and that she will have to share me, and that Big Changes Are Coming. She professes to be excited about them; she told me the other day that she's worried that he'll pull her hair and that he will be mad when she does something without him, but when I asked if there's anything else she's worried about, she said, "No, I'm just excited to be a big sister." But I know that a very normal part of all this is her realizing that things are changing, our relationship among them.<br />
<br />
Already, she knows there are things I can't do (give her a bath by myself, carry and throw her around, bend over to reach things on the floor), and I know that translates into her insecurity and worry. And she is simultaneously SO SO EXCITED for her Yaya (her former nanny) to come stay with her while we're at the hospital, and also - according to tonight's admission - feeling worried about us being gone. She asked me repeatedly if baby brother is coming tomorrow, and needed reassurance that we will not sneak out in the middle of the night and leave her alone.<br />
<br />
As much as we really, really need her to sleep in her bed at least for the first few hours of the night, it's hard to chalk it up to willful disobedience or manipulation. I know these are real feelings she's going through, and especially with the lack of her normal routine of school and whatnot, things are all imbalanced. So much for that parenting advice to "keep their routine as normal as possible before and after the baby comes". We've been trying to keep a somewhat consistent routine, but it's hard while during the quarantine. I don't know what's going to happen when we bring this baby home, but it's definitely going to be hard.<br />
<br />
At this point we're trying to make things as easy for her as possible. Trying not to let ourselves get manipulated too much, but also trying to do what's easiest and best for all of us. Trying to be gentle on the whole family with expected weirdness and in an unprecedentedly weird time. It feels like such a fine line between preparing your kid for big change and talking about it so much they get anxious. We felt like we were walking the line well, but she knows it's coming soon and now apparently at sleeping time it's all she can think about (you know, in addition to standard 3.5 year old bedtime procrastination).<br />
<br />
Anyway. I'm due on Tuesday. Induction scheduled for Monday. This time next week, we'll be home with a baby and everything will be upside down in a new way. I'm sure we'll have all new sleep-refusals since she's already told us she wants to sleep with baby brother. But that's a problem for next-week-us. Tonight, we're wrapping up hour 2 of walking her back to her room every 5-10 minutes, reassuring her that we're not going anywhere and she's a big girl and we're proud of her for staying in her bed. Soon enough, we'll go to bed and bring her in with us and we'll all snuggle up for the night.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12548150437127473109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214008852340471685.post-60699293581073222752020-04-05T21:56:00.004-07:002020-04-05T21:56:37.069-07:00Learning at homeMy kid is in preschool. I feel incredibly lucky to not be beholden to a homeschooling curriculum like so many of my friends who are trying desperately to continue their children's education while trapped at home (and also trying to work from home full time! it's madness!). With only about 1.5 weeks left to go of this pregnancy (and let's be real, even starting 3 weeks ago), I don't have the energy to make a color-coded daily schedule with school-like activities full of enriching preschool curriculum. I can barely keep track of the different types of Zoom calls and classes that are available for us to call into (and there are so many good ones!), much less like, keep to a schedule.<br />
<br />
But I still want her to learn! 3.5 year olds are little sponges and they learn whether you have a curriculum or not - and Margie is a curious, talkative kid. I'm finding it really fun and satisfying to just make little mini-lessons out of whatever we're doing, following her lead and exploring things she asks about or wants to do anyway.<br />
<br />
For example:<br />
<br />
<b>Watch Rogers and Hammerstein's 1965 TV broadcast of Cinderella</b> <b>3 times back to back.</b><br />
(available for free via Amazon Prime)<br />
<ul>
<li>Music/Dance: What is a waltz? How does it sound? How are they dancing? Let's count 1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3!</li>
<li>Psychology/Relationships: Why are the stepsisters mean? Do we think it's because their mommy is mean to them? What is jealousy? Why do people get married? How do the king and queen treat each other?</li>
<li>Science (Magic): How does the fairy godmother change Cinderella's pumpkin into a carriage? (magic!) Why does Cinderella leave at midnight? (magic!) Does anyone else have magic in this story? (ok there's not much science here)</li>
<li>Story structure: Notice how the Prince and Cinderella say "Thank you most kindly / You are most kindly welcome" many different times. This helps them realize they know each other!</li>
<li>Empathy/Social Cues: How are Cinderella and the Prince looking at each other? What do their faces look like? Why? How do the stepsisters look? Why do they make that face?</li>
</ul>
<div>
<b>Eat.</b></div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Why are the noodles soft now, but they were hard before? (we cooked them in water and they soaked up all the water and got soft!)</li>
<li>Why do we eat chicken/yogurt/tofu? (protein! makes your muscles strong!)</li>
<li>Why do we eat vegetables? (vitamins! carrots are good for your eyes!)</li>
<li>Why do we eat cheese? (calcium! it's good for your bones!)</li>
<li>Why do we eat cookies? (they taste good! they give us fun sugar energy to get things done! they're a special treat!)</li>
<li>See also: cooking, learning about different ingredients, etc. Not sure what the "lesson" is, but maybe it's just a lesson in how we make food?</li>
</ul>
<div>
<b>Paying attention to our neighborhood </b>(a great one if your kid is also into Daniel Tiger)</div>
</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Who are the helpers in our neighborhood?</li>
<li>When you hear a fire truck, where do you think the firefighter is going?</li>
<li>What is a city councilperson ("someone who helps take care of the people in our neighborhood", according to me)?</li>
</ul>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
I don't know. Other stuff. Lots of letters and sounds and drawing and dancing. It simultaneously feels like cheating (because we're not planning educational activities) and being awesome (because we're turning playtime into learning experiences). We're doing our best. She's having fun. This shit is hard.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Any fun tips or accidental lessons you've had? Share away!</div>
Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12548150437127473109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214008852340471685.post-79723896253813307772020-03-29T20:24:00.003-07:002020-03-29T20:24:49.595-07:00Some days are harder.Today was a hard day. We stayed up too late last night, which was fun and different in the moment, but regrettable in the morning, even though Margie slept in until 8am. And I've just been tired and kind of down all day.<br />
<br />
My blood sugar was all over the place; I just couldn't seem to control it (not that I was trying super hard). This whole social distancing thing has been really rough on my ability to keep up with a normal eating schedule. Because of the gestational diabetes, I'm supposed to eat certain amounts of certain foods at certain times, and...it's just hard right now. Partly because what we have in the house is unusual and gets limited (for example, running out of eggs or fresh vegetables) and partly because like most people, all I want is comfort food (and bread, fruit, and chocolate are on the "eat in extremely limited portions" list). And partly because time feels like an illusion and it's hard to remember to keep myself fed with specific things. I want bagels and cake and macaroni and cheese, whenever I want them.<br />
<br />
I think today is the first day I've felt truly stir crazy. By late afternoon, all I wanted to do was leave the house. Per doctor's orders, we're supposed to be treating ourselves as "high risk" until the baby is born, which means staying home (walks in the neighborhood are ok but we're all still getting over this cold and cough and haven't really felt up for it yet). I miss grocery shopping (we've been advised to have others shop for us for now). I made an Instacart order that was close to $350 worth of groceries - that's how much we need to restock the basics that make me feel culinary freedom - but canceled it because I want to support the workers who plan to strike tomorrow (when our order was to be filled). We're eating leftovers and getting creative with how we use up things we have on hand, and we're eating well, but it's not the same as being able to pop over to the store as needed, or to have a fridge filled with fresh produce that you picked yourself. We'll be taking advantage of a good friend's offer to shop for us, but it feels weird to hand off a list this large to a friend. And like I said, I miss grocery shopping. I enjoy the process and the control I feel when I've stocked the kitchen to my liking. We finally were able to get some takeout this week, but even though it was completely delicious, the process of transferring our food into our own containers and immediately disposing of the ones from the restaurant felt unnatural and strange. And it's all a lot of work. We're doing so much cooking and so many dishes and there's just so much to <i>do</i> when you're home 24/7 with a preschooler, even if neither parent is working. It's exhausting.<br />
<br />
Today I just felt trapped in our house, which I know is partly attributable to the blood sugar up and downs, and partly due to the whole [waves hands] situation. And partly because Margie didn't nap today, so while I took a 1.5 hour nap (thank you, Will), things were off. And I am tired. At almost 38 weeks pregnant, I'm just tired all the time. I need to nap, I need to rest, which puts a lot of the parenting burden on Will. I am uncomfortable, but hoping this kid doesn't come too early. I want to be outside, but I also just want to lay in bed. I'm exhausted, but I can't sleep well. I'm hungry, but if I eat what I'm supposed to (and what I usually don't want), I'm not satisfied. I want to treasure this time when we're still just the 3 of us, and spend as much time as I can with Margie...but sometimes (usually) I just don't have the energy to match the kind of playing she wants to do. I find myself getting more frustrated, and more tired than I want to be. I'm not getting as much done around the house because I'm just so tired. I went out in the yard for 5 minutes to pick lemons and just breathe alone outside for a minute. It was both too much and not enough.<br />
<br />
This is a hard time to be in, for everyone. Pregnancy is hard even in the best circumstances. Social distancing and isolation are hard even for introverts. And we are certainly not in the worst position, by any means, but today, I just needed to complain a bit. Here's hoping I can get some sleep tonight and let tomorrow be another day with a fresh start.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12548150437127473109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214008852340471685.post-48031765623148374912020-03-20T22:27:00.003-07:002020-03-20T22:27:55.008-07:00On being selfish, whatever that means right nowI fluctuate between feeling completely normal, enjoying the beautiful little moments where my kid conspiratorially tells me a story from Daniel Tiger ("he imagined he was in a cave with a real grizzly bear! and he said grrriffic! and the bear said bearrriffic! hahahahahaha!"). And the hard ones, where out of nowhere she talks about how she still wants to be a person when she's dead, she doesn't want to be a tree or something else, she wants us all to be persons so we can still be together and she can be a big sister still. I'm really trying to focus on enjoying this time together, just the three of us, which is truly a unique experience we were not supposed to get. So I'm to relish those "normal" moments and be glad for this time.<br />
<br />
But then I also feel grief, a selfish sort or mourning for the maternity leave I thought I was going to have. I had so many self-care plans, for haircuts and foot massages and taking myself to the movies. For snuggling friends' newborns and walks around the neighborhood and getting things done around the house and having energy to enjoy my time with Margie before her brother comes along. I wasn't anticipating a week of quarantine in our house because Will may or may not have Coronavirus, to feel anxious and tired constantly, and to feel like every day was a day sadly lost to fear and unproductive hours rather than a day spent happily preparing for the baby and enjoying our family. I wasn't expecting the first week of my maternity leave to be like this.<br />
<br />
If he has it, he has an extremely mild case so far. It's been about a week, and he has a super low fever, fatigue, and a cough. It could very well be a bad cold/mild flu. But in these times, you can't be too certain. The whole state is now under mandatory shelter in place rules, and if you're even suspected to have the virus, you're supposed to quarantine for 14 days. We're about halfway through that period, and really hoping things get better. Margie has a cough, but I have no symptoms outside of "holyshit I'm so pregnant and tired", so once he's better, we can get on some sort of schedule and get outside and start getting things done. But until then, we're basically locked inside our house (thank goodness we have a backyard), relying on friends for grocery deliveries, and trying to stay sane. Margie thinks we're staying home because she and Will are sick, and we're all (like everyone we know) on a special long spring break to stay healthy and take care of our bodies. We haven't figured anything to tell her beyond that, but with so much uncertainty, it didn't seem urgent to explain the concept of a global pandemic. I just don't want her to get a complex about being sick.<br />
<br />
Some good tweets:<br />
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My therapist yesterday was so excellent & gave the advice that if you feel like you're going to cry or lose it, realize that you're processing grief. We're losing parts of our way of life for now or permanently, and mourning it is completely natural.</div>
— Kat Kinsman (@kittenwithawhip) <a href="https://twitter.com/kittenwithawhip/status/1241029648340996096?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">March 20, 2020</a></blockquote>
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there are obviously giant differences, but I keep thinking about how much this reminds me of what it felt like after my first baby was born. it’s the mix of boredom and terror, and the isolation, and the way you count hours and days and hope it means something when they pass.</div>
— Kathryn VanArendonk (@kvanaren) <a href="https://twitter.com/kvanaren/status/1240775335383351298?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">March 19, 2020</a></blockquote>
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You may feel like you’re on an emotional roller coaster right now. Things may not feel entirely real. You may get shocked every few minutes by the realization that this is actually happening. This is your psyche gradually attuning to the situation.</div>
— Jessica Ellis (@baddestmamajama) <a href="https://twitter.com/baddestmamajama/status/1240414986507145216?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">March 18, 2020</a></blockquote>
<br />
In addition to our families, we've had some wonderful friends checking in to see how we are doing. Offering to do Zoom playdates and grocery runs, and just to say hi. I so appreciate each one of those texts, and I've been feeling guilty and selfish that I'm not initiating more. I feel so self-centered right now, which is fairly normal in late pregnancy, but feels indulgent now. I just don't have the capacity to reach out and care for others, when I can barely care for myself and my family. But I appreciate every text and tweet and email, and I try to at least respond honestly and not superficially. Today my responses went from "doing ok, though Will is feeling sick" to "not so good!" so that's a start.<br />
<br />
It was a weird day. Maybe tomorrow will be better.<br />
<br />
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I had an ultrasound and prenatal checkup today. My doctor wore a disposable plastic gown + gloves, and a fabric mask. She told me that I'm the first patient she's been able to "gear up" for (my husband has respiratory symptoms), and that she has to wash/reuse the mask.</div>
— Kim Rohrer (@kimskitchensink) <a href="https://twitter.com/kimskitchensink/status/1241233972895477760?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">March 21, 2020</a></blockquote>
<script async="" charset="utf-8" src="https://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js"></script>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12548150437127473109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214008852340471685.post-27033855012732601192020-03-19T22:28:00.001-07:002020-03-19T22:28:10.408-07:00The UnknownYesterday, we unpacked some more bags from our quick trip to Tahoe. We baked bread. Made stock and soup. Picked flowers in the garden. Did laundry.<br />
<br />
Today, we unpacked some more. Ran the dishwasher twice. I cleaned the stove. Friends went grocery shopping for us, so now we have fresh produce. Read <a href="https://www.propublica.org/article/coronavirus-and-pregnancy-expecting-mothers-q-and-a" target="_blank">this article</a> about how coronavirus may impact pregnancy and delivery. Found it alternately helpful and terrifying.<br />
<br />
There's just so much uncertainty right now, that even the days that are full of fun and lightness and snuggles and giggles and up with me in tears at one point or another. We've been taking really nice family naps and dealing with the "I don't want to turn off Daniel Tiger" tantrums, and spending time together in a way that is honestly a blessing, given that these are our last weeks as a family of three.<br />
<br />
I don't have much more to say about how things are going in week 1, though I had lots of coherent and thoughtful things to say earlier when I was washing dishes. Funny how those nicely worded smart things just dissipate by the end of the day.<br />
<br />
I have a Non-Stress Test and Strep B swab appointment, as well as a phone appointment with my doctor, tomorrow. I was supposed to have an ultrasound to check both the size and position of the baby, but they postponed that until next week. Why? Will has what may just be a cold/sinus infection (stuffy head/face, sinus pressure), but may be coronavirus (super low fever, dry cough and fatigue), and since his doctor has him in the "person under investigation" category and I live with him, they consider me to be possibly be an asymptomatic carrier. And given that, they don't want me coming in for an appointment where I'd be in close quarters, "face to face" with an ultrasound tech for an hour (vs the NST where they'd gear up and put the monitors on me and leave me alone in the room). I can't get tested because the likelihood I have coronavirus is too low, and tests are being rationed carefully. I agree that they should save the tests for those who really need them, and I was feeling preemptively guilty at the idea that I might take a test away from someone who needs it more. But it's still hard not to know, to be assumed to be a risk to others until proven otherwise, but not able to prove otherwise.<br />
<br />
It's disappointing, of course, because I was really looking forward to an ultrasound as reassurance, and to help inform any future planning for labor and delivery. But I also want to prioritize the health of the medical staff as much as possible, and since there's no reason to believe there's something wrong (baby is moving a lot, and as long as the NST goes well tomorrow, we assume all is fine), it's safer to play it safe.<br />
<br />
The unknown, the constant reevaluating and planning and replanning and trying not to plan at all...it's exhausting. But tomorrow is another day (I remind myself) and overall, the days have been going nicely. We're doing things, even if we're not doing all the things on my checklist. There will be time for that (I remind myself) when Will feels better. When Margie's not coughing so much she can't sleep well alone. We will get through the chores and the piles and the house will start to feel ready. Picking up baby gear from the storage will count as an essential errand (gotta have the carseat), and hopefully one of us will feel well enough to pick it up in the next week or so.<br />
<br />
It's hard to stay hopeful, unless I'm just burying my head in the sand and pretending that this is all normal and fine, and I don't think too much about how long it will last or what will happen when the baby is ready to come. It's all ok living in the moment, but I'm a planner and we have some major changes coming. For now, I'll try to channel my inner Elsa (Margie would approve). This feels a bit too optimistic for my mood, but maybe it'll rub off on me.<br />
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<br />Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12548150437127473109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214008852340471685.post-11435544357042398532020-03-17T23:00:00.002-07:002020-03-17T23:00:29.476-07:00Weird timesIt's been almost a year since I last posted. It's been a busy year, I guess, but frankly, I just haven't made time to blog. I've had ideas, but not inspiration. I've been meaning to write in a journal for the new baby (hi, oh yeah, I'm 36 weeks pregnant), and have completely failed. This pregnancy has been so different from the last one, from physical stuff (more and different aches and pains) to mental (so much more tired, so many feelings about how our lives will change). I haven't been documenting this pregnancy nearly as much or as often as the last one, and I feel like this poor kid is already getting the short end of the stick in terms of attention. And in these weird times, well, there's a new and added complication.<br />
<br />
There is so much information flowing around, most of it terrifying, and I have to force myself to close Twitter and stop reading news frequently throughout the day. The uncertainty is what gets me. I do best when I have a plan, and it's impossible to make a plan right now - not a real one, anyway. It's hard for me to live one day at a time, especially when we're physically isolated from our friends, family, and local community. It's weird to imagine this going on for months or years, each of us isolated in our own homes with just our nuclear family units, afraid of and unable to help each other in person. We'll find a new way of living; we are already trying to start. Of course.<br />
<br />
Today was our first day at home in this new world. We hightailed it up to a friend's house in Tahoe this weekend - postponing the inevitable, maybe. There was a big snowstorm expected, and we thought it would be good to get out of town for a few days, try out our new Subaru, and just kind of hide from Coronavirus for a little bit. It was beautiful and we are so so lucky to have had that option. But as of last night, we're home and getting ready to adjust to a new normal.<br />
<br />
We're tired. Will wasn't feeling well today, and like I said, I'm 36 weeks pregnant, and even though Margie was unbelievably adorable almost every minute of the day, there were still tough tantrum-y moments and missed naps and physical and mental exhaustion...it was a hard day, even though almost all of it was charming and fun and very mellow. I don't know what we would have done if we had to work, or if Margie was school-age and had to keep up with classwork. So many parent-friends are now in the position of having to work from home while also homeschooling their kids, without knowing whether or when things will go back to normal.<br />
<br />I keep hearing of schools announcing that they're closing for the rest of the year. I don't know what that will mean for our preschool and daycare situation, but it's unnerving. Mostly because it seems so...permanent, and so far off, and so hard, even though we are in a pretty ok spot to handle something like that. As it is, I'm off on maternity leave until mid-August. Will's work has been pretty flexible so far (they gave staff 3 weeks paid time off in light of school closures), and likely will continue to be. We have a comfortable home, stable income to support our family, access to food, etc. We will adapt. We will be fine. We are lucky. Extremely lucky.<br />
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But this is, as everyone keeps saying, weird times. What if this continues for a year? What if it becomes the new normal? There's so much unknown. And today, despite having two relatively healthy parents home and not working, with one relatively easygoing, cheerful, and easily-entertained kid, I felt so overwhelmed and confused that it felt like the right time to resurrect the old blog. I need a place to write down what we're doing, how we're adapting. To count our blessings and keep track of time.<br />
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So, some highlights from today:<br />- stayed in bed until well after 8am<br />
- baked egg-free banana muffins (including a hunger-induced meltdown when I didn't leave her a big enough scoop of batter to eat because I was using it to fill the muffin liners she told me to fill)<br />
- played wild and crazy puppet show games with Margie's farm animal puppets (often reenacting storylines from Daniel Tiger but with farm animal characters)<br />
- watched videos of <a href="https://twitter.com/shedd_aquarium/status/1239661654629023747" target="_blank">penguins wandering around an aquarium</a><br />
- did not really nap, but did have some lovely snuggles<br />
- unpacked some of our Tahoe bags and a box of diapers and wipes<br />
- made pizza for dinner<br />
- roleplayed/talked through the story of Frozen 2, many, many, many times (for example: "I'm so sad because our mommy and daddy died, yeah, they died, it's so sad. I wish they could be alive again. I gived you some of my magic so we can go on an adventure together to Ahtohallen and learn about my magic. I want to live with you in our castle in Arendelle so we can always be together, because we are sisters.")<br />
- made bread dough to bake tomorrow<br />
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There's so much more to do - our house is filled with boxes and bags, and I have lots of ideas for ways we could spend our days at home. But when I write out the highlights and not just the task-based accomplishments, I realize that our day was quite full. There's no rush to do everything in one day, or even one week (though I felt some internalized pressure to be productive on day 1 instead of starting off with a "lost" day or something). The reality is that we'll likely be in this for weeks or even months, and I should take some time to slow down and adjust to the new reality instead of jumping into "fixing" it with productivity.<br />
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We have a long list of things to do to get ready for the baby, and we've told Margie that we're on an extra special long spring break to spend time with our families, take care of our bodies and be healthy, and get ready for baby brother's arrival. So far, she's asked if "since everybody is having time with their families and not going to school, can we have a friend over to play or scooter in the neighborhood?" And I told her that everyone's plan right now is to spend special time with their own families, but maybe another time we could see a friend. We're planning on a lot of FaceTime and special projects around the house, and deploying Daniel Tiger, Sesame Street, and of course, Frozen 2 as needed. We'll see. One day at a time. Weird times indeed.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12548150437127473109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214008852340471685.post-5327280952946530262019-04-21T21:43:00.001-07:002019-04-21T21:48:04.055-07:00Three years.Today is Passover. And Easter. And three years since my dad died. I feel compelled to post something on social media because that's how we're supposed to perform our grief these days, to say, in front of everyone we know and don't know, that You, Person I've Loved And Lost, You Are Not Forgotten. I know grief manifests in different ways for different people, but I'll say that for me, this performative grief is tough. It seems there's a specific message that is expected: a broadcast that while I am remembering my dad in sadness and fondness especially today, that ultimately, I am ok. And I am ok. And I am grieving. Check the social media box of remembering the dead, etc etc etc. <br /><br />My dad died when I was nearly 5 months pregnant. During that time and since, my experience and understanding of time has warped. It's been about getting through moments and hours and weeks and months. Rarely years, until I look backwards and realize how many have passed. It's a peculiar sort of fog, crisp and blurred all at once. How much of that can be attributed to grief versus motherhood versus just the nature of getting older and living a busy life is not for me to say. But today is a singular day, filled with the expected moments of sadness and joy and of life going on as usual, and not. But so is every day, filled with sadness and joy and life going on and not. <div>
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I'm sometimes caught off guard by a sudden wave of intense sadness, because I've thought of something I want to tell or ask my dad. Something he'd get a kick out of, or something that would be much more fun to ask him than to look up online. Some days it happens several times. Some days none. But my dad is never too far from my thoughts, and he often pops in, almost as if to say hi, and I like to think that somehow he's keeping gentle tabs on our life. That he knows about Margie's budding taste in music and that my 2004 Civic is still running strong. That he's proud that we carry his memory on our keychains and in our hearts when we visit the mountains. That he's still a part of us, and all around us, and in our recipe books and backyard BBQs.<br /><br />So this is my regularly-scheduled sharing of grief. I know too many friends who have lost parents in the three years since I lost my dad, and this is the way it will continue to be. I was looking back on photos from April 2016, and found a little compilation that feels right for this post. Joyful, mostly, but with a small undercurrent of sadness, likely only understood by those who know.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdAE8k1mL7kVPJfZ-d2CD_Ku-ktq0w9-VzSDWQz8z_DxLdvOMcaVdE_HiUZxJoEknhArfVaKOmESkDh_IrmOPbOXRoJZ2FxS7vzcT3PzC2Q3MF5KZJyeWvM4AsBEH-658sJ057BRuY9_Py/s1600/IMG_5403.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdAE8k1mL7kVPJfZ-d2CD_Ku-ktq0w9-VzSDWQz8z_DxLdvOMcaVdE_HiUZxJoEknhArfVaKOmESkDh_IrmOPbOXRoJZ2FxS7vzcT3PzC2Q3MF5KZJyeWvM4AsBEH-658sJ057BRuY9_Py/s320/IMG_5403.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My dad took this picture of me on a very short walk around the neighborhood. I was about 18 weeks pregnant, and he had just had a gigantic tumor removed from inside his torso. We laughed about our mutual shortness of breath and inability to breeze up the slight hill. We talked about the opposing reasons for our shortness of breath, laughing out of the gallows humor we shared. <br /><br />I captioned this picture "sunshiney" in the pregnancy photo album where I was storing all of the photos of my pregnancy. I hadn't seen it in a long time, until tonight, and I was instantly transported back to that warm afternoon under the pepper trees.<br style="font-size: medium; text-align: start;" /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqT1ute76JfVONHJ0oH3lk47cqQRPMGOBJG2xAdJpLXOeFF-Wh_EyWL9Bx4LC80IM44010PS9dxtYEMhZqYlyxe4ARjsN9xgqJNlVaVtYmzQTNZkxfilC2tFrjTzY8cBBQiGR1pkWVAZPo/s1600/IMG_5424.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqT1ute76JfVONHJ0oH3lk47cqQRPMGOBJG2xAdJpLXOeFF-Wh_EyWL9Bx4LC80IM44010PS9dxtYEMhZqYlyxe4ARjsN9xgqJNlVaVtYmzQTNZkxfilC2tFrjTzY8cBBQiGR1pkWVAZPo/s320/IMG_5424.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I took my dad out for one of his favorite meals: French Dip from an old school Jewish deli. He didn't have much of an appetite, and only ate about half the sandwich, and he later reported that it did not agree with his stomach, "but it was so worth it." This was the last time we hung out like this, and the way my dad looked at that sandwich and was willing to sacrifice gastrointestinal discomfort for a good sandwich tells me very obviously where I get my love of food.<br style="font-size: medium; text-align: start;" /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi984y6liY07zLBT-U9LS1TmYfj1otiC0OfII67m6yl_2cZsexC2OCDpOWq2zEJcfzTYNxfThc9SBzO22V7gA_J_5WYePndLSgcEUzylito-tr4bssvr8MSzJU_CYs7XWEbiq8Ez3Q9UrBo/s1600/IMG_5743.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi984y6liY07zLBT-U9LS1TmYfj1otiC0OfII67m6yl_2cZsexC2OCDpOWq2zEJcfzTYNxfThc9SBzO22V7gA_J_5WYePndLSgcEUzylito-tr4bssvr8MSzJU_CYs7XWEbiq8Ez3Q9UrBo/s320/IMG_5743.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My dad and me, hiking in Yosemite. I must have been just about one year old on this trip, but I just love how confident and happy my dad looks. Yosemite was one of his favorite places on the planet, and it's mine too.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL7YgprvtU51EBxJPHtIcicz3h2eCgPBzEUxgUTc5jrpxG2vgl05dGcvjgXrGgVm60IuZhK6FtGB3iuLaZuzf96XVphTQCiSb2IWp2O_VmudX7i83JE2luugKrvhKTuOkxi1FjDWpDfe_8/s1600/IMG_5745.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: medium; text-align: start;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL7YgprvtU51EBxJPHtIcicz3h2eCgPBzEUxgUTc5jrpxG2vgl05dGcvjgXrGgVm60IuZhK6FtGB3iuLaZuzf96XVphTQCiSb2IWp2O_VmudX7i83JE2luugKrvhKTuOkxi1FjDWpDfe_8/s320/IMG_5745.jpg" /></a><br />This one I like just because Margie has recently, out of nowhere, started talking about Dumbo. One of her classmates went to Disneyland, I think, and shared a photo with the class, but she came home one day and started talking about Dumbo the elephant. And then we saw a photo from another friend's trip to Disneyland - it looks pretty similar to this one, actually. But I had forgotten about this picture of me and my dad until tonight - I took a photo of it when I was home for the funeral and looking through old photo albums. Family trips to Disneyland are some of my favorite memories...and even more than the trips themselves, the process of saving our quarters in my dad's desk drawer until we had enough for tickets (only $25 per person at the time).</td></tr>
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Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12548150437127473109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214008852340471685.post-23402175406873864112018-10-22T21:50:00.001-07:002018-10-22T21:50:46.698-07:00Some Things About Parenting<b>Part One</b><br />
I really like our weeknight dinner routine. Most nights, I get home by 5:30, which gives me about half an hour to get dinner started before Margie and Will get home. Making dinner is grounding - a connection <a href="https://twitter.com/kimskitchensink/status/1044067672219017216" target="_blank">to the person I was</a> before I was a mom. I'm lucky - I have a flexible enough work schedule that I can leave the office by 4:20, check in with work while on the bus home, and finish up a few loose ends after bedtime (or occasionally several hours' worth of loose ends, but not often). Before Margie, we ate most dinners on the floor, at the coffee table, in front of the TV. Since she's been old enough to sit with us, we eat every night around the dining room table that was once my grandparents'. The Marjorie for whom Margie was named would like that, I think.<br />
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<b>Part Two</b><br />
It's really important to me to be able to spend those 2ish hours together as a family as many nights as possible - if I'm going to miss dinner and bedtime, there better be a damn good reason. I don't do nearly as many speaking engagements as I used to. I don't schedule meetings that end after 4:15pm. I don't hang around the office for a beer, or stick around the city for drinks with friends (though let's be honest, I never really did that before, either). Before Margie, I usually left work by 6pm, even if coworkers were staying later for game night or movie night...I'm just not really a "hang out at work after work" kind of person. I like to be home. But especially since Margie, all I want to do is get home and get the chores out of the way before she gets home so that in those precious few hours between work/school and bedtime, I can be all hers.<br />
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<b>Part Three</b><br />
I am a busy lady, with a Very Important Career and a side hustle that's still a hustle. But I still fight for my family time. I fight for my nights and weekends. I've learned to say no and to be ok with what that means. I may not be as much of a "public figure" in my career as I used to be, whatever that means. I never want to look back at staying late at work as "time I won't get back" with my kid. That's not to say I never go out -- Will and I go on dates occasionally, and I do pick up the rare speaking gig when it's really important to me. I spent three days away from Margie running Camp OrgOrg. But these are the exception for me now; I'm extremely choosy about how I spend these special and few evening family time hours.<br />
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<b>Part Four</b><br />
I realize the immense privilege in what I describe. It's an absolute luxury to be able to have such control over my schedule, my choices. And still, I wish I could work from home more of the time. I wish I could work four day weeks. There are days where I wish I could be a stay at home mom (albeit one with part time childcare so that I'd still get a break and have time to myself). There is no perfect solution, and I operate from a baseline that's already higher than so many parents I know (and many more that I don't, of course). These are the choices that make sense for me, and for my family. They're certainly not for everyone. I'm lucky that my workplace affords people the option to be somewhat flexible in the hours spent in the office, at our desks. Not everyone is so lucky, and moreso, not everyone would choose this balance if it was an option for them. Even amongst my circle, I know people who are quite happy trading off mornings and evenings with their spouse so that they can each work longer hours at jobs they love. I know people who regularly travel for work, and I see how much joy it brings them to be their full non-parent selves in their awesome careers. I also know people who've dropped out of the workforce to care for children full-time.<br />
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We all just do our best, I think. I am just now so extremely aware of the choices I make, of the things I fight for and the things I concede. Everything feels intentional; it doesn't feel like I have the option to just let things happen anymore.<br />
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And that's all. That's some things about parenting. Some things I think I know and will probably laugh about years form now. The end.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12548150437127473109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214008852340471685.post-46836002938987454862018-09-04T21:49:00.001-07:002018-09-04T21:51:36.386-07:00Qualifying DoneIt's been almost a year since I published anything here. In the meantime, I've gone through <a href="https://blog.disqus.com/disqus-and-zeta" target="_blank">two</a> (2!) <a href="http://www.orgorg.co/blog/big-news-from-orgorg-eden" target="_blank">acquisitions</a>, seen friends through several weddings, mourned the loss of a family member, traveled to France, and camped in the mountains. Margie started school, and Will and I both started <a href="http://www.stridehealth.com/" target="_blank">new jobs</a>. Lots of change. It's telling, I think, that my last blog post was a tentative declaration of the end of pumping - after a very busy year with no blogging, I've finally come back to this space to tentatively declare the end of nursing.<br />
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It's funny to feel like "done" needs a qualification. I'm constantly finding myself saying that "I think" we're done with nursing, though if I'm honest with myself, I don't intend to nurse Margie again. Which...wow. I've never typed that or said it out loud definitively. It stings a little. It brings tears to my eyes to think that she will never nurse again, but that's the <strike>likely</strike> truth.<br />
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I had always said that when she could ask for it in complete sentences, I would be ready to wean her. And if that hadn't happened yet, I'd revisit our nursing situation around her 2nd birthday (which, ahem, is in 2 days). Even though she's had sentences for a few months, she was still saying "leche mama" or "want milk" when she wanted to nurse...which...technically, not sentences. I told myself we had a little while longer. But a couple of weeks ago, she said "want milk" and I asked if she wanted me to get some milk in a cup. She looked me straight in the eye and said, in perfect deadpan, "want milk from mommy's nipple."<br />
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That about froze me in my tracks. No question about it; this girl knew how to ask for exactly what she wanted. Nothing like the phrase "milk from mommy's nipple" (which she then used several more times over a few days) to make you question just how free spirited (or something) you are -- I'm not sure what it was about that phrase specifically, but for me, that moment was the confirmation I needed that it was time for us to stop.<br />
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But I was scared. Nursing was so hard at first, and it had become such a special way for us to bond, something no one else could do for her. I've been afraid that if I choose to wean her, I'm giving up my one superpower or something. There was also the timing (a convenient cover for my emotional reasons not to wean). I knew that while we're not trying to get pregnant right now, I didn't want to nurse while pregnant, and I didn't want trying to get pregnant to be the reason I stop nursing. I didn't want to wean her before our vacations, or immediately before starting school -- but now that we're a few weeks into school and back from all our travels, the timing felt right. So I waited until it seemed like Margie was ready...which...when she's asking so directly, I felt she was. And I was, too (mostly). We have other ways to bond now, and I'm less worried about my baby not connecting with me (or whatever those complicated feelings belie).<br />
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I was really nervous about instigating it myself; I'd hoped she would just gradually lose interest. But she didn't -- not on on her own, anyway. Nursing first thing in the morning and right before bed was our routine, and I think we were both attached to it. Luckily, it only took a small change in our routine (literally, I asked her if she wanted a "story with mommy before stories with daddy" instead of "milk with mommy before stories with daddy" and she happily obliged), but we only had one hard meltdown with hysterical sobs for "milk from mommy's nipple", which happened in the middle of the night when I wouldn't have nursed her anyway (I held back tears while I told her we weren't going to have milk, but that I would rock her). I feel extremely lucky that she's taken to weaning so well. It's been pretty easy for us, as far as routines and navigating changes go. We still have lovely snuggles when we read before bed, and in the morning while "daddy's in da shower! washin' da hair! washin' da tummy! washin' da tushie hahahahahahahaha". She's still super mommy-obsessed, to the point where there are times when I hide in the other room (if she's happily playing and hasn't seen me yet) or plan things where she'll have daddy time without me. It's still great. She's a big kid, but she's still my baby.<br />
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It's been pretty rough on my hormones, as expected. It's been about a week since we last nursed, or maybe a little more. Strangely, I can't remember exactly when we last nursed. I think it was before work, on Monday or Tuesday of last week. I guess I'm kind of glad to not know. I didn't want a big dramatic "this is the last time!" nursing session. That would have been too hard for me. I probably would have sobbed through the whole thing and after. It's better this way, probably for both of us. But it's still a little weird. I guess I can have that breastmilk "pearl" necklace made now, as a way to mark the passage of time. I think I care less about it than I did, but I have the frozen milk and I've already paid for it, so I may as well.<br />
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Oh yeah, the hormones. The ups and downs have been intense the last few days. Which makes sense, since the body takes a few days to adjust to changes in the nursing routine. My chest sometimes feels tight and heavy, and I can't tell if that's milk trying to letdown and then not letting down, or if it's just hormones raging through my veins, just under the surface, ready to make me cry or dance at the drop of a hat. I notice that I get really, really sad whenever my supply changes (like previous times when Margie would drop a nursing session) - several days of tiny nothing comments sending me into an intense need for solitude and tears. It passes, and I assume this will pass as well. I've heard the end of nursing can wreak havoc on your system; as bad as postpartum depression and PMS and pregnancy mood swings all rolled into one. I'm steeling myself, a bit. Bracing myself for some low lows.<br />
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I'm looking forward to the hormones to settle down, and maybe I'll buy myself some new bras in a few weeks (months?) when my breasts return to whatever size they're going to be. And for now I'll just ride the waves as best I can. I don't know that I'll ever be jumping with glee, congratulating myself for being done with nursing (why is it that everyone's response to weaning news is "CONGRATULATIONS!!!" like that's the only/obvious way to feel about it?), but I guess I can be happy for the experience we had, and find ways to be not just comfortable, but glad to be moving on to the next parenting milestones.<br />
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Would love to hear other stories of weaning, and life post-nursing, from anyone who wants to share.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12548150437127473109noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214008852340471685.post-5661277503739521602017-10-13T10:30:00.002-07:002017-10-13T10:30:53.438-07:00And here we areIt's been almost two weeks since <a href="http://www.kimskitchensink.com/2017/10/first-day.html" target="_blank">my last post</a>, when I was determining whether The End Of Pumping was upon me. I haven't pumped in two weeks. I'm done. I think I can safely bring the pump home from work, do a final sterilization of all the parts, and put it in storage until a potential future someday where I'll need it again.<br />
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So I'm not pumping anymore. My body seems to have adjusted. It feels sort of anticlimactic, to be honest, but I'm glad to have the time back in my day, and I don't feel as sad as I thought I would about the fact that I'm not producing milk for Margie while I'm at work.<br />
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She's nursing a bit less now, we're down to 3 times (morning, a usually-short session after work, and bedtime) as well as whatever happens overnight. Which...has been 1 or nothing lately. We've had an interesting week with sleep, so I'll just share.<br />
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<ul>
<li>Sunday night (first night back home after a few nights away, where sleep was a little wonky): about 45 min of on and off crying (Will went in for one check)</li>
<li>Monday night: about an hour of on and off crying, 1-2am (my going in for a check made it worse, Will going in made it better)</li>
<li>Tuesday night: SHE SLEPT THROUGH THE NIGHT. 8:15pm-7:20am. Without waking up. If you're keeping track, that's <i>three nights in a row with no nursing overnight.</i></li>
<li>Wednesday night: One wakeup at 4am; I nursed her, though we probably could have done cry-it-out.</li>
<li>Thursday night: Nursed at 2:30am, Will rocked her back down at 5:45 after what we think was a nightmare. The air quality is really bad right now because of <a href="http://www.sfgate.com/bayarea/article/Live-updates-23-dead-in-Wine-Country-fires-12271728.php" target="_blank">huge fires</a>, and our throats and noses are dry, so we're trying to be a little more responsive to resolving her upsets.</li>
</ul>
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But sleep is about a million times better than it was. Bedtime is a breeze of delightful reading and cuddles. There will always be something that comes in to mess with sleep, be it smoky air or emerging teeth or a handful of new words. But I feel like the default has improved; the baseline has risen. Things are getting better. And even though most nights are still a little wakeful, I got 8 hours of sleep in a row for the first time in over a year and a half. </div>
Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12548150437127473109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214008852340471685.post-62242785099611151942017-10-02T15:23:00.001-07:002017-10-02T15:23:32.007-07:00First Day?Here I am in Week 3 of Weaning From The Pump. And I think...I am not pumping today? Am I done now? Like, forever?<br />
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Last week, I pumped once a day, for 30 minutes. Monday and Tuesday, I was all full and tingly feeling by 1pm (aka pump o'clock). Wednesday and Friday (I'm home on Thursdays and don't pump) I didn't get tingly by 1pm, but I pumped at that time anyway. I got between 3-4oz in that 30min session all four days. Great. Enough for a bottle, and it looks like my body has adjusted to the new schedule (it takes 2-3 days for the milk production to adjust to a change in schedule), despite nursing more than usual overnight last week.<br />
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And now it's today. I was going to pump for 15 minutes Mon-Wed this week (we're traveling Thurs-Fri) and then consider myself done. Taper the end out slowly and gently. But things have been getting busy at work today, and I hadn't been getting the "full and tinglies" so I just haven't done it. But now it's 3pm, and I'm starting to feel the tingles...and yet I think I'm going to try to hold out another 2.5 hours and just nurse at home. I don't want to go through the hassle of setting up and tearing down the pump situation if I don't have to. It's time for Margie to learn to drink non-breastmilk anyway, so if I don't come home with a bottle she'll either have thawed milk from the freezer or soy milk tomorrow.<br />
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It's really strange to not pump. You spend so much time thinking and worrying and calculating how much time you're pumping and ounces you're producing -- for months, I've been obsessed with these numbers. And now, I'm just choosing not to pump. Because even though I know that I could go into the pumping room and crank out a 3-4oz bottle (hi, full breasts!), that's not the goal. My goal is not to pump enough for tomorrow's bottle. My goal is to not pump at all. For her to have a bottle or cup of soy milk and for my boobs to stop producing milk between the hours of 8:30am-5:30pm. I keep telling myself this, because it feels somehow wasteful to not bring home a bottle when I <i>could</i> - the milk is just sitting there, filling up, waiting to be emptied and I'm just letting it sit, teaching my body to stop making it.<br />
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Even on weekends, recently, it seems that Margie is less interested in nursing during those "business" hours. Maybe we're somehow telepathically syncing up. She's not super interested in nursing - there's too much to see and do - and my body is adapting. Timed well with the pumping-weaning, maybe it's a coincidence, or maybe it's Just Time.<br />
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I'm trying to ride the wave and let this happen as it happens and not get too emotional about it. But between the "is this the right thing? what should I do?" and the "my baaaaaby is a toddddler and she doesn't neeeed meeeee the same waaaaaay" feelings...there's a lot going on.<br />
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But today might be the first day I don't pump. So that's a thing.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12548150437127473109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214008852340471685.post-15263501654411300072017-09-22T15:35:00.002-07:002017-09-22T15:35:25.529-07:001,367 Words About Pumping and WeaningWhen I first started pumping, I had an oversupply of milk. For a long time, I was one of those people who had an abundance of milk; the joyful burden of leaking breasts and spraying milk all over the room. It was funny, but it was comforting, knowing I didn't have the supply struggles of so many new moms. It was a luxury I was grateful to have. Over time, as I was pumping more often than I was nursing during the day, I went from often pumping in excess to pumping "just enough" for the next day. In my three pumping sessions per day, I would pump the requisite 16, then 12, then 8 ounces - my body somehow knowing to adjust output based on what my baby needed. It felt something like magical, and I tried to trust my body to make what my baby needed. I felt lucky, and #blessed and all that. And my body has continued to keep up with Margie's needs, even though that means now I'm barely getting 3-4oz per day. "It's ok; that's all she needs," I tell myself, though it's hard to reconcile.<br />
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It's not a problem; it's a natural phase. My baby is almost one. Eating solid foods. Not requiring as much breastmilk in her diet. And my body knew this, though my heart didn't want to accept it. My baby is growing up. I would come home from work to find she hadn't finished her second bottle; she'd only consumed 6 ounces while I was away, and now I had to feed her from a bottle instead of from the breast to avoid wasting precious pumped milk. But even though this change was happening, and I could see in front of me what she was drinking, coming home from work with "only" 6 ounces of milk felt like a failure. And over the next few weeks, I started coming home with 5, or 4. Occasionally 7, for reasons I don't really understand, but blame on hormones. I'm grateful that my body has been able to give me this experience, even if I don't fully understand the "magic"-seeming parts of it.<br />
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And now that I'm producing just enough for one bottle, and she's old enough to have cow's or non-dairy milk in a bottle, I've decided to start weaning myself off of pumping. She will likely still nurse in the morning and before bed, and she is still waking to nurse at least once overnight, and often more than that. But during the day, she doesn't need the one 4 ounce bottle I've been pumping three times a day to bring home to her. It's time for me to give myself a break, and release myself from the routine of pumping.<br />
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I had an epiphany in therapy recently: one of the reasons I've kept up with pumping for so long is that it feels like something I am doing for my daughter, even though I'm away from her all day at work. The milk I bring home is a gift I've made for her each day. While I'm away for 9 hours, I'm still spending 90 minutes thinking of her, working for her, producing for her. It feels like a kindness, a motherliness, something that tugs at the most biologically basic need inside me to provide for her. And I didn't want to sever that connection.<br />
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A friend told me that when it's time to stop pumping, "you'll just know." But I couldn't decide when to start weaning off the pump, and I was losing my mind going around in circles about it - clearly I didn't "just know". So I just decided to keep on keeping on, three times a day, until I "knew" I was ready. And last week, <i>I knew.</i><br />
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It's not that simple, of course. It's not easy to just stop cold turkey. I am a person who is apparently quite sensitive to changes in my hormone levels -- when Margie consolidated her afternoon bottle and post-work nursing session into one, I started having hot flashes and hormonal mood swings. I've heard that it's best to be gentle on your body if you can, dropping one pumping session per week until you're down to zero. I had planned on this week being the last of 3x/day, and dropping to 2x/day next week, and so on, but a delayed work meeting schedule meant that I had an accidental 2x/day on Monday, so I just took it as a sign to start now. I wasn't in the office Tuesday or Thursday, so this week hasn't been a full pumping week, but I figured I might as well rip off the emotional bandaid anyway.<br />
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It's weird to only pump twice a day. When I clean up after the second session, I have to remind myself to clean all the way up and not just stick things back in the fridge until next time. When I'm pumping for the second time, I have to accept that that's all I'm getting for the day - I won't squeeze another ounce or so out of a third session. I have to remember to get the bottles at the end of the day, since my final session isn't immediately followed by my leaving the office anymore. It's not a big deal, and I recognize the privilege of even being in this position, but it's still taking emotional and mental energy to sort out.<br />
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So today is Friday. My last day of pumping twice a day. Next week it'll just be one session, midday, assuming my breasts can handle that (I assume they can, since I very rarely even have full-feeling breasts, much less engorgement, anymore). I've barely taking home 3-4 oz per day so far, and I'm guessing that next week will be even less. And that's ok - that's kind of the point. When we run out of 4oz bottles in the fridge, we'll move on to the 3oz bottles. There are some 3oz bags in the freezer. We can supplement with cow's milk or soy milk, or nothing, says her pediatrician, as long as she's still eating dairy (and this girl loves cheese in all forms, so no problem there). After next week, when we run out of milk in the freezer, we'll be done with breastmilk in bottles.<br />
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I'm feeling an odd combination of relief and freedom and sadness. I don't even want to imagine how it will feel to be done with breastfeeding altogether, but I'm not ready for that yet, and thankfully, neither is Margie as far as I can tell. I'll be glad to be done with the "brain weasels" of counting ounces and timing how long bottles have been out or thawed or frozen or not. It will be nice not to have my work day broken up by my dates with the machine. I'll miss catching up on Netflix or just looking at baby pictures.<br />
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When I enter the pumping room (which is great; it's lovely; I designed it - I'm very lucky), I sigh at the effort of getting myself set up. Locking the door. Closing the blinds. Taking off my shirt. Putting on the strapless pumping bra. Attaching the pump parts. Etc etc etc. repeat in reverse at the end. I'm definitely ready to be done. But when the letdown starts, and I'm watching videos of my baby while watching little drops fall into the bottles, I think it's not that bad (thanks, oxytocin) and feel twinges of sadness about this part of my life ending. I've been doing it for almost 10 months now. That's a lot. It <i>feels</i> like a lot. And yet, I can't believe it's almost over.<br />
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But it's time. I suppose I'll report back when I'm officially done pumping. It feels like I should have some sort of ceremony or celebration on my last day, or at least tell my officemates that the pumping room is no longer being used. But I feel a little too melancholy and not quite celebratory enough for that. Guess I'll blame the hormones.<br />
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<b>I'd love to hear your pumping and weaning stories below, if you want to share them!</b>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12548150437127473109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214008852340471685.post-15892222393590587622017-06-28T16:34:00.001-07:002017-06-28T16:34:25.468-07:00The Glamorous Life of a (This) Working MomI don't know what happened last night. There's a lot running through my head this morning, and rather than send a flood of eleventyfive tweets, I figured I'd write a blog post. It's been a while, anyway.<br />
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Sometimes, I feel like I'm Having it All. I'm crushing it at <a href="http://www.disqus.com/" target="_blank">work</a>, my <a href="http://www.orgorg.co/" target="_blank">side hustle</a> is churning along smoothly, the baby is sleeping in regular, 4-hour chunks throughout the night, and my jeans fit comfortably.<br />
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Most of the time, I look at Having it All Me, and I don't even believe that those things have ever happened independently, much less all at once. I feel barely coherent at work, I go days without responding to side hustle emails (much less working on projects), Margie's awake every hour needing to be nursed or held and rocked back to sleep, and my jeans are too tight. I think you can guess what kind of time it is today. I'm two cups of coffee and a green tea in, and it's only 2:30, and I don't know how I'm going to make it through the rest of the afternoon and evening.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was *hilarious* to me at 8:45 this morning.</td></tr>
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Sleep has eluded us for a few nights now, but the whole <a href="http://www.kimskitchensink.com/search/label/sleep" target="_blank">sleep training</a> thing is sort of out the window because of The Trifecta: Teething (#4 is large and in charge and right under the gum), Developmental Changes (crawling and pulling herself to standing), and Probable Illness (Will and I both have sore throats). Last night was epically rough, returning to the world of The Thunderdome (aka having a newborn), where she would only sleep if being held. I think there may have been one stretch of 2-3 hours of sleep in a row, but honestly, I can't remember. I barely stumbled to work and stayed awake all day, and now it's almost 4:30 and I'm finally finishing this blog post while pumping.<br />
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I made it through the work day, and somehow I'll make it through tonight, because that's what has to happen, and that's how this works. But man. I have two more long work days ahead of me, and we're going camping this weekend, and I am praying to St. Swaddlesnooze that Margie starts sleeping again.<br />
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I'm always full of questions and research and trying to Figure Things Out -- trying to find a reason for the behavior change because understanding why might help us turn things around. But lately, I'm trying to lean into the chaos. To throw my arms in the air and just ride the wave, because what else can I do? Babies are gonna baby. And there might be different or better ways to do things, but all I can do is take it one day at a time and hope that I don't look back in years and think I was an idiot. Or even I do, I hope I can be kind to my sleep-deprived past self and realize that I was just doing my best to survive Thunderdome.<br />
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<br />Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12548150437127473109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214008852340471685.post-57848611618050312082017-05-10T15:49:00.001-07:002017-05-10T15:49:24.686-07:0033Last night, Margie gave me the sweetest birthday gift of all: nearly 7 hours of uninterrupted sleep. She's started occasionally dropping her midnight feeding, which means that she sleeps from around 8pm to 4:30am before needing to eat. Now, she was <i>hungry</i> (<i>so hungry</i>) when she woke up at 4:45, but eventually that will stretch longer and longer, I'm told, and she'll just wake up ravenous at her normal 7:30am wakeup time :) I fully expect her to wake up at midnight to eat tonight, which is fine. I'm following her lead and (somehow) cherishing these little middle of the night moments we spend together. But if her lead means that she starts sleeping longer? Ok by me. And if we plateau here, and eventually I need to sleep more, and we have to train her not to eat overnight? We'll deal with that then. For now, it's manageable, and I'm hopeful that the fact that she's done this twice in the last week is a sign of change to come. Wow, it's easy to get sidetracked by baby sleep talk.<br />
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Anyway. I turned 33 today. And I'm feeling more like giving back than anything else. It's a real shit time for our country, and I realize how lucky I am to be relatively sheltered from the mess. It's a position of privilege, to be able to look at it, read about it, and go back to my little life where not much has changed. I am very, very lucky. Hashtag blessed.<br />
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Between <a href="https://www.plannedparenthood.org/donate/other-ways-give" target="_blank">Planned Parenthood</a>, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/womengatherla/photos/a.1205345619493171.1073741828.1188379047856495/1651652858195776/?type=3&theater" target="_blank">supporting refugee families,</a> <a href="https://support.climateride.org/index.cfm?fuseaction=donorDrive.participant&participantID=4532" target="_blank">rides to support the environment</a>, and friends dealing with unexpected medical expenses (<b>how is it acceptable in this country that people have to crowdfund their cancer treatments?!</b>), opportunities to help are definitely out there. And I'm trying to make a dent wherever I can. If you can, I urge you to as well. Disqus (where I work) gives the option for employee birthdays to have an edible/drinkable item to share with the office, or a donation to the cause of your choice. This year, I put my birthday funds towards Planned Parenthood.<br />
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It's just little things - I still have a family to look out for, and I'm not about to win any philanthropist of the year awards or anything...but it's nice to reflect on what I have and am able to provide for my family, and give something to people who aren't so lucky. Giving is a luxury I'm glad I have.<br />
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Give to yourself. Give to others. Do what you can. <3<br />
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<br />Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12548150437127473109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214008852340471685.post-26207568217989239872017-04-21T10:03:00.002-07:002017-04-21T10:03:17.900-07:00One YearOne year ago today, <a href="http://www.kimskitchensink.com/2016/05/the-unknowable.html" target="_blank">my dad died</a>. So did Prince, and my family quietly mourned our own loss amidst the swirling grief of the world. As did the families of all the other people who passed on April 21, 2016. Our grief is not special. Our grief is not unique. But it is our grief.<br />
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One year ago today, for the first time, we felt external movement from the baby growing inside me. I'm sure many other people felt their unborn children move, too. Our joy and excitement were not unique or special or different, but of course, to us...to me, it was. I wrote about it <a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B5mpQ_fWdeuTUWNsZHN4cEQ4WE5IdTVLbUpjMTdRQjVDUXpF/view" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
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This morning, I forgot to light the Yartzeit candle for my dad before I left the house. I was late for work, and in the rush to get extra baby snuggles and still get out the door, I left the candle sitting on top of the fridge. I knew I should have put it on the counter last night, where I'd be sure to see it this morning, but I didn't. My brain has a hard time remembering things, which I hear is perfectly <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ci9LRDR7DP4" target="_blank">normal</a>. It's hard to not be hurt by my forgetfulness sometimes, though I remind myself that these things happen. That it's ok. That it's not really a big deal. And it is ok, and it's not significant in the grand scheme of the world, and my dad would not likely be offended by my slip. But still. We'll light it when I get home from work, and it'll burn for 24 hours, and we'll remember my dad, as we remember him always.<br />
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There are good days and hard days, and life with a baby certainly provides a number of distractions I hadn't even imagined. Some days I forget, and I reach for my phone to call my dad, but those days are fewer and farther between. I think I'm starting to learn.<br />
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Healing is a tough thing. Reconciling living your new life with remembering your old one. I've been doing a lot of that lately, with the grief over my dad and the challenges of motherhood. Eventually it's not your "new life" anymore, it's just your life. It just is.<br />
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I'm about the same age as Margie in this picture, and I still have that satin Paramount jacket my dad is wearing. It's a trip, as my dad would say, to think about the passage of time, and to think that I was once this small, and he was once this young, and here we are today. It just is. And we just are.</div>
<br />Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12548150437127473109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214008852340471685.post-39858785382060723262017-04-06T17:03:00.000-07:002017-04-06T17:03:01.840-07:00Bun MaternityWhile I have recently taken most of my pre-pregnancy clothes out of storage, and thankfully, much of it still fits, there's still this ever-constant issue of what shirts to wear. I look at every shirt with my "can I nurse in this?" glasses on, which means some of my favorite shirts and dresses are just out of the picture for a while more. Make way for flowy tops that are easy to lift, or low-neck wraps that won't get stretched out when pulled to the side! Lots of cardigans and zip-up hoodies in my life for that easy-access front, for sure.<br />
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I recently became familiar with a company called <a href="http://www.bunmaternity.com/" target="_blank">Bun Maternity</a>...and their super cute nursing hoodie. I'd seen it around the internet, in my Facebook feed, on the mommy blogs...and I wanted to try it for myself. When they offered to ship me one for review, I was super excited! And it did not disappoint.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love how it comes low enough to cover my bum!</td></tr>
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It's just fitted enough to be cute, not frumpy, and its front panels are a cute alternative to the standard front-flap nursing top. My husband didn't even realize it was a nursing shirt - he just thought it was a hip, artistic sweatshirt :) It's warm but not too heavy, and the fabric is super soft.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiqrW3F3kM8K6nMzJL0QSXLJel7WD8P57YxCbNe1GuF0GZzmwXxm_Lk6aq_DCZET-W1KH-4iDkA6beOcmio-9Q4zu5qCHsj5Sh-gKd7WJnDxmn-UGvG6jqv7xkqv41Omu7QKNFwfRbf9PC/s1600/IMG_1284.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiqrW3F3kM8K6nMzJL0QSXLJel7WD8P57YxCbNe1GuF0GZzmwXxm_Lk6aq_DCZET-W1KH-4iDkA6beOcmio-9Q4zu5qCHsj5Sh-gKd7WJnDxmn-UGvG6jqv7xkqv41Omu7QKNFwfRbf9PC/s400/IMG_1284.JPG" width="240" /></a><br />
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The easy-access front is great for nursing in cooler weather (side note: this was taken in February - she already seems so small in this picture!). And while I don't care much about nursing modesty, if you are someone who does, I think you'll like the modesty it provides. </div>
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I typically wear a size 12/14 in tops, and the XL fits me great, even after going through the wash (on cold) and dryer (on low) (that's how I wash everything). I also tried their Nursing Tank Top (the XL is a tad too big on me) and the Long Sleeve Cross Top Nursing Maxi Dress (looked kind of frumpy on me, but I think it would look awesome on someone who isn't so high-waisted), but this hoodie is by far the best thing of theirs I've tried. I'm considering buying one in another color, just to have two.</div>
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I'm embarrassed that it took me so long to write this post, but not embarrassed at how much I love this hoodie. Seriously.</div>
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<i>Full disclosure: Bun Maternity sent me a few items for free to try and review, but did not ask for a specific type of review. My opinions are my own.</i></div>
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Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12548150437127473109noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214008852340471685.post-60970841014052799172017-04-02T14:51:00.001-07:002017-04-02T14:51:23.342-07:00Sleep Training: One and a Half Weeks InWell here we are, one week into the official world of Sleep Training.<br />
<a href="http://www.kimskitchensink.com/2017/03/sleep-training-one-night-in.html" target="_blank"><br /></a>
<a href="http://www.kimskitchensink.com/2017/03/sleep-training-one-night-in.html" target="_blank">Night 1</a><br />
<a href="http://www.kimskitchensink.com/2017/03/sleep-training-night-2.html" target="_blank">Night 2</a><br />
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The other nights have gone like so:<br />
Night 3: Asleep within seconds. Fussed herself to sleep a couple times overnight. Fed only at 5:30am.<br />
Night 4: Asleep after 4 minutes of crying. Fussed herself to sleep a couple times overnight. Fed at 1am and 5:30am.<br />
Night 5: Asleep after 30 minutes of crying (it was awful). I have officially forgotten how many times she woke up overnight to eat. I think it was once.<br />
Night 6: Asleep within seconds. Fussed herself to sleep a couple times I think. Fed at 12:30am and 6:15am.<br />
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The next few nights were similar - falling asleep easily and quickly with zero to minimal fuss. Last night (night 11 if you're keeping track), she was wide awake in her crib for at least 5 minutes, maybe longer, quietly looking around before falling asleep. She woke to eat around 1:30am, and then...woke up at 4am. It was too soon for her to be hungry, so we thought we'd try to do the intervals, but she just got louder and louder. Will thought something might be wrong, so we checked her physical needs -- diaper: dry, gas: not apparent; pain: possibly teething. She was pulling on her ear a lot, so we thought maybe it was teething pain. At around 4:30am, maybe 4:45, I honestly have no idea, we gave her some ibuprofen. Back to the intervals. By 5:30am, I was ready to give up. She'd been sleeping or quiet-like-sleeping for a maximum of 10 minutes, but usually only 2-3 minutes, for an hour and a half. I threw in the towel and nursed her to sleep. She slept until her usual 7:30am wakeup time. It was the first time we'd needed to do intervals in the middle-of-the-night/early-morning, and it did not go well. Oy. Hopefully that was just an April Fool's joke (she's still figuring out what a "joke" is, I suppose) and tonight will be better.<br />
<br />
We've had slight variances to her bedtime routine over the last week or so, and are figuring out what works and what doesn't. I'm tempted to log this all in an app or a spreadsheet and really be able to analyze the data...or I could just roll with it. Which I think is the better thing for my sanity. Try to let go. Try to learn but not control the uncontrollable. I don't think I could handle more tracking anyway.<br />
<br />
The biggest news for us is that we're doing no arms swaddled now - she's in a sleep sack, which we started with the swaddle "wings" around her chest. It was hot the other night, so we tried a sack without wings, and she's been doing fine in that. From now on, it'll just be in the zip up sleep sacks, or just pajamas if it's warm enough, I suppose. No more swaddled arms, no more hands-as-weapons.<br />
<br />
Relatedly (I think), I'm struggling with my supply - I was always a "more than enough" person, and now I'm becoming a "just enough" person, at least where pumping is concerned. It's stressful to pump at work and not get enough for the next day. Stress decreases supply, so it's a vicious cycle. I'm trying to relax, to drink more water, eat more oatmeal...and I'm back to pumping three times a day at work (I had gone down to two and <i>had</i> been getting the same output). Margie seems to get plenty to eat straight from the tap, so I've thought it could be an issue with the pump, but it doesn't seem like anything is wrong with it. Might just need to re-train my body to pump.<br />
<br />
We're trying to sleep train for naps now, which means she's somewhere between crying for half an hour before we give up the nap and sleeping for an hour in her crib (so far, just for Lorena). Usually if she nurses I can get her to nap for half an hour.<br />
<br />
Baby sleep is vexing. I'm surrounded by people who are in the same boat, so it can sometimes feel like the only topic there is to talk about, at all. It's hard and it's exhausting walking the line between "do whatever it takes to get some sleep for everyone" and "try to make some progress to get her sleeping independently".<br />
<br />
But that's where we are. We know she can do it. We know there will be setbacks. We know there will be more heartbreakingly painful cries. We know there will be more nights of uninterrupted sleep. But man, it's tough.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12548150437127473109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214008852340471685.post-67910904350384553592017-03-24T11:55:00.003-07:002017-03-24T11:55:32.810-07:00Sleep Training: Night 2You may recall (since <a href="http://www.kimskitchensink.com/2017/03/sleep-training-one-night-in.html" target="_blank">I just wrote about it yesterday</a>) that we've started sleep training.<br />
<br />
I was pretty nervous about Night 2, because I'd heard that the second night can sometimes be harder than the first, and also Will was going to be leaving right after bedtime to play in a hockey game. He'd be there for the initial put down (assuming it took <30 min like Night 1 had) and then gone for a few hours, and I was worried about being alone and her waking up crying. I wanted to take a shower, and I wanted to get some sleep, but mostly I wanted to not be alone to do the crying intervals. We'd tried this method for her evening nap and it failed miserably. We'd been told that if after 30 min it's not working, to end the nap and wait until the next time, so we stopped trying. She stopped crying and was her usual joyous self. But I was nervous about bedtime.<br />
<br />
At about 8:15pm, after getting her all ready for bed, I nursed her - she fell asleep within 15 minutes like she usually does, but woke a bit when I stood up to put her in her crib (I was trying to wake her a little so I would put her down sleepy but not asleep). Good! This is what we want! She started crying as soon as I set her down, which was to be expected. I patted her, shushed her, kissed her goodnight and told her I loved her, and then I walked out to the sounds of her crying. I texted a friend that we were off to a loud start on night 2, and I whimpered to Will (who was in the bathroom getting ready to leave) that she was crying. I braced myself for a rough evening.<br />
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I went out into the living room to bury my head in my parent-friend chat groups...and, my friends, she cried for literally 2 minutes and fell asleep. I didn't believe it, and when Will left and was all "she's asleep! woo hoo! amazing baby!" I was skeptical. I believe I meekly shrugged and said, "maybe, we'll see." He left. And she stayed asleep. I had a glass of wine and some chocolate. I watched some Netflix. After over an hour, I was (mostly) convinced that she was out, and I took a shower (with the monitor in full view). I washed the pump parts. I was practically high off the 2+ hours of sleeping baby, and wasn't tired, so I watched some more Netflix. Around 11:30, Will was home and I finally got in bed.<br />
<br />
At 11:40, I heard a little yelp from her room, and it made my heart stop for a second. Will was in the shower, and I just laid there, listening, not sure what to expect. She fussed quietly for 10 minutes but didn't cry, so I didn't go in her room (them's the rules). And then she was asleep again. At 4am, I heard some quiet fussing, but it lasted about 5 seconds - long enough for me to think, "Wow! It's 4am! She's probably hungry. Maybe I'll get up and feed her--oh wait she's asleep again." I thought about pumping, but decided to opt for more sleep. Same thing happened at 6am. And then she woke up for real at 7:30 (her normal wakeup time). <br />
<br />
I did not enter her room between 8:30pm and 7:30am and she slept and slept and woke up happy and hungry (she ate for 10 min vs her usual 6). It's bittersweet. Last night was the first night of her entire life that I haven't fed her overnight. A part of me is sad about that, about her not needing me as much. I was just starting to like our little middle of the night nursing sessions (when they happened twice a night, anyway). I'm worried that my milk supply will drop if I'm not feeding her at night anymore. I missed her last night, and the 30 minutes we spent together nursing and playing while I got dressed before I left for work felt very short. But on the other hand, I didn't stumble out of bed and fall asleep in the glider while nursing at 2am. And tonight, maybe I'll even go to bed before midnight.<br />
<br />
And of course, this could be a fluke. It's only been two days. By no means do I think we've wrapped this up. If this holds, it's been the luckiest, easiest sleep training ever. We may have a bad night tonight, or in a few nights. And surely we will in the future if she's sick or teething or going through some other development thing. She napped poorly (only two 30 min naps) the last two days, so maybe she was just extra tired. Maybe she'll nap well today and sleep less well (though I hear sleep begets sleep). But it's a good sign regardless, knowing she <i>can</i> do it. And knowing she can do it makes it easier to handle the crying. Not easy, of course, but easier.<br />
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This post was long, yes, I know. And maybe only interesting to me (and maybe not even to me). But I'm in "document it all" mode so that I don't forget. Here's a baby.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">happy and awake and playing on our bed while I get dressed</td></tr>
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<br />Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12548150437127473109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214008852340471685.post-74208820503385686012017-03-23T16:02:00.001-07:002017-03-24T11:55:42.657-07:00Sleep Training: One Night InWe are one night in to sleep training (<a href="http://www.kimskitchensink.com/2017/03/lets-always-talk-about-sleep-lolsob.html" target="_blank">something had to change</a>).<br />
<br />
We spoke with the Kaiser Health Education sleep specialist, and she gave us some really great support. We talked about Margie's current patterns and our needs and wants. We talked about what I feel ready for and what I don't. We talked a lot. And we came up with a plan that incorporates it all.<br />
<br />
Here's what we decided:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>We're not night weaning yet. I'm just not ready to give up nursing Margie to sleep (my baaaaaaby I want her to neeeeeeed me) (yes this feels selfish but it is what it is), and she is still getting a decent amount of calories overnight. I'm ok with two night feedings, and I know she can go 4 hours between night feedings (biologically, she could go all night). She will likely drop one of these night feedings on her own, and at that point, I'll support that and go with it. But I don't want to force the issue yet.</li>
<li>We are doing a modified version of crying it out. It's an "intervals" approach. I think this is technically Ferber.</li>
<ul>
<li>Nurse her to sleep, but try to put her down drowsy and awake. Ideally, after I nurse her, I pass her along to Will so he can put her down. <i>The goal here is for her to not be asleep in our arms - to get used to falling asleep in her crib, so that when she wakes up she isn't surprised not to be in our arms, and she knows she's safe to go back to sleep.</i> <i>This really resonated with me. It's a concept that makes sense.</i></li>
<li>If she starts fussing, let her fuss.</li>
<li>If fussing turns into crying, let her cry for 3 minutes. Then send Will in (as the non-lactating parent, so she doesn't think she's getting fed) to pat her, shush her, and reassure her. Stay in the room for no more than 20-30 seconds and then leave.</li>
<li>If she keeps crying, let her cry for 5 minutes. Repeat Will going in.</li>
<li>If she keeps crying, let her cry for 7 minutes. Repeat Will going in.</li>
<li>If she keeps crying, let her cry for 10 minutes. Repeat Will going in.</li>
<li>If she keeps crying, let her cry for 10 minutes. Repeat Will going in. Repeat indefinitely.</li>
<li>Once she falls asleep, if she wakes up and it's been 4+ hours, I'll feed her. If it's been less than 4 hours, and she is fussing, let her fuss. If she starts crying, repeat the 3-5-7-10 intervals.</li>
</ul>
</ul>
<div>
We started this last night around 8:30pm. By 8:45, we were putting her down, drowsy but awake. She went from fussing to crying in less than 5 minutes...and the crying was rough. She cried these loud screaming cries, guttural and heartbreaking. I cried. A lot. Big, unsuppressable sobs. Poor Will was dealing with a crying baby and a crying wife and I just couldn't stop myself. But he stayed strong, though I know it was hard for him too, and we kept an eye on the clock and stuck to the schedule.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
After 3 minutes, she was still crying. He went in, did the shush, and left after 30 seconds. Still crying. After 5 more minutes, she was still crying. He went in, did the shush, and left again. Still crying. During the 7 minute stretch, she seemed to be calming down when Will went in, like she knew he was in there to reassure her. As soon as he left, she started crying really hard. That might have been the worst. But then...she didn't even make it to 10 minutes before falling asleep (I think it was around the 7-8 minute mark). She just...fell asleep. Around 9:15pm. We're talking a total of around 20 minutes of "crying it out." It was horrible. Some of the worst minutes of my life. But then it was over. And she slept.</div>
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<div>
Just before midnight, we heard her start to fuss, but didn't go into her room (it had been less than 4 hours since she'd eaten). She must have fallen asleep, because she didn't ramp up to crying, and we fell asleep (and I can't sleep while she's crying). At around 1am, she woke up and was fussing a bit. She hadn't eaten since 8:30, so I figured it was time. I fed her, she fell asleep, I put her down, and she slept until 3am. At 3, we heard her start to fuss, didn't go into her room (again, it had been less than 4 hours since she ate), and we all fell asleep. She woke up at 5am, and since it'd been 4 hours, I fed her. She fell asleep, I put her down, and she slept until 8am. <i>She successfully put herself to sleep twice in the night - that's two times when ordinarily I would have gone in and nursed her back to sleep. </i></div>
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<div>
So. More details than you maybe wanted, but I wanted to document this situation. I know it's a pattern of one. And there's no guarantee that tonight will be the same or better. But we're going to try it again, because it seems like she's ready. And knowing that she <i>can</i> do this, and be ok (better than just ok - she was great, her normal happy self today), will (I think) make it easier to do it a second night. We'll see. I might cry the whole time tonight too. If she fusses to crying in the middle of the night instead of self-soothing, I might feel broken again. There's no way to know until we're there.</div>
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But for now, I'm glad we started trying. And I'm hopeful for better sleep ahead.</div>
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PS my friend Lyz has an excellent new column at Jezebel and <a href="http://jezebel.com/if-youre-a-parent-sleep-is-over-1793537294" target="_blank">her latest piece</a> is very timely.</div>
Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12548150437127473109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214008852340471685.post-48463771548131594342017-03-20T11:31:00.001-07:002017-03-24T11:55:42.653-07:00Let's (Always) Talk About Sleep (LOLSOB)I'm not coming from a good place as I sit down to write this. I'm not my best self, or even close. I sat down to start writing this over a week ago, when I was about two weeks into a really tough sleep pattern, and thought I might be losing my mind. Then I took a week of maternity leave. Then Margie had a couple of nights of good sleep. I thought I'd delete this draft, and not subject the internet to one more blog post about babies who don't sleep well. I'm not unique, and it's tired material. (har har har) If you're sick of hearing me pitifully weep into the void about baby sleep, please feel free to ignore this blog post.<br />
<br />
But then the last three days, we're back to awful sleep. And I barely feel human. I feel like a walking, mumbling, zombie of a person, stumbling around trying to make my brain feel like more than a lump of nothing inside my head. And I have to get these feelings out there, not because I have some sort of unique perspective, but because I need to not just have this cycling in my head. And maybe seeing this will make someone else feel less alone. At the very least, it's not just in my head. Maybe I'll look back on this and laugh someday.<br />
<br />
The topic of baby sleep is fraught with controversy. There are more methods of "sleep training" than I care to count, and I can't keep track anyway. The most popular discussions boil down to some version of letting them "cry it out" (aka let them cry themselves to sleep) vs. not (aka getting up and soothing/nursing every time baby wakes up). It's not black and white, but it can seem that way. And it can feel that way. And it's completely overwhelming and I have no idea if it would be less so if I were a fully functioning, not sleep deprived zombie of a person, but that's who I am and that's how it feels.<br />
<br />
Up until the last few weeks, I wasn't anti-cry-it-out, but I wasn't in any hurry to do sleep training either. Part of me wasn't sure it would work, part of me didn't really think it was necessary because waking up 2-3x/night was pretty manageable. I didn't want to fix what didn't feel broken, you know? But now I feel like I'm in a different world. After over two weeks of mostly-not-sleeping, we're starting to discuss Sleep Training. We have an appointment with a health educator from our hospital on Wednesday to talk about options. I have a feeling the conversation will go something like, "here are some options, do what you feel comfortable with," which is only mildly helpful, I think. But maybe talking it out with a person will end up being helpful. Maybe we can make some sort of plan.<br />
<br />
For context, right now (at ~6.5 months old), a good night of sleep looks like: bed at 8pm, feed at 11:30pm, 1:30am, feed at 4:30am, awake at 7:30am for the day. Eating every three hours or so. Most nights look more like: bed at 8pm, awake a few times between 8-9pm, awake at 11, 1, 3, 5, 7. Occasionally, awake at 11, 12, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. It's been every 1-2 hours for the last few weeks (with the exception of a couple good days). Sometimes she wakes to eat, sometimes to fart, sometimes just to fuss. Right now, I'm getting up to try to soothe her back to sleep by whatever means necessary. She's rejecting Will in the middle of the night, only seeming to want me, even if she doesn't want to nurse. Once upon a time, she'd have a first stretch of 4-5 hours, and then wake every 2-3 after that. That was fiiiiine. Do that again, Margie!<br />
<br />
Last night at 2am, I tried to hold off - I waited in bed when I heard her wake up, to see if she'd soothe herself back to sleep. She wasn't even crying loudly, just whimpering to herself, and it had only been an hour since I'd last fed her. She sounded uncomfortable though; my instinct was that it was likely gas. After 20 minutes, I couldn't take it. It felt unfair to leave her alone in her room, uncomfortable, crying, so I got up and gave her gas drops (simethicone) and nursed her back to sleep. She slept for another hour, followed by two two-hour stretches with nursing in between. Those two hour stretches felt positively luxurious after the one-hour spells. Perspective, eh?<br />
<br />
And I know we're lucky. She takes a pacifier (most of the time). She's nursing well, and breastfeeding is going great at this point. She's an otherwise healthy, happy baby. It could be much, much worse, and I know that. And I try to stay grateful for that. But I'm still wracked with guilt and exhaustion and indecision.<br />
<br />
We've been advised by a few friends that I should leave for a few days, leave Will home with some bottles, and have him do the sleep training. They say it's easier for both mom and baby if mom is not there. This is one theory. And a part of me agrees. But part of me feels guilty, like I'd be abandoning my baby. I've literally never spent a night away from her. I worry my milk supply will lessen if I'm not feeding her during the night, since I don't feed her while I'm at work either. I worry that we'll lose some of this special connection if I'm breastfeeding less often. I worry that she's waking up to nurse and be comforted by me so often because she misses me, and that we won't be as bonded if I'm not doing that (I know, I know). But I also worry about my own health, and I know I need to sleep. Will says he's ok to do it, but I don't know if I feel ok doing it. I don't know if I feel ok <i>not </i>doing it. Last night I started a sort of meditative listmaking around 3am, where I started thinking of which friends live close by, have an extra bedroom, have no children, and would let me cry on their shoulders as I feel guilty about running away from my baby. I am not mentally capable of handling this right now. Which I guess is the point.<br />
<br />
This morning as I left for work, I nearly cried looking at her little round face and touching her soft baby skin. I held back tears on the bus as a friend texted to tell me it was ok. I'm choking back sobs typing this right now. The physical pain of hearing my baby cry and <i>choosing</i> not to pick her up was not something I was prepared for. I didn't expect such agonizing guilt and feelings of helplessness, and I didn't realize I could be so obsessed with sleep - mine or someone else's. It's all I think about and all I talk about. It even takes over my giant running list of "emotional labor" type to-dos I'm always wrestling with. It's torture.<br />
<br />
I'm still not sure what we'll decide to do. Sometimes I think sleep training sounds and will feel cruel both for me and for her. Sometimes I think it will teach her necessary independence and we'll all sleep better and be better for it. There is no overall right answer, and I don't even know if there's a right answer for our family. And what if we do it, and it doesn't even work?<br />
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<b>So. Sleep. Does your baby do it? How? When? What did you do to help it? How did you decide? Let's talk about it.</b><br />
<br />Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12548150437127473109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214008852340471685.post-78327620457880156492017-03-06T09:50:00.001-08:002017-03-06T09:50:11.482-08:006<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Margie is 6 months old today, and I'm full of feelings. Rather than try to eloquently and poetically describe my current mental state, I thought I'd share some recent highlights and lowlights.<br />
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Last night, we ate dinner as a family. Margie sat at the table with us in her booster seat/high chair and mashed some banana and avocado around, occasionally eating some of it, while we ate our full meals. It was pretty magical.<br />
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Last night, she also decided that 1-3am was the perfect time to be awake and playing, unless she was being held and rocked to sleep. Ok, perhaps "decided" isn't the right word, but that's what happened. This happens on occasion and I don't understand it. But either we hold/rock her, or watch her play in her crib (leaving the room results in tears that lead to meltdowns).<br />
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Right now, we're in a very mama-heavy phase. It's beautiful and sweet and I feel so loved and needed by this not-so-little creature. It's wild to see her developing emotions and feelings and needs that she expresses with her eyes and her limbs. This weekend she was particularly clingy, contentedly spending hours sitting in my lap, arm draped around my neck or side. She's not feeling well (teething! but no teeth yet!) and that's translated into what I'm sure if she had words would be "mama mama mama". It's exhausting, but her tiny chubby hands are so sweet when they reach out for me that I just scoop her up and snuggle her sweet baby smell.<br />
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The mama-heavy phase, of course, translates into nighttime, and she's only content to be nursed (or occasionally rocked) to sleep by me. The Dad Tricks that used to work are no longer sufficient: it's mama or nothing. And the teething means we're up a lot to nurse. I try not to mind it, and generally I don't mind it. I remind myself that there's only this relatively short period in her life when she'll need me in this specific way, and there's something kind of awesome about this time. But it's also very difficult and exhausting.<br />
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Did I mention I'm tired?<br />
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We hosted our first play date this weekend - we were going to go to the park but rain cancelled those plans, so we invited our friends and babies over for an all day open house style play date. Generally, folks came in two shifts, and it was super fun to hang out with parents and babies...and we had an excuse to get the house in order. It's *finally* getting to a place that doesn't give me anxiety, so that's a pleasant side effect.<br />
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In terms of baby things, lil Marge is sitting like a champ. She loves to sit and play with her toys, and has started reaching for things without toppling over. She also loves to stand up, and practice walking - I call it the Godzilla Stomp. She doesn't really roll consistently yet, though she's rolled from back to front a couple of random times. I'm a little scared she's going to skip straight to walking. She's starting to enjoy bathtime - she splashes her hands around and it's very, very cute.<br />
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I can't believe this little nugget has already been out in the world for 6 months. Our lives without her seem both so distant and like they weren't all that long ago. I can still recall the ease of babyless life, and sometimes I do miss the ability to just hop in the car and go, or to grab tickets to a show last-minute. I'm tired from the pumping and the wakeful nights and from being stretched too thin. And I don't really like the cliche of "it's so hard but it's so worth it"...even though it's true. I love this little bug and if I keep writing about her I'll start to cry. Can I still blame postpartum hormones?<br />
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At 6 months, I can see glimmers of how life might return to something that feels like normal. Not the normal we had before, but also not the normal of newborn life. I can see the light that looks like more predictability with sleep schedules (oh, we're not there yet, don't worry) and getting into routines for our family. I can see how this eventually becomes less like survival and more like living.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12548150437127473109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214008852340471685.post-68703717525146075302017-02-03T11:44:00.000-08:002017-02-03T11:48:06.791-08:00Pumping Mama: My Lansinoh Smartpump and MeAs I sit at my desk at work, rehydrating with tea (wait, is tea actually dehydrating?) after pumping, snacking on dry Cheerios like I did as a toddler, I can't help but...wait, what was the rest of that thought? I have no idea. Because I have severe Mom Brain. I need this 15 minute writing break to refocus the thinking parts of my brain before I dive back into work. I thought pumping would provide much needed breaks in my day to rest and recharge (ha!) but it turns out, pumping is draining. Literally and figuratively. I don't leave my pumping sessions feeling rejuvenated and ready for action. I'm often tired and...well, like I said, drained.<br />
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I'm using a <a href="https://www.lansinoh.com/en/products/smartpump-double-electric-breast-pump" target="_blank">Lansinoh Smartpump</a> at work, which I generally love. I used the Medela Pump In Style Advanced once and exactly once - the Lansinoh is simpler to use and I find the flanges more comfortable. I was initially excited about the Smartpump because of its tracking features - it has an app that connects to the pump via bluetooth so you can log how long your pumping sessions are and what your output is, among other things. And for the first few months, I found that super useful. Now, however, as I've been pumping for about two months, I find that manually logging my ounces is more trouble than its worth, and I don't track anything else baby-related anymore. I'm not super concerned with tracking output over time because it's relatively stable, and I know how much I'm pumping because it says so right there on the bottle. As long as I fill those bottles over the course of the day, I don't care quite as much how much I get in each session.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZbXl6v_yExrlWRRhQ2oxEJWPryS90bvVM6rrF5TgE1uDDvNapQWO5IW25T3St3PJ3VmlKGXAMjQYUXrHTw8NLsakgWRHNwF-zGiwsgCSrV-JTrdH8Bx06uHxHAmDJtMjhnKXsJKzl0bXH/s1600/Screen+Shot+2017-02-03+at+11.33.33+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZbXl6v_yExrlWRRhQ2oxEJWPryS90bvVM6rrF5TgE1uDDvNapQWO5IW25T3St3PJ3VmlKGXAMjQYUXrHTw8NLsakgWRHNwF-zGiwsgCSrV-JTrdH8Bx06uHxHAmDJtMjhnKXsJKzl0bXH/s320/Screen+Shot+2017-02-03+at+11.33.33+AM.png" width="284" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Pumping at Work, Working While Pumping</i><br />
Awkward photos are my specialty.</td></tr>
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<b>Pros:</b><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Super easy to use. The digital display makes keeping track of time, pumping strength, and "style" super easy, and the buttons to adjust are great. I hated the Medela's knob-style adjusters, and I felt like I could never get the pressure and speed quite right. I like the different pumping styles, and find it very easy to match one of their pre-set sucking patterns to how my baby typically nurses.</li>
<li>The flanges are comfortable. I'm kind of in between sizes with the Medela ones, but the Lansinoh ones fit me great.</li>
<li>Pretty quiet. Our conference room walls are pretty thin, and I'm told that it can't be heard in the room next to me.</li>
<li>It's a pretty compact little system (the cooler bag it comes with is large enough to hold 4 bottles, and ice pack, and all the pumping parts in a ziplock bag). I can fit the aforementioned cooler bag full of gear, the pump itself, and my hands free pumping bra in the small tote bag that Lansinoh provided. It's a bit more discreet than the Pump in Style backpack for sure, if that's something you care about (I don't), and I find it easier to carry than a backpack, or at least more convenient to carry.</li>
<li>My baby likes the Lansinoh mOmma bottles, so it's convenient to pump directly into the bottles she's going to drink from. The wide mouth makes them easy to clean as well.</li>
</ul>
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<br />
<b>Cons:</b><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Lots of parts. The Medela is a little more universal; there are substitute parts made by third parties that reduce the number of individual pieces you have to wash. The Lansinoh pump isn't difficult or complicated, but there are 5 separate pieces to wash (times 2) and it would be nice if there was an all-in-one type solution.</li>
<li>The rubbery part on the flanges sometimes catch drops of milk that I wish would flow down into the tube/bottle. When I take the flanges off, it's a little bit of a delicate balancing act to try to catch those drops (even though it's only a drop or two, every drop counts, right?) that stick to the rubbery lip.</li>
<li>The ice pack it comes with is a standard crappy little ice pack. I prefer the contoured hard pack that came with the Medela, so I use that one in my Lansinoh cooler bag (which is a better size than the Medela cooler bag).</li>
</ul>
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<br />
<b>Neutrals:</b><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>I honestly don't find the "smart" elements of the pump to be that useful. If it automatically tracked the quantity of milk I was pumping, that might be better, though I don't know of any pump currently on the market that does that (perhaps the Willow, when it comes out?). The additional step of manually entering my #oz isn't useful enough to justify the extra couple of minutes...especially since the app asks for the quantity in ounces, and the bottle has more ml lines than oz lines, so I end up having to Google conversions to get the amount right when I'm in between whole ounces. The app allows you to track diapers and breastfeeding and bottles and growth and more...and I just find that I don't have the bandwidth to care about so much tracking. For folks who are super into data though, it would be useful to have all your baby-related tracking in one app.</li>
</ul>
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Overall, I like this pump enough that I'm considering selling my Medela and all its accessories and buying an extra Lansinoh pump to keep at work (though I probably wouldn't get the "smart" one unless the price was the same, because eh), just so I don't have to unplug and replug every day. One less thing to carry back and forth, one less thing to do. The Lansinoh Smartpump retails for $174.98 on Amazon (vs $109.99 for the regular double electric pump), so it's competitively priced, as far as I'm concerned. I have a Medela hand pump as well, which I'm considering replacing with a Lansinoh hand pump, just to have uniformity with my bottles - baby is bottle agnostic, but it's kind of a pain to go back and forth and it would be simpler to just have one system to use.<br />
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<b>Do you pump at work or at home? Do you have multiple systems or brand uniformity? What kind of pump do you have and why do you like it? Does pumping melt your brain or is it just me? Is it the pumping or the sleep deprivation? Or both? This too shall pass, right?</b><br />
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<i>full disclosure: I received the Lansinoh Smart Pump for free in exchange for this review. All thoughts and opinions are my own; they did not request a positive review or in any way influence this review.</i>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12548150437127473109noreply@blogger.com0