Slow

Slow parenting, that is. A friend sent me this link about the movement, alone with the comment, "I think I like it...it's almost like, if we give a name to it, that gives us permission to create (or NOT create, but allow to happen) a way of parenting that is good for parents and kids all at the same time!"

I replied: I love this. Of course, I also feel an extreme amount of tension and pressure. And, with Ellie's diagnoses, I have to do things differently than I intended to. But not that differently. A good reminder! (And also the way I was raised once upon a time.)

"It seems to me that today we are speeding up children too much in some ways (academic hot-housing, for example) while slowing them down too much in other ways (not letting them walk to school alone until they’re, um, 23)."

But with Ellie, I've found that I do a lot of things differently than I expected to do, as a parent. I wanted to allow my kids a lot of independence . . . yet Ellie still can't do a lot of the tasks that many toddlers can do for themselves, like dressing, or walking all the way around the block. I've had to adapt.

I wanted to let my children choose their own passions, regardless of whether or not they were "cool." But kids like Ellie have such a hard time fitting in anyway; parents of kids with disabilities talk about the importance of figuring out what other kids the same age are listening to, watching, wearing, doing, and exposing our children to those same things so that they have a common frame of reference with their peers, so that they don't stick out . . . unnecessarily? In avoidable ways?

It's fabulous to encourage individuality in children. But most children are influenced by - or at least aware of - subtle societal pressures. Some children . . . are not. They just notice when they're excluded, left out, different. And they feel the hurt. So if a parent can help ease a little of that, shouldn't I?

There's a recent post on the Power of Slow blog called Planning the Space in Between that suggests another interesting way of looking at how we schedule our lives.

I love the idea of slow. I feel suffocated by our current schedule, in which Ellie has preschool 5 mornings a week, then both girls have gymnastics on Saturday morning, and we have church on Sundays. Both girls still take afternoon naps. This leaves us . . . basically no unstructured time at all, other than the little pieces before and after dinner. (Except on Wednesday, when there's music class, and so forth.) I hate that.

But-but-but. Ellie needs more physical activity in her life, and we're having a hard time getting her to enjoy and engage in exercise. Might not the special needs soccer association be a good idea? Or the Kids Enjoying Exercise Now program? Or a special needs tae kwan do program? And what about foreign language classes?

How will my children be able to compete with children whose parents are giving them every class, lesson, sports experience imaginable, practically from birth? Perhaps they won't. And perhaps that's OK.

Thinking of slowing down . . . Ada's sick. "I'm not sick! I'm happy!" she insisted with a weak but adorable grin at dinnertime, despite her fever. Her first real illness, less than 2 weeks after weaning. Coincidence? Regardless, we'll be taking things more slowly for a couple of days. I, for one, am looking forward to it!

What Now?

With child-led weaning, you never really know when it's your last time. You might not even really remember it, afterward. You might not have known that it was especially significant, at the time.

With Ellie, we were traveling. We got in late one night, Paul distracted her the next morning, and she never asked again. She was 25 months old.

With Ada, we left for vacation mid-day last Wednesday. That night, in the hotel, though she and I shared a bed, she didn't ask to nurse. Nor did she the next morning. Paul put her to bed at his parents' house, and she didn't complain. She asked me to nurse once while we were away, but was easily diverted. Today, back home, she asked twice but was relatively easily diverted. She is 26 months old.

I wanted this. Yet . . . I feel conflicted. Did I force it? Should I redirect or allow her to nurse when she asks?

I am not pregnant, nor trying to become pregnant. The last time I fed someone with my breasts was a week ago. My body is . . . mine. For the first time in . . . more than 6 years. Wow. (But I am a little uncomfortable.)

Snow and Garlic

. . . and school's already been canceled for tomorrow so Kindergarten registration is postponed. Sigh.

I am thrilled that we're finally having a bit of winter weather, though! And the girls will get to play in the snow tomorrow! Last year, Ada was just a toddler and couldn't handle walking in the snow very well. This year, she'll LOVE it.

Thinking of Ada, she and I popped by the grocery after leaving Ellie at preschool. We're St. Louis natives, now, so of course we had to go out for bread and milk at the first hint of a winter storm. (A friend says, "bread, milk, eggs - why does everyone here make french toast when it snows?") A strolling cafe worker ambushed us with an offer of freshly baked veggie breakfast pizza. We accepted and enjoyed, not realizing that it was a big, nasty booby trap. Ada's last bite contained an entire clove of garlic, and for the rest of the day, she reeked. I could barely stand to nurse her.

Yes, nurse her. She's made it very clear that she's uninterested in weaning. We're still in discussions about the issue. I really want it to be a child-led development. But I also want to finish up this nursing thing before she goes off to college.

I'm leaving her overnight for the first time in a couple of weeks, to go to a weekend writer's conference (gulp). Maybe that will do the trick. But I doubt it. My little strong-willed-child has nothing wrong with her memory!

Merry Christmas!

Mini-Poll: If you celebrate Christmas, when do you decorate? When do you take it all down?

I decorate whenever it's convenient, though always during Advent. I undecorate when it's convenient too, though I try to do it around Epiphany, 12th Night, the 12th Day of Christmas, January 6th, the day we celebrate the arrival of the three wise men with gifts for the infant Christ. Last year everything came down early because we were sure that Adelaide's arrival was imminent. We were, of course, quite wrong.

The first hurdle for me is removing all the autumn decorations and cleaning the house (straightening and dusting). Then we decorate all together as a family with carols on the stereo and eggnog in our cups. Well, that part's just for Ellie and me. And really Paul hangs most of the ornaments on the tree. I unwrap them and hand them to him or Ellie. Ellie takes what she wants and runs around the house with it, excited about all the new stuff. Ada just watches and plays with the wrapping paper at this point.

My mother's parents decorated on Christmas Eve, so that when she and her brothers came downstairs on Christmas morning, the newly installed tree was part of the big reveal.

We had a good Christmas this year, and a lovely visit with my family at my parents' house. We won't see Paul's family this year, which does suck, and all their gifts (so many!) are still piled under our tree. Maybe we'll dive into the pile this weekend, or maybe we'll celebrate on New Year's Day. Why not? It's a holiday and the tree will still be up!

Ellie was very excited about Christmas this year, lighting candles on the advent wreathe she made in Sunday School, opening doors in her advent calendar, talking about baby Jesus, and watching Shrek the Halls daily throughout December. I'm not entirely sure that she's differentiating between Eddie Murphy's Dreamworks character and Mary's transportation into Bethlehem, but more's the fun, right? I mean, don't you think Eddie Murphy's Donkey would be an excellent addition to the nativity?

Unfortunately, she was very sick on Christmas Day. I was really worried about her. She wasn't having GI issues, and she wasn't running a fever. She was, however, completely uninterested in food, touch, or interaction, and she was terribly lethargic. Just when we were about to start loading up the van on the morning of the 26th to drive back down to see her doctor, if not go directly to Children's Hospital, suddenly pink flowed back into her cheeks and lips, and she ate a little breakfast. She's a little whiny but otherwise back to normal now, and we're keeping an eye on her. Both girls and I are congested, but what could cause such a strange illness? I'm still clueless.

I had a little bout of illness myself; on Saturday night I developed mastitis. That afternoon, my breast started hurting. I just figured that someone had been a little too rough with it; my breasts are community property after all. But by dinner time it was hurting worse, and by the time our friends left that night, I was running a fever, shaking and miserable, and my breast was throbbingly sore.

I woke up Ada and had her nurse for an hour, then took some Tylenol (should have been Ibuprofen for its anti-inflammatory effects; I switched over in the morning after my fever was decreased enough to allow internet research) and went to bed, sleeping with my breast on an electric hot pad. Set too high.

My nursing shirt must have slipped open, because I have an impressive blister on the underside of my breast, which I didn't notice for a couple of days until Paul pointed it out to me. I didn't even feel it, because my breast was so sore. But it was worth it; the treatment (ibuprofen, frequent nursing, self-breast-massage, and heat) worked: my fever never broke 101 and I didn't need to go to the doctor or get antibiotics. Hooray for my body!

Other than that, we're all tired, happy to be home, and ready for a little rest. I was thinking that if I had the sort of blog where I assigned nicknames to my family members, I'd call Paul Major Whiny. Or, maybe, Captain Passive-Aggressive. But then I realized that he could probably just call me "Ms. Pot" (as in, calling the kettle black).

'arry Potter

Some of you might have noticed our obsession with all things Harry Potter. I am aware that Rowlings's books are not exactly high art, but they are fantastic nonetheless. Perhaps the prose isn't always magical, but the storytelling is wonderful and the world she's created, well, it's hard to beat for creativity and blessed escapism.

Paul and I read the aloud books together, and we regularly host parties. Here's a shot of the invitation to the last Potter party we hosted, at my parents' house for the release of the 4th movie.

Not the aged parchment, complete with burned edges. I also sealed each envelope with wax stamped by a lightening bolt.

We enjoyed the 5th movie a great deal last month, even more than the small feast we had afterwards comprising butter beer, pumpkin bread, banana bread, Bernie Botts Every Flavor Beans, licorice wands, and a dark chocolate cake shaped like a castle.

We're behind on our reading this year, though. With the addition of children to our social schedule, and the books getting longer and longer, it's increasingly difficult to find time to read together. We haven't begun book 7, so we're assiduously avoiding spoilers and hoping for the best.

A few days before the new book published, I started over reading Book 1. On our way up to Iowa for Paul's family's reunion, we started listening to Book 6 on CD. We're still not quite done with that, but I'm up to Book 5 rereading independently, and we should be ready to start Book 7 in a week or so. We're very excited.

I've given up several things to make room for all this Potter (note that Harry himself is one of my least favorite characters). Like another of my obsessions, Shark Week on the Discovery Channel. Also, sleep (see next paragraph). And I've spent so much time lying on my right side nursing Ada and reading lately that I developed painfully blocked ducts on the left. (Better now, but I'm back to nursing while sitting up for a while.)

All that background and I lost my point. Alas.

Instead, I'll ask an unrelated question. They're not the owls on Privet Drive from Book 1, but we're a bit over-run by cats here. We have some neighbors who let their cats run free about the neighborhood, which frustrates me. And it seems that perhaps some of these pets are not spade or neutered, because there's a young litter of kittens living across the street, and an older litter hunting in our yard, chasing our cardinals. Last night, they broke into our screened in porch. My next door neighbor (like me, not a cat person) complains that just outside her front door smells like a litter box, and she's got a point. I'm getting annoyed. What should I do about this cat problem?

What's Real

I'd had some relaxing massages. (I had one on Saturday, in fact, to help recuperate from the vacation.) I've had some great sex. I've had some exhilarating athletic experiences.

But nothing feels better than the touch of a small child. An infant, stroking my arm as she nurses. A preschooler, idly playing with my fingers as she sits on my lap listening to me read her a story. Nothing feels better than this.

If only a kiss or a touch from Mommy could fix any problem, always and forever.

I am encouraged by where my marriage is right now. There are still big problems, huge hurdles, no assurance of success. But, finally, there's progress. Finally, I'm beginning to understand what happened, what went wrong. I am someone who needs to understand, who needs to know. So this is important progress for me.

Do You Floss? I Do.

I had my semi-annual dental teeth cleaning this morning. I have a bit of a dental phobia, and only my attachment to my dentist's wife keeps me at his practice. I think the dentist himself is fine, but he doesn't offer nitrous, and I think I might enjoy dental work a little bit more if I were high. One time he prescribed some Xanax for me, but it didn't seem to help and my dad scared me away from trying it again.

My mom ended her spring break visit a little earlier than I'd hoped, so I had no childcare this morning. This offered two additional stresses to the first post-pregnancy (read: cavities expected) teeth cleaning. I had a 10:00 appointment 15+ minutes from home and Ellie's bus drops her off at the house around 11:15. And I had to take the baby with me.

Baby Ada is sweet and wonderful and flexible and willing to go all kinds of places on an erratic schedule. But not today. She screamed her head off all the way to the dentist's office despite being freshly diapered and fed. She continued crying once we were there.

So after my x-rays, I picked her up from the dentist's wife, who was trying to soothe her while taking phone calls - she manages the front office - and nursed her throughout my entire cleaning. That was crazy, of course. Can you imagine nursing while lying flat on your back with a plastic bib over your chest and sharp instruments passing back and forth over the baby?

Next let me say that at this appointment I learned that my overnight clenching problem hasn't subsided. Despite my expensive bite guard, some of my prophylactic sealant has worn off and two fillings need to be replaced. Drilling! Yay! Just Kidding! I'm really horrified! Somebody please get me some drugs!

That said, despite everything, it was one of the most pleasant dental visits I've ever had. It turns out that all that Oxytocin flooding my brain while I was nursing made me feel pretty relaxed about the whole visit.

I don't think I'll bring Ada along for next week's cavity fills, though.

All About Ada

When Ada was born, Paul tells me that she came out with her eyes wide open, looking around.

She could hold her own head up immediately. When her pediatrician came by to see her the next morning, she pulled Ada up to sit by her arms. Ada kept her head nicely in-line with her body. Already! Not even a day old.

It's almost disturbing the way she has my mother-in-law's long, narrow feet.

Ada's ears look like they're about the same size as Ellie's. Yes, Ellie's ears right now, at age 3.

Ada cluster feeds. By this I mean that she sometimes goes from breast to breast with no more than 10-50 minute breaks in between (if any) . . . for 4 or 5 hours at a time. Then, just when I'm about to fall into a pit of despair that she will never be full, that I'm not producing enough milk, she'll pop right off the breast, smiling and drooling milk, and sleep for 4 or 5 hours. (I'm thinking this might be a "growth spurt.")

Paul says that she has his chin. She has my dad's nose and ears. I take credit for her coloring. Despite all that, somehow, she's really quite cute!

Nothing on earth smells as wonderful as a milky baby.

At every stage of Ellie's life so far, I've said that this is my favorite part. I'm not saying that I've been wrong, but on the other hand, I had forgotten how much fun it is to have a newborn around.

And the baby care is all so very much easier and less stressful this time!

On the other hand, the juxtaposition between what my marriage was last time we had a baby versus what it is now is heartbreaking.

Ellie's Birth Story

This is the public version I shared with family and friends shortly after Ellie was born three years ago. Trust me, it could be even uglier!

Saturday, October 11, 2003 at 10:34 am Eleanor Paul was born. She was 6 pounds, 9 ounces and 20 inches long. Her 1 and 5 minute apgar scores were 7 and 9, respectively. She's got blond hair and blue eyes (surprise!). She is absolutely perfect and I am smitten.

Although labor and delivery were not what I imagined, I wouldn't change a thing. I was working late on Friday night, and I intended to work even later, but when I stood up at 6:00, I wet myself (I thought). I cleaned up, finished what I was working on, and headed home. Paul and I had dinner, and the contractions I'd been having for weeks were becoming more painful and regular. About 9:00 we went to Borders, where I was crabby and in pain. We headed home around 10:00, and I called my parents and told them that I thought I was in "false" labor and that the contractions would stop soon and restart in a few days (I was still 5 days before my due date and really thought I'd go past.)

We watched some TV but I was having a hard time concentrating through contractions. Around 12:30 we went to bed. I couldn't sleep. Paul was fighting a cold and slept on and off. When he was awake he rubbed my back and played with my hair. I felt OK. The best way to weather each contraction was lying on my side. Standing was OK too, as long as I had something to lean on. The yoga ball was unappealing. The relaxation music I'd just purchased at Borders was nice. In the middle of the night, I realized that this was for real and the contractions weren't going to stop.

Around 5:30 I got up and took a shower. I made lots of noise and left the lights on to wake Paul up. I'd been having trouble keeping track of how far apart the contractions were, so I asked him to time me. They were 3-5 minutes apart. Paul thought we should wait for my 12:00 OB appointment, but I wasn't so sure so I called the doctor around 7:30. She suggested we head to the hospital right away. (I should note that it was not Paul's fault that he couldn't tell how bad the contractions were. The nurses at the hospital couldn't tell when I was having them either. Apparently my pain face looks much like my regular face.) We called our folks, pulled some things together, and left for the hospital around 8:30. By that time, I was no longer excited about moving.

I got to the hospital around 9:00 and learned that I was dilated to 7 cm. They admitted me, and the doctor arrived quickly. She asked me how I was doing and I told her that it was hard not to push. She checked me out and told me that I was indeed ready to go! At this point I was more medically involved that I had hoped. On my right hand I had an IV. On my left hand/arm I had a pulse oximeter and blood pressure cuff. They were worried about the baby's heart, so I was hooked up to the internal fetal monitor. And at some point they added an oxygen mask. But I didn't care. I was at the pushing stage, so I didn't need to move around much.

As soon as I started pushing, I felt burning. She was in the birth canal immediately. It did not feel good, so I pushed really hard and fast. Plus, I was worried about her heart decels during contractions and wanted her to be OK. I pushed for about 20 minutes and she was there. Beautiful and perfect. The whole experience was surreal. For those who were counting, labor was about 15 hours.

And now I just can't stop looking at her and kissing her. I can't believe they let me take her home! I feel so lucky. Paul is likewise enthralled and loves wearing Ellie in a sling. Ellie has an exceptionally strong suck, according to the lactation nurse, and she's nursing like a champ and gaining weight nicely.




We look so happy.

The First Weeks

"Be paranoid about who you let hold her," Ellie’s pediatrician told us at her one week well-baby check-up. With this official sanction of our personal preference, Paul and I were off.

We created log charts on the computer and kept a stack of them beside the rocking chair in the nursery. I nursed Ellie every two hours, unless she was soundly asleep, and logged each nursing session.

Twenty minutes on the right breast followed by fifteen minutes on the left breast looked like “20L, 15R” in one column of the spreadsheet, up to twelve entries a day for months. We also logged each wet and dirty diaper and the amount of sleep Ellie was getting, and the spit-ups. It was our way of trying to understand and control the incomprehensible, the impossible.

At every early pediatrician visit, I had a detailed list of questions in my notebook, about everything from Ellie’s poop to her breathing and eating. Nothing was too small to worry about. She was so small and fragile, and we’d been told that she was soon going to get very sick. We’d never done this before and we had nothing to compare our experiences against. Was this normal? How about this? And this?

At her second pediatrician appointment, when Ellie was all of 12 days old, I was already asking questions like: when should I schedule her first appointment with the pediatric ophthalmologist? I was vigilant. I was taking care of my baby the only way I could, and thankfully she seemed oblivious to my fervor.

Today Ellie is 2 weeks old and she can do lots of things!
Sounds:

• Creaking barn door
  
• Cooing
  
• Soft murmurings in her sleep
  
• Sneeze! Cah! (almost a cry after the sneeze, adorable)
  
• She usually only cries once, then stops. Waah!
  
• Lip smacking, sucking.

Expressions:

• Smiles, closed and open mouth - Wide eyes
  
• Wail, wide open mouth - Closed eyes
  
• Yawn, wide open mouth - Eye slits
  
• Latch face, wide open mouth
  
• Rosebud/pursed lips
  
• No lips
  
• Big lips
  
• Little tongue
  
• LONG tongue
  
• Nursing tongue, curls when hungry”

The list of her various movements at two weeks takes up two notebook pages by itself, and then there are the exhaustive lists of each visitor and gift received.

After about two weeks, my developing habit of passive-aggressiveness began to show up on the pages of the notebook.

"Today Paul went back to work and Ellie and I stayed home by ourselves for the first time. It went pretty well, although Lizzi got into the trash in the nursery, made a mess, and got sick on the couch. Hopefully, Paul will put the nursery door up tonight. :) Then Mommy can shower."

In addition to the usual newborn milestones like when Ellie began to hold up her own head, I catalogued every vaccine shot she had and every movie we went to see. In Ellie’s first few months, we went to see more movies than we were to see in the next couple of years,though fortunately we didn't know that at the time.

There were some real benefits to the newborn period, not least her portability and ease of soothing at the breast, but there were some real downsides too, like the 10 wet and 6 poopy diapers every day, and the constant worry about every potential catastrophe in the fragile little life for which her parents were wholly responsible.

Mostly, though, I couldn't have imagined that I'd gladly wake every couple of hours throughout the night to my baby's soft cries. That I'd smile at the prospect of seeing her again, of smelling her scent, of cuddling her to my breast, of simply being awake with her, overwhelmed by love.

If only there was some way to experience that without the other parts, particularly the terror and the yuck.

Ask and You Shall Receive

I was eating my breakfast in the family room, and Ellie wandered off into the kitchen. I couldn't see her head over the peninsula counter, so I asked,

"What are you doing, Ellie?" as I'm sure I must several times a day, everyday.

"Lizzi!" she replied.

I listened, and sure enough, I heard her peeling off and sticking magnets to the frig. Months ago, someone gave us a 3 inch cut-out magnet of a pug that looks a lot like our Lizzi. Last weekend, Scott and Jessica gave us a 15 inch version. Ellie thinks it's great fun to have "Lizzi" on the frig, in small and large versions.

But the point is that I asked her a question. And she answered me! And her answer was not, "No!" This is a first.

I was talking to my mom later today, and mentioned that the language gap between Ellie and other children her age - particularly children I read about in blogs - is growing. And she's never really been very delayed with her language, so this is hard for me to watch. She walked slower, she still can't jump, she gains fine motor control more slowly - this is all to be expected. But seeing her expressing herself in (often hard to understand) single words while reading about other little girls her age talking in paragraphs, well, that's harder for me. Ditto for seeing other kids not too much older than Ellie doing more complicated puzzles.

There are delays. I know this. I have a realistic view of Ellie's diagnosis and abilities.

But seeing an increase in the gap, well, that's always going to be hard.

Then my mother related anecdotes from a couple of her (teacher) friends that included dialogue with their sons, also Ellie's age.

"Cookie. Me!"

I am reminded that there is a range of what's typical for this age. That we will get there eventually, and it's still so, so very sweet when we have breakthroughs and successes like we had today.

(I also found two tiny turds on the family room floor after my shower this morning. But we're focusing on successes here, so I'm not going into that.)

Expiration Date?

I was brushing my teeth without my shirt on the other night, and I noticed a little discoloration on my nipples. I scratched at it gently with a fingernail and it came off easily. Dried milk. It's odd, I thought, that it didn't wash off on the shower sometime over the past 6 weeks.

Then, behind the dried milk came the answer: fresh milk. From both breasts. I'm still lactating.

Perhaps I will make milk forever. Perhaps I am now Mother. It feels . . . rather powerful.

Recycling

For some time now, Ellie has been inventing her own signs for things.

In September, I noticed that her sign for Mary, her speech pathologist, is to point at her cheek. Mary is happy with this, because she says that it's really the sign for candy. I don't know what made Ellie come up with this, unless she gets that it's speech therapy and she's sort of indicating her mouth. Or Mary's sneaking her candy when I'm not looking.

In November, Ellie developed a sign for balloon. It looks like she's reaching up, grabbing the ribbon, and pulling a helium balloon down to her while looking up at it. It's the cutest thing.

In October I started showing Ellie lots of pumpkins. Evidently, "pumpkin" is hard to say, and eventually Ellie made up a sign for pumpkin. It's the same as her "nurse" sign, a little fist up near her cheek, rocking forward and back.

I should have known that we were about done nursing.

A Little Bit More About My Breasts

Speaking in generalities, of course: When you're pregnant, your breasts get fuller. And then when you're nursing, at first they're a lot fuller. Quite literally, with the spraying in the shower and dripping on your toes and whatnot.

I know one mom who quit nursing late one winter, when her son was about 4 months old, because she didn't want to have to buy new spring shirts one size larger than her normal size. No kidding.

Towards the end of breastfeeding, I was not pleased with my breasts. They seemed . . . flabby. Isn't that attractive? Aren't you glad that you read that about me? I tried to resign myself to it. Oh well, I thought, I guess I just never take off my bra again. I guess this is what having kids does to you.

But - now it's two weeks later and they seem to have gone back to normal! Alleluia! What a lovely surprise. Unless they're about to punk me by deflating any moment. I don't know how all this works, having never gone through it before.

Update: Ellie and I went shopping today and bought two new bras for mommy. Bras that don't have peek-a-boo panels for easy access! Wahoo! It turns out that I wasn't imagining things. My cup size went back down one to my pre-pregnancy size, which has apparently made them firmer. And that's just fine with me!

My Breasts

Yesterday, I was killing some time at Borders while Dobbs was putting new tires on my Passat, and I decided - on a whim - to order an iced gingerbread latte. For me! No worries about caffeine intake and how it might effect Ellie's bedtime. Later, I had a diet soda - with caffeine! Just for fun! Just because I could! It was wonderful!

OK, here's how it went down.

Wednesday morning, Paul decided to let me sleep in. This was wonderfully thoughtful, because I hate mornings on principle and had been up very late the night before preparing for the holiday weekend travel and festivities. But it wasn't so cool, because I had to shower and be at work on time for a meeting. There was no time to nurse Ellie. No biggie, there's still nap- and bedtime, right?

While I was packing on Wednesday afternoon, Paul put Ellie down for her nap. No stress, we usually don't nurse at naptime anyway and I was in a hurry to get out the door. When we arrived at my parents' house on Wednesday night, Paul insisted on putting Ellie down to bed himself while I was unpacking and greeting. "Hey!" I nagged. "Are you trying to tell me that it's time I weaned Ellie? It's been over 24 hours now since I've nursed her."

The idea didn't sound as awful to me as I thought it would. I've been resenting the nursing for a while, but when she's shown decreased interest in the past, I've freaked out and not wanted to stop.

In the morning, she didn't ask to nurse and I went back to sleep. We kept up that pattern all weekend, and she didn't ask me to nurse once. I thought that things might change when we arrived back home on Sunday evening.

Paul read Ellie her bedtime story, as usual, then started trying to rock her down to sleep. I came in with a cup of water, at which point normally she would start chanting, "Mama! Mama! Mama" and reaching for me with some urgency.

Not that time. Now it's been nearly a week, and I'm thinking: never again.

And I'm not sad, much to my surprise. I intend to nurse again someday. I was feeling tied down by and resentful of the nursing, after 25 months. I can't explain that logically; it's not like twice a day was a really big time sink. It's an emotional response that has developed in the last couple of months.

In the last several days, I have felt like being touched again (Paul really likes this part). I feel like I have more to give Ellie: more patience, more touches, more snuggles.

I was once afraid that I would feel like we'd lost a connection, that special mother-child thing, once we stopped the one thing that only the two of us could do together. That has not been the case at all.

I loved nursing Ellie. I'm looking forward to nursing another baby (or 2! or 3!) someday. But I'm glad to be through for now. Who knows. Maybe I'll go wild and take an antihistamine - without guilt - next time I'm around a friend's cat! Many things are possible.

The Drive

We had a wonderful Thanksgiving weekend at my parents' house. Both of my sisters were there, with their dogs and significant others. I got to see my youngest sister choose her wedding dress, which is stunning. One fall wedding, one winter wedding, and one summer wedding. That's the three of us, in a nutshell.

The drive up last Wednesday went very well. Anticipating the holiday weekend traffic, we took the "longer" route, cutting across southern Illinois on I 70 then heading north up eastern Illinois on I 57. Despite all experience and conventional wisdom to the contrary, the trip took under 6 hours, with one brief stop for Subway.

"Ellie, do you need to go potty? We're going to stop for a potty break and to eat sandwiches."

As we pulled off the interstate, "No! No no no no no!"

And after about 5 minutes in Subway, before any of us had finished our sandwiches, "All done!" When we didn't get the hint fast enough, she screamed until we hustled out to the car and got back on the road. Ah, 2. I love it.

On the way home on Sunday afternoon, we decided to brave the Chicago holiday weekend traffic and skirt past it on I 80, cutting diagonally across Illinois on I 55. In theory, this is the "short" route and should take about 5 hours, plus stops.

First there was construction traffic. Hours of it. But the electronic signs kept promising a swift end to the problems, so we kept plugging along. It grew dusky and colder. It was windy and the sky started spitting at us. I was seeing yellow and considering one of the construction workers' Johnny-on-the-Spots. Ellie was chanting, "Potty! potty! potty!" from the backseat. We only made it to Tinley Park before our first stop, surely a new record.

Eventually we left the congestion of 80 for the relatively rural wilderness of 55. Wait, no. More traffic. Eventually, we discovered a demolished double tractor-trailer off the road on our side, causing some incredible gawker traffic congestion.

Things improved for a while. All of a sudden - BAM! Bumpety bumpety bumpety bump.

The car - which I'd just had fully serviced two days before the trip - was now on the shoulder with a blown front right tire. Normal wear and tear. That the mechanic didn't feel was important enough to share with me. So Paul was out in the deafening wind changing a tire on the side of the interstate while I tried to load everything (and I do mean *everything* - we do not travel lightly) back into the trunk on top of my "worn" tire. I'd like to take this opportunity to send a big Thanksgiving THANK YOU to the state trooper who sat behind us with his lights on, deflecting traffic, and to all the drivers who didn't hit us.

20 minutes later, Ellie and I needed another potty stop.

Then Paul was falling asleep and we pulled over for - guess what? - a potty stop and driver change.

Then it started pouring so hard that I couldn't see the lines on the road.

Nearly 8 hours after leaving my parents' house, we arrived safely home. The weekend was great. And surely our next trip, in December with the added interest of snow and ice, will provide us with at least equal entertainment.

P.S. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire was awesome. Absolutely incredible. I love the Quidditch World Cup, the arrival of the two visiting delegations to Hogwarts, and, as always, Rupert Grint stealing every scene in which he appeared.


P.P.S. Done. We're done. At 25 months, Ellie's weaned! I'm not as ambivalent as I thought I'd be. Neither is she. In more than 5 days, she hasn't asked me to nurse once. She mentioned it to my mom once, but I think that she just wanted to see me.

Marriage and Teeth

No, I'm not going to write about how my tooth brushing habits differ from my husband's. OK, maybe I will, now that I'm thinking about it. I brush and floss religiously and have lately started getting cavities. I hate it. Paul brushes less devoutly and flosses never. He never gets cavities, though he has had a root canal and isn't always minty fresh. Not that I am either, these days. As a teenager and younger adult I always carried toothpaste with me. I'd put a dab on my tongue every now and then to make sure that my breath was never offensive. Unfortunately for those around me, I grew out of this obsessive phase.

What I was really going to talk about is the longevity of both marriage and teeth. I used the phrase "permanently partnered" today and that got me thinking: not all of our "permanent" partnerships end up being so permanent. Then again, sometimes we lose "permanent" teeth too. And it seems to me that the root (heh heh) causes are pretty similar: painful trauma, extreme neglect, and untreated disease.

On a related note, I miss the days when I could distract myself with TV or a book while nursing Ellie instead of sitting quietly in a darkened room with an easily distracted toddler.

A Day In My Life

Or, what do you do as a stay at home mom, anyway?

2:30 a.m. I'm finished reading blogs and am finally ready for bed. Ellie wakes up. I change her diaper and wet pajamas and nurse her, then put her in her crib. She starts to cry. Paul wakes up, doesn't realize that I haven't gone to bed yet because I'm an idiot, and goes to rock her back to sleep. (She usually sleeps through the night so this doesn't happen more than once or twice a week.)

6:30 a.m. Ellie wakes up again. Paul gets up, changes her diaper, and feeds her cereal and juice then comes to get me. I get up and nurse Ellie while Paul gets ready for work. She falls asleep shortly after he leaves, around 8:00) and I put her in her crib. (This nap is unusual and is related to the previous night's interrupted sleep.) I take advantage of a few minutes more sleep, after getting myself dressed for the day.

9:00 a.m. Ellie wakes up again. I change her diaper, dress her, and nurse her. We play on the floor in the family room for several minutes. Our repertoire includes classics like "trotty horse" as well as disguised therapy exercises like holding a hands and knees position while I sing "row row row your boat." She seems sleepy so I try rocking her and singing. That doesn't work so we go for a walk around the block with the dog. That doesn't work so we try rocking and singing again. Success! Ellie goes down for her usual (hah! I wish!) morning nap around 10:30. She seems to want to be left alone to fall asleep (this happens from time to time) but she fusses a bit so I sit down to check my email etc. while I wait for her to fall asleep. Then I hit the sack myself. I was up until 3:00, remember?

11:30 a.m. Ellie wakes up, but she still seems sleepy. I change her diaper, then we go watch Sesame Street for the first time ever. She loves it! (for about 15 minutes). We cuddle and play with toys on the floor in the family room for a bit.

12:00 p.m. I get lunch together. Ellie has leftover homemade macaroni and cheese, apple, and white grape juice. I have leftover BBQ pork. And a cookie. After lunch, Ellie nurses again.

1:30 p.m. More playing on the floor, this time in the front room with different toys. I put Ellie on her riding toy and try to get her to push forward.

2:30 p.m. She seems tired again, and this is a good time for an afternoon nap. I try nursing her down. No luck. I try rocking and singing. Very frustrating. It's raining so no walking. I put her in her crib with a couple of toys and go check my email again. She falls asleep very quickly. I too take a nap, after taking care of several phone calls and appointment scheduling details, including dickering with the insurance company about how Ellie's pediatrician is not really a specialist, etc.

4:30 p.m. Ellie wakes up. I nurse her, we go outside with the dog and check the mail, then we go play in the front room some more. I make her stand at her activity table for a while. When I get bored (how terrible! I get bored!) I leave her with her toys for a few minutes so I can shop online for her birthday gift and write Paul an email.

5:30 p.m. I go to the kitchen to start on dinner, and bring Ellie with me. She sits on the floor pulling pots and pans out of a cupboard.

6:00 p.m. Daddy's home! Daddy's home! Daddy's home! He plays with Ellie while I finish dinner (the roles are often reversed here) and we all eat together.

7:00 p.m. Daddy gives Ellie a bath then dresses her for bed and I play Nintendo (or mess around on the computer or read).

7:30 p.m. I nurse Ellie down to sleep by 8:00. Hah! Just kidding! Not tonight! Maybe the enchiladas were a bit much, but she fights sleep hard and wakes up screaming after falling asleep several times. Paul and I take turns working at it (rocking, singing, walking, driving) and she finally goes to sleep around 11:00 p.m. (This time the trick was to lay her on the gliding ottoman and gently push her back and forth.) I remember when 11:00 would have felt like a real accomplishment.

This was a very unusual day, in its way, and yet totally normal too. Ellie has therapy 3-5 days a week, so having a day off now and then is a nice break. When we're not having therapists over, we always go out, even if it's just to a playgroup or the library or the grocery. It's quite unusual for the two of us to be home alone together all day. And wonderful, upon occasion. And she really doesn't usually nap this well. Naps are very hit-or-miss around here.

Tomorrow we have a doctor's appointment and Physical Therapy. Wednesday there is Speech Therapy and two playgroups. Thursday is another doctor's appointment, and Friday is Speech Therapy and a playgroup. We also need to go to the grocery store and the library this week. And I need to make a run to CostCo. for toilet paper, and . . .

Ideally, someday I'll start going to bed at a reasonable hour. Then I can get stuff done during the daytime rather than napping. But you know what? I love this time alone after everyone else is asleep. I cherish it. And I love to nap. Now I'm off to bed. Too late, as usual!