Mother Jugs

Ahhhhh... breastfeeding. Nutrition, love and comfort all rolled up into one. I have a love/hate relationship with it. As my oldest daughter turned 11 last week, that makes almost 12 years straight of either being pregnant and/or breastfeeding. Some of my most precious memories are of nursing my children... a 4 mos old baby Kayla gazing up at me, milk dribbling out of her toothless smiling mouth... minutes old TJ latching onto my breast like a famished barracuda... Jaiden gazing up at me as he stroked my face, looking full of wonder... Ava making "mmmmmm" noises as she fills her tummy full of mommy's sweet milk. It's absolutely mind blowing to me how our bodies are able to create, carry and birth an human being and then make food to sustain it's life once on the outside. Coming home from an exhausting and hectic day at work nothing is better than curling up on my bed with my baby to nurse, the rush of oxytocin surging down into my toes to relax me into waves of love and contentment.

Then there's the flip side... nipples sore and tender from a teething baby who thinks nipples are their own personal toy for abuse... babies who think that the "big mama's" are there to be their own personal pacifier to ease into sleep... heaven forbid it be taken out of their mouth, and let's forget that they are attached to Mom! Then we have babies who believe that the nipple currently not being used is there solely for their personal entertainment while nursing on the other side... fisher price never knew that such an amazing toy existed, none other than a mommy's nipple! We have big babies wanting to nurse while standing up with their butts in their air and twisting their torso's, babies who try to look around and turn their heads-nipple still in mouth, of course... we then have toddlers who, when attempting to wean them, lie in bed screaming "help me, mama! Help me!" and even worse are the toddlers unwilling to latch correctly and therefor putting Mom into a human meat grinder.

Ahhhh... mommyhood. For now, I have to sign off... I have a demanding 16 mos old clawing at my leg while throwing her head back and wailing. Must be nah-nah time.

Nature versus nurture....

It's the classic debate, biology vs environment... being a step-parent, this debate takes a different flavor all together.. what makes a mother? Is it genetics? Or is it being there through good times and bad, teaching and loving and nurturing? Being there when the children are sick, taking them to doctor's appointments, hugging them when hearts are broken or buying a new dress for their first dance.. the answer to me, tends to be blantantly obvious. In the words of my incredibly wise, then 5 year old stepson, "A mother gives birth to you, a Mommy takes care of you".

It's easy to take the road of not being present when convenient, being checked out so to speak and then appearing like magic when things are easy to claim the glory... I don't need a monument in my honor. My own personal glory is etched in the love I get in return... catching my first "step" granddaughter into my hands to give her to her mother's waiting arms at her birth, listening to my son play a son in my honor on his guitar that he learned because he knows I love it, my other son referring to me as "the only mother he knows". In this cases biology is just that... the study of cells, which in the scheme of life's importance have little meaning.

"How long do you wanna be loved?? Is forever enough 'cause I'm never never giving you up...."

Songbird

"For you, there'll be no more crying,
For you, the sun will be shining,
And I feel that when I'm with you,
It's alright, I know its right

And the songbirds are singing,
Like they know the score,
And I love you, I love you, I love you
Like never before"

All of my babies have been "assigned" songs... special songs that Mommy can sing to them that have special significance. For Kayla, it is "You are so Beautiful" by Joe Crocker and "Somewhere out there" by Linda Rodstant. When she was about two we would sing "You are so beautiful" together... it is only really a few lines long and repeats itself so it was easy for her to sing... later on I gifted her with a carousel horse my dad had given me as a child that played "somewhere out there"... she was so in love with the horse and the song that it was added to our collection.

For TJ, when I was pregnant I had bought a Disney lullaby cd and played it quite a bit, even putting headphones on my belly. After he was born I discovered that if I hummed one of those tunes, he would calm down almost instantly. As a result, his songs became "Baby Mine" and "Dream"... to this day if he is upset or sick he will ask me to sing "Baby Mine".

Jaiden's song is "You are my Shining Star"... he frequently asks to hear it and is thrilled when we listen to it on my iPod in the kitchen while he is helping me cook.

Ava has "songbird" by Fleetwood Mac... it is so sweet and fitting. Rodney has bestowed his own Daddy song onto her.. "Unforgettable" and that song soothes her when we play it for her.

So, here you go, Kayla bear... the answer to your question in my last post. :-)

Reasons I love being a Mom...

The last few days have been trying and tiresome, so I thought I would focus on some happy things..

1) Patty-baby's deep belly laugh, it could melt anyone's heart
2) Contests on who loves who more
3) "girl time" with Kayla
4) The Incredible Hulk
5) first word's being "mama"
6) children that love me enough that they supported me during the hardest part of laboring with their sister
7) Jaiden's sillyness
8) TJ's affection
9) Kayla's master macchiato making
10) bath time
11) sour milky baby breath
12) "Baby Mine", "you are my shining star", "somewhere out there" and "songbird"
13) pile-on Mommy's bed, aka co-sleeping
14) bread baking with Kayla
15) bed jumping
16) excited springtime smiles
17) sloppy, slobbery kisses
18) sibling loveys
19) fat cheekies
20) dancing in the kitchen
21) afternoons in the park
22) bedtime stories
23) sleepy heads on Mommy's shoulder
24) silky baby skin
25) goodnight kisses

Baking babies

Can I vent for a moment here? (oh ya, of course I can... 'tis my blog and no one cares a lick about what I say anyways...)

When I want to bake a batch of peanut butter cookies of which I know are my hubby's favorite, I know a few things are certain- I know what ingredients to include such as peanut butter, flour, sugar, butter, etc. I know what setting to place the oven on and how long to bake those cookies to make them come out absolutely perfect, moist and chewy. Yum!

However... those are cookies, and though I may have to adjust things slightly, say if I am using a different oven or trying out a completely different recipe, otherwise the equation remains the same. Why is it that people assume our babies are like cookies??

Babies are not bake-sale goods, people.

Once upon a time there was this doctor. And like all doctors, he was nosey and decided to graph down when a group of about 500 women spontaneously went into labor. He thus concluded that the average timeframe was 40 weeks. Wow, exciting. What did that mean?? Well, nothing really. I could have a group of ten women in the room and state that the average age of said women is 30, but have none of those women actually be 30. That's the funny thing about averages and assumptions. Going forward, future physicians took this number and ran with it. And here we have our magical number, our baking babies at 350 for 40 weeks, whether or not they may be done.

I frequently hear women make statements such as "I *had* to be induced", "I couldn't go into labor on my own", "Little Davey just wouldn't come out on his own", etc. Let's be honest here, people.. it makes me want to knock them upside their heads. When did it become "normal" to assume that women's bodies won't or can't go into labor on their own? When did it become "normal" to assume that this average that was came up via a small sample of women needs to apply to everyone... that 40 weeks is our magic cookie done time?? (Let's not even get into the discussion about the likelihood of increased possibility of c-section which poses it's own set of risks-increasing the rate of primary c-sections which in itself drives the c-section rate up for subsequent pregnancies with the lack of careproviders supporting VBACs..another subject, another day).

Let me tell you an ancient secret... listen up, as it is pretty profound. Babies come. They really actually do. Whether or not you eat an entire pineapple or dance on your head. Babies come whether you ate that eggplant parmesean and douched it down with basil and oregano. Babies come regardless of the magical date *YOU* circled on the calendar. They come. They really, honestly do. Placentas, as well, do not have a magical expiration date on them. That's right! At 40 weeks or 41 weeks or even 42 weeks they do not spontaneously combust.

Now, let me place a disclaimer on this... this is not to say there are not circumstances where a chemical induction is valid... pre-eclampsia or IUGR, for example... those are some situations where there may be a valid necessity to get the baby out, rather than wait for the timer to go off on it's own. However, this should be our exception.. and definitely not the rule.

Put your timers and calendars away, Mamas... let your babies bake.

Dedication: The Prequel

My stepbabies:

When my husband and I met he was 11 years older than me, divorced with full custody of his 3 children (ages 3, 7 and 8 at the time). He made no comments to me at any point that when/if we were to marry that he'd like me to act as his children's mother, and I would say I had no pressure to do so. When we married I told the kids they were welcome to call me whatever they would like (as long as it was respectful). So if they wanted to continue to call me "Janelle" then that was totally ok. Within a month's time, I was "Mommy".

This is not to say that I have or had ever replaced their "real" mother. I don't think that could ever be possible, nor did I expect that.

Being a step-parent... well, it's damn hard and I think the only ones who truly understand that are the ones that have played that role. You contend with children that first realize they are not biologically connected to you and who long to have a connection with their biological parent (despite how close you may be)... when you arrive on the scene you are not molding a newborn baby, rather you are thrown into the loop with already molded minds that are used to certain ways, forms of discipline, rules, etc.

I believe that there were times when my stepkids appreciated my presence. Their dad had funny rules that I quickly put an end to. One, was the "no drinking until you finish your food" rule. I had taken B, my stepdaughter, out to lunch one day. While we sat waiting for our food I sipped my iced tea while she eyed her root beer. "B, you know you can drink that right??".. "Daddy doesn't let me before I finish my food". Me *eye roll*: "Uh... well, you know that you can always get a refill if you drink it all". Her eyes lit up... and thus I ended the silly drink rule. Othertimes it was blaringly obvious that B, the only daughter, had not had a woman's presence around in sometime. She was surprised to see that grown women had "hair down there" and didn't know you needed to place a toilet seat cover on the toilet in a public bathroom. When I gave birth to K, she was shocked and confused to see me breastfeed the new baby.

In no way have I been perfect, though.. in the early days I was quick to lose my temper and yell and easily stressed. I have vastly improved over the years to everyone's relief and have almost lost my "sailor mouth" entirely. However, I have always loved those three little hooligan's no matter what.

B, with her sassy-frassy mouth and attitude.. we would frequently bond over "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and our homemade late-night Mexican food creations. She has assisted me the last two times I have given birth, acting as a doula of sorts. Just 15 months ago I had the honor to assist her in ushering in her first baby, a sweet daughter, whom was birthed into my hands while she baptized my bare feet in a rush of amniotic fluid. I have watched B grow from an uncertain, mouthy girl to a beautiful young woman and mother. Now I have a chubby faced granddaughter to watch grow, as well.

Jr.. he is definitely his own creation. He has a passion for knowledge and a big forgiving heart. I think and worry about him daily and anticipate the day when he matures into the responsible young man that I know is waiting inside of him. These days he is into music and has found a skill for playing the guitar. He recently called up proudly to annouce he could play "Landslide" by Fleetwood Mac, knowing that is one of my favorite groups and songs.

J.. my baby boy. My first baby boy, that is. When he was 4 he spent the night at my house one night and ended up sick, throwing up all over my living room floor. I did what my mother would have done for me.. bathed him and put him into my bed (much to his father's disappointment for the night ahead...). As we cuddled up together he said to me, "Danelle??" (he could never say the Ja).. "Me: "Yes, baby?", J: "Are you going to marry my daddy??", Me: "I hope so".. J: "Good, I have always wanted a Mommy". *insert aaaaaawwwwws and tears here* Despite the fact he is an ownry, arrogant, pigheaded and egotistical almost 16 year old (that is putting it lightly.. the boy is definitely full of himself!!) he still holds a special place in my heart and reminds me of that sweet little guy who would stroke my hair while asking me to marry him. Today he loves singing and is involved in a myriad of choir activities along with being an excellent football player. I know the future holds great things in store for him.

So, there we go... my kiddos. All 7 of them. Motherhood and life holds many challenges and obstacles, but they all definitely make it worthwhile.

Dedication, Part 4

Ava~

Or otherwise affectionately known as "patty-baby".

Ava is my fourth baby... my homebirthed baby. She was born at home on a relatively cool July evening. That morning I was woken early with pressure waves that continued on well into the evening before finally producing my 9 lb 13 oz ball of sweetness 18 hours later. Born just 13 minutes shy of my grandmother's 75th birthday, patty-baby was welcomed into this world straight into her Daddy's hands. The room was filled only with people who loved her.



Ava was named a good two years before she was born. Though I seriously doubted that I would have another baby, let alone another girl, one day K and I were discussing baby girl names. "Ava" somehow came up, though K liked "Ava Rose" whereas I said if I had another girl I would like her to have my middle name. Where did "Patty" come from? Well, being my biggest baby I started calling her fatty patty. (I mean, seriously, she could fit into her newborn clothes for about 5 minutes and I couldn't even use the newborn cloth diapers I had bought her!). Fatty Patty eventually changed and now she is called anything from patty-baby to pattycakes to pretty patty or some days just plain patty.

Nowadays we have a very active 9 month old. She is constantly into anything and everything. She crawls like a maniac, pulls herself up on almost anything she can... even the wall! She has discovered her shadow on the wall and we laugh as it looks like she is trying to kiss it. She can say "Mama" to my utter delight. Best of all, she has a smile that will melt any heart. Her smile is amazing... she looks so happy and innocent and when she laughs it comes from deep down in her belly.

Our pretty, pretty Patty... the last chapter in our family, now complete.

Dedication, part 3

The Incredible Hulk:

Aka Jaiden. My beautiful 4 year old boy. Jaiden was our surprise baby. When I found out I was pregnant with him I had just been accepted into midwifery school. TJ was just shy of 2 years old and still nursing, and the last thing we'd expected was another baby. Within the first week I ended up in the ER with extreme pain on my left side. Having quite a history of endometriosis, most especially that affected my left side, I was not surprised when it was announced to me that my pregnancy was ectopic. Or rather they assumed it was. No baby could be seen on the ultrasound though they assumed by my beta HCG levels they should have been able to see something, and there was fluid around my left ovary, a visible corpus luteum, and fluid around my uterus. I was admitted into the hospital. That morning the on-call dr left me know that the radiologist could see a small 5 mm area where the lining was thicker, that it may be the baby however they were not certain. She recommended dissolving the pregnancy via methotrexate. We, however, were not convinced. If there was a small chance our baby was viable, we would rather not risk it. We decided to go on a "watch" and return for testing. She adamently disagreed with us... 5 ultrasounds later a gestational sac could be seen.. in my uterus, safe and sound. We were elated, and thus began our Jaiden.

Jaiden was born on his due date at a freestanding birth center with a midwife. He was born in the tub and caught into Mommy's hands. When he was born he did not cry, merely he pouted his lower lip in protest. Despite his posterior birth, he was born easily after 7 1/2 hours of labor.

Nowadays he is a *very* active 4 year old. He recently has decided he is The Hulk. Yes. The Incredible Hulk. He runs around the house, half naked growling "Don't Make ME ANGRY!!!!". The flexes his "muscles" and Grrrrr's and Arrrgh's and jumps off of furniture.. he has had a few nasty Hulk injuries, but such is the life of a superhero, I suppose. His loves include superhero cartoons, playing Anarchy with his daddy on-line, fruits and veggies of all sorts and yogurt.

When not being the Hulk he loves to say "Mommy, tell me I'm your kitty..", And despite the need to further put off midwifery school, a long time dream of mine, I would not change it for the world. This sweet, little ball of craziness makes it all worth it.

Dedication, Part 2

My big headed 6 year old boy...

Tj was born on a quiet Sunday in a freestanding birth center... his birth was attended only by my husband and our midwives. That day it felt as if the entire world had stopped in arrival for our sweet baby. He was named Thomas for my grandfather who passed away when I was young. I remember once after he was born having a dream that I was showing TJ to my Morfar.. I know he would have been proud of his namesake.

As a baby, T was always fairly laid back. He was a big chunky baby with large brown eyes. At 6 mos old old he weighed over 20 lbs... he was content to sit back and wasn't in a rush to walk, saving that until he was 14 months old. That set the stage for what kind of boy he would be.

Today, he is still pretty laid back... sometimes this manifests itself in "laziness". We will say, "TJ pick up your shoes", to which he will reply " Why do I have to do EVERYTHING?!?!". Dramatic, much? He is very sensitive and is the type of child who thrives on physical contact, always wanting a hug or to lie by Mommy and rub my feet. When I had my homebirth with his sister, TJ spent time at my feet during transition doing just that.... gently stroking the tops of my feet, quietly soothing and relaxing me.

He has a love of Spongebob Square Pants, something I will never, ever understand. He loves to be read to at night before bed, though without fail when it comes to actual bedtime we often experience tantrums of all sorts. He is discovering helping Mommy cook in the kitchen, which fills him with enormous pride when he exclaims to the family about how HE made the garlic bread. Funny enough, one of his favorite things to wear is "army clothes".. meaning anything with camouflage on it. At the age of 2 my Mom had bought him a pair of camo sweatpants which he fell in love with. We haven't been able to shake it since.

Next month he turns 7 years old... it is unbelievable how time flies by. Soon he will more interested in talking to girls than snuggling up with Mommy.. or will want to take off to the movie theater, rather than stay home eating "munchies" while watching a video. Where does the time go??

Dedication, part 1

So, yesterday while blogging my 6 year old exclaims, "I want you to write about ME, Mommy!" to which the others enthusiastically chimed in. Here we are... a series dedicated to the little ones in my life who have stolen my heart.

Kayla:
My first baby. How else can you describe the first child you gave birth to? Absolutely amazing. I was a few months shy of 21 when K was born. I remember her being placed onto my belly and her gazing up at me with eyes that were the same shape as mine. She took my breath away! It has been truly amazing to watch her grow... from the skinny little baby who loved to dance around and shake her bootie, to the chunkier toddler who would "ballet dance" to classical music in her Snow White tu-tu, to the budding child who discovered a love for art and reading. Now, at the age of 10 1/2 I am finding more woman than child in her, both physically and mentally. She is growing at a rate faster than my heart can handle.

Today she is in 4th grade and just recently has started her own blog (see: http://kayla-fourthgradetales.blogspot.com/ ). She loves to read and draw. She has an extraordinary eye for detail. She is sassy and bossy, but amazingly loving and compassionate. Looking into her dark, almond shaped eyes with her red-highlighted, unruly chestnut hair I can begin to see traces of the woman she is growing into, and someday will be. Some days I want to hold her back... tell her to slow down, be my sweet little girl still, the baby I cradled at my breast. Other days I am so excited to watch her learn and grow and am ecstatic and curious to discover the woman waiting to bud inside of her.

Slow down, baby, Mama's heart can't quite take it yet...

Springtime!

Living in the Pac NW, you learn to take advantage of the true and rare Spring-like days we get here. When the rain suddenly decides to take a break, allowing the sun to kiss the sky while revealing tiny pink and white blossoms decorating trees. This weekend happened to be one of these days! No rain, sun shining bright in the sky and temperatures rising to low 60's. Perfect. I find that nothing boosts my mood better than a relaxing moment in the sun. It makes me reflect back on the lazy pre-marriage days of taking a jaunt down to the beach with my dear friend, simply so we could nap in the sun. Those were the days..

Anyways, back to the present-- yesterday I took the kids to the park where they played in the sun and explored the nearby creek, followed by a trip to the ice cream store. Today it was a picnic in the backyard along with the blowing of bubbles and playing in the grass and on the swing. These moments are truly precious...they are moments when time slows, children get along and brighten the day further with excited smiles and jubilant laughter. Where patty-baby can feel grass on her chubby little toes for the first time.

Even better.. everyone comes inside, sun weary and exhausted collapsing into a peaceful nap, leaving Mom with a few moments to reflect on how lucky she is to have such a beautiful family.

Feeding

So, I will readily admit that I am a food Nazi when it comes to feeding my babies. For the life of me I will never understand the logic that says you must stuff artifical rice flakes full of empty crap and iron down your poor babies throat, shortly followed by a regime of jars full of pureed substances that looks the same as what comes out your baby's diaper.

Ok, so maybe I am exaggerating a wee bit, but honestly--would you eat that crap? I think not. So, I give you Janelle's rules for feeding her babies under 18 months.

1) Breastmilk.

Did you hear me? Or should I say it again? Breastmilk, breastmilk, breastmilk. It's what small and big babies are designed to eat and should be their primary nutrition for at least the first year. I don't do formula, so don't even ask. (and this is my blog, so I don't have to be PC about it)

Breastmilk ONLY until 8, 9, 10 months or so. Yes. I absolutely delay solids. I don't believe that small babies need anything more than their mother's nutrient rich milk in the first 9 mos or so of life. My philosophy is that Gerber was not around 100 years ago or 1000 years ago. Our babies are made to eat this way.

2) After that I gradually and slowly start with the yellow and orange fruits and veggies. Fresh, please. I make an effort to make my baby's own food, just as I do for my older children. I wouldn't eat that canned mush so neither do I expect my little one to. I deserve fresh food, as does she. Those baby food mashers are great for this, as are food processors or the old fashioned fork. One can even make large amounts, place individual portions in ice cube trays and freeze. Wa-la! You have individual servings. Mix with some warm breast milk and BAM! You have a meal.

3) Introduce the "other colors".. greens and what not. Usually in the form of things such as avocados which are a fabulous source of essential fatty acids.

4) delay all high allergen foods until a minimum of 18 mos. This includes citrus, wheat, dairy, corn (most especially corn syrup!!!), eggs and nuts. With the large amount of food sensitivities present in the US today, I do not believe this in unreasonable.

5) no artificial colors or high fructose corn syrup. I do, however, allow a "real" birthday cake for the first bday.. I am not that big of a grinch

6) Breastmilk again. Even in the toddler years it proves to provide important antibodies and nutrient in addition to promoting bonding and security for the toddler. Weaning happens when Mom, child or both are ready.. thus far this has been around 2 1/2 years.

So, there ya go... Patty-baby is thriving today at 8 mos. She weighs 18 lbs 3 oz and had her iron checked this week which came back absolutely normal. She has had bananas starting 2 weeks ago and had some applesauce for the first time today.

In comparision, for those who think "well, my baby was HUGE so I had to feed him 5 jars of baby crap in one feeding", my first son was 20 lbs at age 6 mos and continued to exclusively breastfeed until 10 1/2 mos old before any other foods touched his mouth. My 2nd son was the same way and was 9 1/2 mos when he started solids.

Put the Gerber crap away, I say. ;-p

Moms don't get sick days

You didn't know that when you signed up, did you??

This past week I have found myself bed-ridden with a sinus infection that would not quit. I wanted nothing more than to crawl under the covers, down a bottle of Nyquil and escape into a cold medicine induced coma, so to speak. But, alas, there are still kids that want Mommy, diapers to be changed, babies to be nursed, phones that ring, dinner to be made, sinks that don't look so shiny any more when Mom doesn't have the energy to get up......

*sigh*

More Jaidenisms..

*(While running through the house half nekkid, carrying nothing but two plastic squirt guns...)
"GRRRRRR! I da Hoooooolk!" (aka the Hulk)

*"Wha-da, say what?!"

*"Mommy, I have powers for you... they are in my hands! Psssshhhhhheeeewwww!"

*"Oh, tartar sauce!"

*" DON'T KISS MY BABY SISTER! Grrrrrrr!"

*After being told he can't *insert here: have a cookie, fly like superman, rob a bank, whatever*-- "Now I can't do *insert something that has nothing to with said cookie--create world peace, feed starving 3rd world children* Arrrrggghhh!"

* "Mommmmmmmy....", hiding behind doorframe, "I have a surprise for YOOOUUUU...Taaaa-DAAAAA!", jumps into doorway butt-bootie nekkid.

Organization

Being a Mom of many, many children organization has been a challenge of mine. I have continually struggled to find balance between work, housework, children's needs, my own needs, being a wife and sleep/relaxation. Concentrate on one thing too much and I end up shanking another. Patty-baby used to be content enough to sit in the "patty chair" while watching me cook and clean. These days, as mobility takes over, she is more content to try and sommersault herself out of the chair while whining for Mom to pick her up.

So, I find myself turning to "Fly Lady" (www.flylady.net) in order to resume some order in the chaos that has resulted. Fly Lady's first tip-- start with a clean sink every night before you go to bed. While I have always tried to make sure dishes were done and loaded before bed, it was never my ultimate goal to make sure the sink itself was absolutely empty and clean. I started with this last night, got up this morning to make my daily macchiato (have I mentioned that balance includes a great deal of coffee??) and was greeted by a sparkling clean sink. What a happy way to start the day! LOL I plan on continuing down the righteous path of Fly Lady-ness...resuming our "Saturday morning clean up", aka everyone-get-your-butt-up-and-clean-this-house, we have "clean sheet Sunday" (crap, I think patty-baby was a result of clean sheet Sunday.. you never know the effect that fresh sheets have...) and also designating Sunday as being bread baking day and official laundry day, ensuring the kids have everything they need for the week clean.

Deep breath... one step at a time and I will figure out the balance of it all and not feel a bit guilty.

Family vacations

Ahhh... the chaotic serenity of a family vacation. We had the recent opportunity to embark on a family trip, long car ride and all, to visit my husband's family. They fortunately happen to live in one of the most beautiful areas in the US, the Monterey Peninsula. The trip, while short, will live on as one of our most cherished family memories. Spending time together re-grounded ourselves in our family and strengthened our bond. I had the pleasure of taking my children to the beach and aquarium, basking in the joy I felt in watching their wonder, fascination and discoveries. Seeing the kids bond with their cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents was absolutely priceless. Patty-baby was dedicated at the church my husband's family has attended for over 30 years. It was strengthening as a mother to see his family stand with us as we introduced and dedicated our new baby, knowing that they love her every bit as much as we do. It was an amazing journey....one I will cherish forever and look forward to taking again.

Birth

It was only a matter of time before my thoughts would turn to birth.

I work in a large office environment, but with a small team of about 15 other co-workers. My thoughts tend to be pretty out there when it comes to birthin' babies compared to the other ladies on my team. Anywhere from jokes about placentas bowls (yes, I bought a plastic bowl to make guacamole for our potluck and then turned around and used it for my birth) to jokes about cooking placentas for dinner (I have two in my freezer.. doesn't everyone??) to my real life, serious thoughts about the natural process of birth.

A few days ago a young co-worker of mine made a comment about how painful it would be and how she couldn't deal with it. This same co-worker a mere few months ago watched her powerful sister roar a baby out into a midwife's hands at our local freestanding birth center. I couldn't resist going into my natural spiel about birth being a normal process.. that it's not pain, pain being your body telling you something is wrong. But yes, it *can*hurt, and well don't your muscles get sore and tired when they work so hard?

Anyhow, conversations like this always turn into mommy horror stories..the "I would have died had I not been in the hospital!!!" most frequently being spewed to the horror of the nulliparous women surrounding us. It makes me wonder... when did we become so terrified of our own bodies?? How did our inner power as women get stripped away to where we are so willing to hand our bodies and babies over to sterile strangers in bare, unknown environments??

I don't have an answer for this today. It merely makes me appreciate what I have had. I did experience a hospital birth where I felt like my baby was pulled out of my body and not that *I* had birthed her. From there I knew there had to be another way.. a better way to bring my children into this world. A way where they were handled with gentility and care. Where their family was the center of their care and the decisions that were made, not strangers. Where they would not be yanked, pulled, prodded or poked under bright lights after leaving the confines of a dark, warm womb. Following is a poem I once wrote, reflecting on my first birth... explaining a bit of why I am the way I am...

November

Echoes of screams longing to be free
In memories of a cold November
Waiting, no postman arrived
Instead, a savior in white
Promising to deliver

Breaking the calm, silently he sliced
Accomplice to silver spoons,
Stripping me
Like unripe fruit from a tree
Breach of trust complete.

Gift of emptiness lingers
As a small, slippery sweetness
Too soon swept away
Leaving spills of blood
Sticky between thighs

Force of hands unknown
Unwelcome
Kneading like dough
Wallowing in the waste of my womb

Illusion of mending
What once was whole
Which no man can heal
With pulling and tearing of flesh
Leaving in haste, the trauma within

Battle wounds fade
Silver with the passing of time
Memories subside
Hushing the screams within,
A muttered promise of never again.

Escape from Mommyhood

After a long week of working and being a Mom sometimes there are those moments when you wish for nothing more than to not be demanded of.. even if it's just for a few minutes. Unfortunately, that wish rarely goes granted... it is the price we pay for sweet smiles and tight hugs from little, chubby arms. Tonight, after an evening of shopping, my girls and I stopped at Trader Joes for some groceries. Passing by one of the endcaps, bottles of Trader Joes Grower's Reserve Zinfandel caught my eye.. at a whoppin' $4.99 a bottle. I could not help but buy a bottle.. I'd like to say it is because I was having a group of girlfriends over for dinner.. or even that I was feeling a sense of nostalgia seeing a bottle from Paso Robles, CA.. the area where my family originally stems from... but, no. I simply wanted to lock myself in a room for a small amount of time with some garnet colored yumminess and escape.. zinfandel, take me away!

The reason why I write about this tonight.. that cheap bottle of wine was amazing!! Granted, I only had half a glass (I *am* a nursing mother, btw) and still was not able to escape the grasps of the many demands of my children... yet still.. I would never claim to be a wine expert and be able to say "it had notes of chocolate, blackberry and strawberry with a light finish"..however, it felt like cherries bursting in my mouth! So, have you the chance, pick up a cheapie bottle for yourself. May your evening be quieter than mine ever will.

On a more important note, I now realize that the days of being a Mom to a sweet, cooing newborn baby are over. Patty-baby has surpassed the days of sweetly laying whilst smiling and blowing bubbles. No, I now have a 6 month old moving ball of curiosity. This girl won't sit still for anything and manages to get into anything she sets her mind to get into. Unless strapped in, she now can practically stand and pull herself out of her boppy chair (aptly named the patty chair). In addition, she has yet to realize that nursing is an activity done best while being still.. no, patty, the nipple can't travel with you and Mommy is not made of silly putty.

It astounds me how fast time goes.. before I know it, I will be able to have those quiet moments alone, contemplating the notes of a more fanciful wine while longing for the days of silly putty nipples and nosey 6 month olds.

Jaidenisms

J: MOMMY!!!
Me: What, Jaidy?
J: *balling fists and scrunching face* TJ called... ME... CUTE!!!!!
Me: But you ARE cute!
J: ARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH! *stomps away*

Mean girls

Nothing gets me more than how mean children can be... especially pre-adolescent girls. When starting third grade, my daughter had a tussle with two little girls in her class. They called her "sassy pants" and "black history" and are now named her "arch enemies".

Today, I come home from work... hubby tells me to ask K what happened today at school. Apparently, these same little heathens were calling her names again today and K (now in 4th grade) decided to fight back.

Me: What did they call you?
K: I don't remember *turns head, lifting nose*
Me: Well, did you punch them in the face?!
K: Ah! NO!
Hubby: She punched one in the arm
(That's my girl...)
Me: If they call you anything again, punch them in the face!

Ok, so maybe not the best advice in the world from a Mom to her daughter. Regardless, it enrages me... I wanted her to have confidence to stand up for herself. Maybe punching isn't the best option *sigh*, but I guarantee those mean little girls won't ever mess with her again!

What's funny is my kids have NO problems fighting amongst one another. Why do they scare away from other kids? J, my 4 year old, is aggressive as they come whereas my 6 year old, T, is definitely more passive. This past Thanksgiving we had friends over who have a 2 year old. This boy kept stealing J's toys and hitting him. Hubby tells J, "don't let him do that to you!". Finally T must have had enough.. he comes over, grabs J's hand and socks one to the little tyrant.

Now if only they could be so timid to not hit one another, and instead whack one to the mean bullies.. then we'd be in business!

Daughters

A short time ago I decided that I would like to try my hand at making some homemade bread.. in other words, bread without using a bread machine, a new task for me. I enlisted the help of my daughter, Kayla, and we went to work that rainy Sunday making homemade buttermilk biscuits and challah bread. As we mixed and kneaded the bread I was reminded of the words of a dear friend who says while she makes bread she sends wishes, prayers and blessings into it so that while it bakes and the sweet aroma fills through the air she can envision those blessings going up into the heavens. As well, when the bread is eaten those prayers become a part of those who have partaken of it. (Now, granted, she said this much more eloquently than I ever could..)

So, as Kayla and I kneaded I told her of this and we whispered our secret blessings into our dough, braiding the ropes of sweet dough into intricate lacings that soon would become hot loaves of bread... this simple afternoon caused me to reflect on myself as a mother of daughters and what I am passing onto them.

What will my daughters remember of me when they have daughters of their own? I recall my mother having tea parties with me.. pretending that we were both grown women and friends having coversation over tea and cookies.. I remember learning how to make apple pie, the first homemade dessert I could ever claim.. then years later being entrusted with my grandmother's secret recipe that is sacred in our family. I reflect on early Saturday mornings, crawling into bed with my mother and basking in the warmth and security of her bed, wishing I never had to leave.. the smell of lavendar and sweet smell of her face powder that always lingered in the bathroom.

I hope that I am and can be the mother who imparts wisdom onto her daughters.. daughters that grow up with the sacred knowledge of their own bodies, something that only I can guide them to but they must ultimately discover... I hope that I leave them with warm memories of feeling loved, safe and secure and beautiful... memories of how I braided their hair, made their favorite cookies and kissed their soft, warm cheeks.. I wish to be the mother whose daughters one day reflect back on with the hope they can pass on similar things to their own children..

These things I wish for, I may never know.. I may never know their true feelings, just as for some reason I have never shared with my own mother.. like secrets we wish into bread, untold but becoming a warm part of us.

Quiet

It's shortly before 6am and everyone is asleep. I should relish this small slice of quiet rather than be annoyed than I am awake too early in the morning and it is fruitless to try to go back to sleep.

Quiet is something that is taken for granted. I see that now that I am a mother. I have always been a person who has enjoyed time alone to herself. As a child and a teenager I would spend hours alone in my room just reading or dancing, listening to music. I loved having the space to think. Today that quiet is something I have challenges achieving. I have always enjoyed writing poetry, however it takes a lot from me and a lot out of me. I am not one of those people who are able to spit out something onto paper and call it good. Over this past year and a half, having that quiet space to think has become even more difficult to achieve. It's challenging to find a healthy balance between what I need as an individual, and what is needed from me as a mother of 4. It would be selfish of me after I work all day to close the door on the kids, who demand my love and attention at that point.

So, here I sit.. listening to my sweet 4 year old snore in my bed. His eye did swell up and now he looks like he lost a battle in the boxing ring. Soon I will have to wake my 10 year old daughter for school, the first day back after winter break. I have "trained" her well... she will get up and make a pot of coffee and bring me up a cup. The quiet will cease as we start our day.. fixing her unruly, but beautiful hair... waking my first grader up and helping him get ready... getting them off to the bus and heading out to work, all while hoping the two little ones won't wake so their daddy can get some sleep after working graveyard all night. I plan on working a little bit of overtime tonight, however my husband promises me we will sneak off to dinner tonight alone without the kids.. a small space of quiet to ourselves where we can be Rodney and Janelle for an hour, rather than just Daddy and Mommy, before starting another cycle of getting the kids to bed then back up again for school... then so on and so forth...

Here we go.. the week begins..

..or shall we say beyond it?

Well, here we go... I had a blog in the past, however it has been awhile. I realize it does me some good so I have decided to start again.

What is a babymoon, you ask? It is akin to a honeymoon after marriage. A period of quiet and bliss to be experienced after the birth of a new baby. After baby number 4 arrived this past summer, I should be saying I am "beyond the babymoon" and shall never experience another. As irony would have it, here I am again for the fourth time, with spirit babies knocking on me door, beckoning me to welcome one of them some day.

I can hardly believe it myself... here I was just a mere year ago, puking my entire being out daily. My then 5 year old saying to his Daddy, "I wish Mommy wasn't pregnant". Daddy had to explain that Mommy had to be sick in order for him to be born too. Pregnancy number 4 was by far the hardest. By week 24 I was visiting the chiropractor 1-2 times a week, week 28 I stopped working due to pubic symphysis separation. I was the largest I had ever been and by 32 weeks I was being asked by strangers if it was "any day now". However, after 18 long hours of labor I birthed my sweet baby girl into her father's waiting hands in our own home... mere feet away from where she was conceived. Nothing can compare to that bliss. The feel of her warm slipperyness... the sweet smell of amniotic fluid... gazing into her alert eyes, unhindered by bright lights, loud noises or drugs in either of our systems. Ahhh.... so amazing!

But, as I sit here after midnight with 3 out of my 4 little ones still awake, struggling for just a few moments of quiet to get a small piece of mind to write... I question my sanity as my 4 year old trudges up the stairs barely holding onto my 5 month old daughter... "Mommy, Ava is crying!" and my heart jumps into my throat in fear of him dropping her. This being only a few hours after the same little 4 year old boy decided to jump in and out of the pack-and-play and managed to fall and hit his eye...by morning it will be swollen and black. I hardly have time for a moment of sanity and here I am, thinking of one day having a fifth?? But then the sweetest of all happens minutes later... that same 4 year old walks over to me, hugging onto my arm, "Mommy I love you the biggest!".

Oh, ya... it's completely worth it.