October 2013 - The Ten Thousand Hour Mama

Falling for fall

October 29, 2013catherinemryan

If you haven’t noticed, and the photos of bright foliage on Instagram or celebrations over pumpkin spice lattes haven’t tipped you off, it’s fall. This is my favorite season, and I’m thrilled to share it with Peeper.

For a week or so, Edie refused to nap unless I took her on a walk in the carrier. The habit pushed me outside twice a day and, luckily, the weather cooperated.

Edith is transfixed by leaves, walks in the woods and sunlight.

As she, Finn and I walked the neighborhood and nearby trails, I marveled at how perfect October in Oregon is: the crunching of fallen leaves, the sound of the wind clacking together brittle branches, the smell of burning wood, the warm sun and cool shadows, the orange cast to the light.

Eric and I took Edie to the pumpkin patch, too. My family and I went every year when I was growing up. My mom would stop the minivan next to the field and we’d scatter. Sometimes we would pick apples, too, and the fruit tasted even better when I was standing in the dappled sunlight of the orchard. Other times we would just sample the pie and cider at the check-out stand and fawn over the puppies that always seemed to be for sale.

At Edith’s first pumpkin patch visit, there were no rolly poly Golden Retrievers, but we did take a tractor hay ride to the field. Hundreds of pumpkins sprawled across the ground, and the blue sky contrasted all the orange beautifully.

We picked out our pumpkins, including a little one for Edie. We carved them a few nights ago.

Edie was beginning to fuss by the time we neared completion of the jack-o-lanterns. It was bath night anyway, so we decided to risk an all-out meltdown for the sake of a photo opp. Eric lifted her up and plunked her into the biggest pumpkin.

Edie liked jack-o-lanterns so much she soaked her onesie with drool.

Instead of ramping up her cries, she calmed instantly. Edie smiled for our baby-in-pumpkin photos. Perhaps she liked the mooshy feeling of pumpkin guts between her toes.

That is what fall is all about: Indulging the senses. Whether it’s stomping through leaves, sipping spiced tea or wiggling your toes in stringy pumpkin slime, autumn’s opportunities to immerse yourself in the season shouldn’t be missed.

Peeper the crib sleeper

October 25, 2013catherinemryan

If you want to feel like your little girl is a lot less little, simply put her in a crib.

You know you're a mom when you feel the need to document your child's first nap in the crib. — You know you’re a mom when you feel the need to document your child’s first nap in the crib.

We made the transition from Edith sleeping in a cosleeper next to our bed to sleeping in a crib in the nursery rather suddenly last week. I was changing the sheet in her cosleeper when I noticed mold on one side of the mattress.

That was the end of that. We’ve had rough luck with mold here in Portland: We moved out of our last house when I was in the second trimester after we set out a few mold test kits and watched a colorful and varied array of specimens grow. Mold just wasn’t something we wanted to mess around with.

So that night, we got ready to put Edith down in the crib that had, up to that point, been just a landing pad for stuffed animals and laundered onesies that needed to be put away.

I didn’t feel ready. The decision to change her sleeping routine felt forced upon us. I had slept with her within an arm’s reach of me since she was born, and a whole room’s distance felt very far.

So that first night, Eric and I blew up the air mattress and slept in the nursery next to the crib. (I know. It sounds ridiculous. But still.)

Edie did great: She woke up at her usual time, and I nursed her in the rocking chair. She was unfazed.

The second night we slept in our own bed. I got up fewer than a hundred times to check on her, so I count it as a success.

Since then, the nursery bedtime process has become routine. She even naps in her crib—at least sometimes.

Edith is napping in the crib as I type this. When I sneak into the nursery to peek at her, she looks so much older than the newborn photos we have stuck to the fridge. She’s even busting out of the swaddle sacks we have. At the same time, she is a tiny bundled caterpillar in the wide expanse of mattress.

Unlike some parents I hear, I don’t want Edith to freeze at any stage. She’s growing, and that’s a marvelous thing to witness. As she reaches new milestones, I’m grateful to be here with her, in awe of this small—but getting bigger—wonder.

She walks! She talks! She nurses her baby!

October 23, 2013catherinemryan

Crunch, crunch. The dry fall leaves gave way underfoot and rustled overhead at the Rooster Rock disc golf course. Eric threw his driver toward the basket and I walked along with him, nursing Edie as I stepped through the maple leaves.

The premise of this blog is that I’ll be an expert by the time I log 10,000 hours of mothering. Of course by that time Edith will have changed enough that I’ll need an entirely new set of skills, but I think it’s reasonable to think that I’ll go from being a complete noob to a reasonably competent mom in a year and a half.

The fact that I’m comfortable enough nursing that I can do it while walking a trail is an enormous success. I may not be great at everything, but I’m an expert breastfeeder!

A baby's hunger waits for no one, so you gotta feed her where you can—even the pumpkin patch. — A baby’s hunger waits for no one, so you gotta feed her where you can—even the pumpkin patch.

I’ve nursed Edie while taking a walk with my girlfriends, grocery shopping at Whole Foods, walking Finn, making myself breakfast and even sitting on a tractor hay ride at the pumpkin patch. Gone are the days when I had to set a crying Edith down, strap on a nursing pillow, grab a second pillow to prop up the first and only then pick her back up to give her milk.

I was inspired by a friend who nursed her little one while standing up and snacking on tortilla chips. “Don’t mind my stomach,” she laughed about her bare midriff, but I was impressed by her mobility. I went home that evening and began practicing pillow-less nursing.

Now my Breast Friend pillow is stashed behind the rocking chair. I haven’t used it in weeks. Instead, I recline on the couch with my peeper in my arms—or, conversely, stand up to refill my own water. It’s liberating.

It’s also helpful when you have a fussy baby. Edie has a hard time eating when she’s overtired, so a few times a day I end up nursing her while standing and swaying. One particularly bad day I stood, swayed and bounced while feeding her in the bathroom with the light off, door closed and fan on. Yes, motherhood is that glamorous.

For months I struggled with anything related to feeding Edith. For a while I thought I wouldn’t be able to breastfeed her any longer.

I’m still learning. But it feels so damn good to get a win.

Baby mood swings

October 17, 2013catherinemryan

Pffffffth—I blew a raspberry on Edie’s bare belly. Pffffth—one on her cheek—pffffth—another on her belly—pffffth—again on her stomach.

After a few rounds, her smiles turned into the most sustained giggles she’s had so far. They made me laugh all the harder.

A few hours later, Edie was nursing when a school bus rumbled by the open window. The heavy chains that hang behind the tires crashed together as the bus turned the corner. Edie popped off and looked straight at me. Her eyes were big and round and searched mine. Her surprise was so complete that I couldn’t help but laugh again.

It had been a wonderful day. But Edie was so busy living every moment with abandon that she couldn’t be bothered with napping.

What will you get: Light Edie or dark Edie?

I knew it was coming. Later that night, she dissolved into meltdown mode. She cried but wouldn’t eat or sleep or play. I set her down on the bed to change my pants and the 45 seconds or so I wasn’t holding her sent her over the edge. She cried so hard that she was choking, and tears spilled out of her eyes.

I buckled Edith into her front carrier and got outside as quickly as I could. Within a few minutes, the bouncing rhythm of my step soothed her to sleep.

I, on the other hand, didn’t calm down as quickly. As I charged up the hill near our apartment, I stayed frustrated. I hadn’t been able to put Edie down for hours and my back hurt. I was mad at Eric for having to work later than expected. I felt terrible for slamming the door behind me when I stepped outside: The noise had scared poor Finn and I heard him barking when I walked down the steps.

I neared the top of the hill. The western sky was pink, and trees and rooftops stood out in black relief against the sunset. I remembered Edith’s giggles and the tiny “o” of her mouth when she was startled out of her nursing reverie.

The extremes of the day—first delight and hilarity, then frustration and hysterics—were as stark a contrast as the rosy sunset and shadowed skyline.

Most days with an infant are like this. Edith’s temperament changes from cheerful and gurgling to wailing in an instant, and she swings back and forth even more often than I change diapers.

The challenge for me, then, is riding the ebb and flow of her moods. It’s easy to get worked up when she’s screaming and nothing seems to calm her. But I want to be the kind of mother who stays flexible to meet the needs of a mercurial baby.

I was halfway there. When the usual rocking, shushing, bouncing, nursing and pacing didn’t calm Edith, I laced up my shoes and took her for a walk. And it worked. But I’d also acted in anger when I slammed the door.

Days with a baby are seldom equable. But maybe the raw-throated screaming makes me appreciate the giggles even more. Or maybe not. I’d probably love Edith’s laughs just as much if she were always calm. But she’s not. She’s a back and forth baby, and that’s ok. She’s my baby and I love all of her.

How to increase your milk supply—safely and quickly!

October 9, 2013July 20, 2018catherinemryan

If you’ve found this post from Pinterest, welcome!! I hope my tips on how to increase your milk supply help. If you like what you see here, I invite you to check out the rest of my blog and follow me by subscribing or checking out my Facebook page, Instagram or Pinterest profile. At the bottom of this post, you’ll find links to other breastfeeding-related posts (’cause I talk a LOT about boobs around here!).

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A dozen times a day, Edie pulled off my breast, screaming. She was going hungry. Again.

A lactation nurse confirmed my suspicion that my milk supply had dropped, and Peeper had gained almost no weight in two weeks. I was devastated. And I didn’t know how to increase my milk supply.

Over the next weeks I did whatever I could to make more breastmilk.

How to increase your milk supply for pumping and breastfeeding - Ten Thousand Hour Mama

I’m happy and grateful to be able to say that my milk is back! Read more →

Three months

October 8, 2013catherinemryan

The other day I was cleaning the kitchen and came across photos I printed when Edith was just a week old. I put two of them up on the fridge—one of her sleeping in just a diaper, showing off the scab of her umbilical cord, and the other of her biting Eric’s nose when she was hungry. I look at them now whenever I open the freezer and marvel at how much our baby has changed.

The range of facial expressions on this kid continues to floor me.

Yesterday Edith turned three months old—a quarter of a year.

The last month has been a fun one for her development. Last week we had a play date with other mama-baby duos from our mom’s group. She spent most of the afternoon sleeping (a rarity) but must have been inspired by the other babies, most of whom are older. That night, Edith rolled over again and again during tummy time. She rolls in stages: first her top half slumps over, then her hips and legs follow.

Since then, she rolls at will. The freedom and control seem to have changed her antipathy toward tummy time. She’s also interested in the toys hanging from her play mat and—occasionally—in the mirror. Every so often she’ll look at herself and smile.

The best new development this month was Edith’s first laugh. When I change her diaper, we spend a few minutes hanging out while she’s on her back. This is the time she’s most talkative these days, and I love her cooing and gurgling. Her sounds crack me up, and I swoon for her grins. All my laughter must have seemed funny to her because she laughed, too! I haven’t heard a giggle since, but I can’t wait to make her laugh again and again.

Edie is now moving—rolling, perhaps?—toward new changes. She still loves to face out and look at the world. I’m learning that is her personality: She seems to want to meet new experiences head-on. I can only imagine she’ll encounter her next milestones with a smile—and maybe even a laugh.

When wearing mascara is an event

October 2, 2013catherinemryan

Rain poured outside and flooded the streets of Portland, but inside a dimly lit tapas bar, four other ladies and I toasted to the upcoming marriage of one of my oldest friends, Rose. As I sipped a caipirinha, I boasted that I had showered, put on makeup and worn my hair down (for the first time since having Edie) for the occasion.

Another woman laughed. “Wow, you paint quite the picture of motherhood,” she said. I laughed, too. It says a lot about my newly altered life that I feel a need to take a selfie to document the rare night I wear earrings.

I wanted to record for posterity the night I got gussied up—but then I got caught in a rain storm.

It got me thinking about what early motherhood looks like, and what new moms show, to those on the outside.

Saturday night during the bachelorette party, I did not mention that it took most of the afternoon to stop crying long enough to put on mascara. Edie hasn’t been gaining weight, and Saturday she barely ate. Every time she screamed against my breast sent me into a new bout of tears. I was sure I was doing something wrong. I resorted to nursing her while standing up and swaying; it calmed her just enough to eat for a few minutes at a time.

I kept the day’s travails to myself because I didn’t want to dampen the mood, but it’s more than that: I want to project the image of myself as the kind of mom who has her shit together (and can feed her child, for crying out loud).

Throughout Saturday, I wanted to bail on Rose’s party. I felt like a mess. When Edie and I have a tough day, I want to hole up at home. I leave my hair in a bun and stay in what Eric calls my Kurt Warner sweats (on account of the droopy butt). I tend to withdraw into a cocoon where it’s safe and warm.

When I’m feeling vulnerable, the last thing I want is to zip myself into something more form-fitting than an oversized t-shirt.

I don’t think I’m alone in this. I don’t usually see moms with tear-blotchy faces out in public. This is whom I do see: Moms wearing Lululemon pants meeting at the café to walk their kids in schmancy strollers.

We—the general we, the public—hear about the hard times of parenthood (diaper blowouts, sleepless nights, blah blah blah) but don’t witness them. It’s easy to fall into the mental trap of assuming that after the initial infant crash course, parenthood becomes a breeze.

Yes, the Ryan Gregory household runs much more smoothly than in those first few weeks. But just because we close our desperate moments behind an apartment door doesn’t mean they don’t happen.

Perhaps I need to remind myself that those yoga-toned moms at the coffee shop also let their crying echo against the shower walls sometimes, and that it’s ok for me to go out—and it may even do me some good—with or without tear-smudged skin.