Drawing blood and drawing strength

I always look forward to Peeper’s pediatrician check-ups, especially when—like at her 9-month appointment—they don’t involve shots. So a few weeks ago when we headed to the doctor, I was excited.

The check-up went great: Peeper even waved to her doctor. As we were about to leave, the pediatrician looked at one of the routine forms we’d filled out. She paused.

“You have antique furniture?”

Antique might be overstating it, but we do have a few old-ish pieces among the IKEA tables, bookshelves and such.

After asking us a few more questions, the doctor recommended we test Peeper’s blood for lead.

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Don’t call my baby a toddler

“When does a baby become a toddler?”

Some mama friends and I were wrapping up an evening out. We were lingering over our wine or brownies (or, in my case, both) while we waited to pay the check. And I asked this question, which had been on my mind lately.

Peeper pulls herself up with a little leverage from the futon, book shelves, the dresser, the fridge, practically anything. And she cruises along the furniture to get to a book or the remote control when it’s beyond her reach. She also loves “walking” while holding our hands—she can step all the way down the hallway in mere seconds. Kid is fast.

Then last week, she stood up on her own. She was climbing on Eric when she propped herself up and then let go of him altogether. She stood like that for a good long while, at least in baby time, before lowering herself back down.

It may be months before she consistently stands and then walks—the milestone that marks the transition between baby and toddler, so say my mom friends.

But I’m so not ready to have a toddler. Or rather, I’m not ready to not have a baby.

Ten Thousand Hour Mama

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Photos capture slipping time

Peeper was five or six weeks old when I realized that I hadn’t taken a one-month picture of her.

You see them all over Facebook and Pinterest: monthly shots of a baby, often with a button or brightly decorated chalk board marking her age. Look at a year’s worth and you can see a child grow from a slumpy infant to a one-year-old who will hardly sit still long enough for a parent to snap a photo.

I felt guilty that I’d let her month-birthday pass without commemorating it. And since I missed the first one, I figured I couldn’t catch up later. What’s the use of having a “I’m two months old!” photo when you don’t have the one-month-old one?

At the time, I was struggling to do anything besides nurse. Breastfeeding was still an awful, painful, teary, bloody struggle. Looking back, I’m glad I didn’t add one more expectation, even if it seems like taking a photo is pretty minor. Because when something as fundamental as feeding your child is really, really hard, staging a photograph, printing out a sign with a big “1 month” on it and taking a picture with an actual camera is also really hard.

So we don’t have a series of photos that shows how Peeper has grown each month. But we have other ways to mark her changes.

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Peeper’s new favorite food

I was in the kitchen scrubbing dishes when I realized that the sponge-on-plate sound was the only noise I heard.

If there is one truth in parenting, it is this: Silence means your child is up to no good.

I shed the yellow dish gloves and peeked my head around to the living room, where Peeper had been playing. There she was, playing all right, but not with her stacking cups or beach ball.

Somewhere she had found a Ziplock of dog food. She had managed to open it and spill it on the ground. And, of course, she was shoving handfuls of it into her mouth.

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Nine months

Peeper has been in the world almost as long as she was inside me. Today she turns nine months old.

The other morning, Peeper and I were snuggling in bed after we’d woken up. We were playing, and I tickled her belly and armpits. Laughing, she threw herself down. She giggled and buried her face in the pillow as if to hide.

My breath caught. She just seemed so. grown. up.

Ok, so she doesn't always look grown-up.
Ok, so she doesn’t always look grown-up.

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Love your postpartum body: My beautiful linea nigra

How I loved my linea nigra and postpartum body. New moms, find a positive body image! Ten Thousand Hour Mama

New mothers find plenty of things to dislike about their bodies after delivery: lopsided boobs, stretch marks, a perma-pooch. Tabloids in the check out aisle highlight celebrities who managed to LOSE THE BABY WEIGHT IN 5 WEEKS! (and shame the women who take longer—not that it’s anyone’s business). Despite these changes, I managed to love my postpartum body and find a positive body image—by appreciating my linea nigra. Read more

Why (occasionally) leaning back from motherhood helps me be a good mom

It has been 6,240 hours since I became a mother. I’m more than 60 percent of my way to becoming an expert.

I’m only half-serious, of course.

Working hard some of the time allows me to play the rest of the time.
Working hard some of the time allows me to play the rest of the time.

Some experts say that it takes 10,000 hours of dedicated practice to reach the top tier in what you’re pursuing—soccer, piano, basket weaving, whatever—research that underlies part of Malcolm Gladwell’s book Outliers (hence the name of my blog). I’m doing my best to become a good mom. I figure that all these hours of breastfeeding, changing diapers, peek-a-boo, bath time and front carrier walks add up and are teaching me not only about my daughter but about what it takes to be a loving, kind, patient, dedicated mother.

A new book by Daniel Goleman, Focus: The Hidden Driver of Excellence, asserts that logging a lot of hours doesn’t cut it, though. This article over at Brainpickings summarizes some of Goleman’s points.

He maintains that your attention when you’re practicing is a necessary component to reaching your full potential: You can’t just phone it in if you want to be great.

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I understand, sleep-deprived mom

Soon after I gave birth to Peeper last year, my grandma told me a story.

She had just had my mom and uncle, a set of big twins who went to 40 weeks. (My mom weighed about as much as Peeper did—and she was only half the load!) My grandma was doing her best to take care of them and an older daughter essentially by herself—my grandpa was of the generation that thought that he would work during the day at the bank and she would take care of family and home.

My grandma struggled but told me she was overjoyed at having twins, which had always been a dream of hers.

One night, they got a sitter to watch the children at home, which was a rarity. They went to a party. My grandma took their coats to the host’s bedroom. And then—then she lay down and fell asleep.

They hadn’t been at the party five minutes before my weary grandmother was collapsed on a pile of strangers’ coats.

I know that kind of exhaustion too well. Chances are that you do, too. Maybe you zonked out in an inappropriate place. (I fell asleep on the exam table while waiting for the midwife at my six-week postpartum appointment, for example. Awkward!) Maybe you canceled plans because you were too sleep-deprived to drive safely. Maybe you’ve feared dropping your baby while trying to get her to sleep because you could pass out at any moment.

I’m so thankful that Peeper and I have moved past that point, at least for the time being. I was reminded of the bleary reality of many other parents, though, when I read this article about a woman who happened across another mother who had fallen asleep at an indoor play gym.

“I won’t leave ’til you wake up… hopefully rested and ready to face the weekend with the warrior-energy us mamas need to parent with a smile on our faces,” she posted later on Facebook. She had kept an eye on the sleeping mother’s kids while the tired mama caught some apparently much-needed winks.

To the woman who slept slumped against the windy slide, and to any of you who have never felt more like a zombie, I get it. I feel you. I’ve been there, too.

It’s miserable to feel like a shell of yourself. It’s embarrassing to nod off in public. You might even feel a little shame that you can’t “keep it together” enough to parent your baby and manage to sleep—I know I did.

I’ll say it gets better, though you might not want to hear it.

But I’ll also say that you have my full empathy and compassion until it does.

As new parents, and especially as new mothers, we have to stick together. I’ve got your back, tired one. If I can do anything to help, give a shout. If not, I’ll continue to look out for you and hope your baby finally goes to sleep!

Mother, the puke catcher

Peeper has been sleeping poorly lately—thank you, tooth #4 that is so close to popping through—so when she started to cry the other night 45 minutes after I put her to bed, I figured her gums were just making her fussy.

She cried for a bit, was quiet, and then started crying again. I continued reading my book but brought the monitor closer.

Then I heard the sound.

I rushed into the nursery and sure enough, there was my beautiful daughter, covered in vomit. The poor dear was crying the way she does when we turn on the vacuum cleaner or blender—she was terrified.

I was scared, too.

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Eight months

When Peeper was just born, her awareness was mostly limited to the eight inches in front of her face. Then her eyesight improved, and she just drank in whatever she could see, from cars driving by to the wind-whipped trees overhead. She demanded to be carried facing out so she didn’t miss a thing. Then she learned to roll and suddenly she was more in control of her own body.

Peeper at 9 days old
Peeper at 9 days old

Now that Peeper is mobile, her world has expanded even further.

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