Co-Parenting, Co-Surviving

Two weeks ago Seth got his cast off.  He had a cast for about a month.  Before that it was a wrist guard, before that a sling.  Seth has had two surgeries on his left hand, his dominant hand, in the past three months.  The first was in August to repair a torn ligament and then he had a second surgery last month to repair two ruptured tendons.

Seth has had soreness in his hands for years.  He’s a trained pianist and years of playing has led to inflammation and general soreness.  In fact, when we first started dating he would ask me to massage his hands and I would giddily do so.  It was never anything that wasn’t resolved with a little ice or rest.  And then Ms. Shiloh came along.

Babies require quite a bit of your hands.  They need to be carried, rocked and tickled.  And then there are things like car seats, strollers and heavy diaper bags – all of which can do a number on your hands.  Suffice it to say it wasn’t too long before Seth’s hands were fully inflamed which led to these surgeries.  Which means he can’t be as hands-on with Shiloh.   Which means I have been doing the heavy lifting (literally). 

Which brings me to the topic of co-parenting.

Co-parenting is another parallel journey that you embark on when having a child.  As if having the child and raising her isn’t enough, now you have to figure out how to do it together without killing each other.   Not only must you incorporate each other’s different upbringings but the different roles that mothers and fathers take.

We both had very different upbringings.  I come from an immigrant, catholic family.  My parents worked quite a bit and my siblings and I were latchkey kids. I was not allowed to go to movies with friends I until senior year in high school.   And I wasn’t allowed to wear shorts.  Suffice to say I lived a sheltered life until junior year of college when I studied in Europe for the year.  Then, well, all bets were off. 

On the other hand, Seth’s mother stayed home with him and his sister until he was in high school.  And he was able to go out with his friends by the time he was 12-13 years old – your typical American upbringing.

Our parenting styles definitely reflect our different upbringings.  The fact that Shiloh gets a coconut oil massage before her bath or the fact that she eats lentils flavored with turmeric is certainly not typically American.   And the fact that she’s enrolled in music class and she gets stories read to her is not typically Indian.

Then there are the inherent differences between mothers and fathers.  No matter how advanced society may become, the mother is usually the primary caregiver.   Part of it is simply a function of biology – breastfeeding, the mother’s scent – and part of it is this role we all sink into.  Mothers sometimes feel like they can do things better or they take “”I’ll just do it” attitude, and not allow fathers to do as much.

For example, when Shiloh first started eating solids, I got her some oatmeal cereal.  I told Seth about it (we were initially giving her rice cereal) and how much better she liked it.  One day I asked him to prepare the cereal – I told him to take a tablespoon of the cereal and add a bit of breastmilk and heat it in the microwave for ten seconds.  He followed the instructions and said “I don’t think 10 seconds is enough.”  I said, “yes it is, bring it over.”  He brings over the bowl and turns out he had used regular adult oatmeal!  Yeah, no kidding ten seconds wasn’t enough.   I was incredulous, perplexed and laughing at the same time.

The thing is I couldn’t really blame him.  I had told him I started giving her oatmeal and never bothered to show him where it was.   He had never prepared it for her – or rather, I had always prepared it for her.

Seth and I have always had a very mellow, easy-going relationship.  Neither of us is very stubborn and neither of us likes to be mad at people.  We generally agree on most things, and are willing to give in to the other when we aren’t. 

But when Shiloh came along something changed.  The first two months were a trying time in our relationship.  I’ve come to realize it wasn’t anything unusual – the typical new parent disagreements that are compounded by an absolute lack of sleep.  There were moments when suddenly, we were stubborn

For the past almost 8 months, in the course of raising and discovering our daughter, we’ve both had revelations about each other. I have had to learn to refrain from saying things if Seth is resolving a problem differently than I do when it comes to Shiloh.  Seth has learned that I am not just sitting on the couch watching movies when I’m at home with Shiloh and there’s a reason why I’m tired when he comes home.  I’ve also discovered that he is a very funny, selfless, and willing to wake up at 7AM on a Saturday while I sleep a little longer kind of father.   

There’s no doubt that co-parenting is yet another lifelong journey that will continue to have peaks and valleys.  And I’m glad that Seth is the one to do it with me – cast and all. 

Asterisks of Change

I can't believe I haven't written a post since July.  Much has happened since that last, sad post - all of it good!

* Shiloh is a champion sleeper.  Yes, we had a rough 3-4 days when we trained her back in July.  But now we put her down at about 7 - 7:30PM and she's out until about 5 - 5:30AM.  I do a quick feed and then she usually goes back to sleep until 7AM.

* In the past couple of weeks her naps have gotten much better.  She does a 1 to 1 1/2 hour nap in the morning at about 9AM.  We're working on getting her to sleep longer for her afternoon nap (indeed, as I write this she's been asleep for an hour and twenty minutes!).

* She's got teeth!  Two weeks ago I was nursing her when I felt a very sharp pain (I know, ouch!).  I rubbed my fingers across her gums and there they were, two jagged little teeth.

* She is *this* close to crawling.  She gets up on all fours and rocks back and forth and she crawls backwards.  We are always pulling her out from under the couch.

* She's also pulled herself up to standing a few times.  The first time she did that was in the crib and I got it on video.  It was exciting and scary at the same time.   Needless to say we had to lower her crib.

* She's developed a bit of stranger anxiety.  She needs a few minutes to get to know someone new (peek-a-boo usually works) before she will jump into their arms.

* She got her first hair-cut.  No crying or whining!

* She started solids in August.  Her diet consists of lots of fruits (pear is her favorite!) and veggies, yogurt and mixed grain cereal.  This week she became a non-vegetarian - she had a little of my turkey sausage at brunch, which she enjoyed and then had chicken yesterday.  She will definitely be gobbling some of Bubbe's Thanksgiving turkey tomorrow.

We are off to celebrate Thanksgiving with Seth's family tonight.  I can't believe that last year at this time I was pregnant.  Next year she'll be running around and probably torturing her cousins!

Here's an 8-month pic with her favorite toy and some pumpkin spice muffins.

A Love Letter

Dear Shiloh:

Mommy wants you to know how sorry she is for this week.  It hasn't been easy on any of us, but especially you.  I want you to know that we did what we did because we love you and we know this was the best thing for you.  What did we do?  Sleep training.

Mommy researched several different books and methods, including Dr. Sears, Elizabeth Pantley, Dr. Ferber and Dr. Weissbluth.  Mommy chose Ferber for the middle-of-the-road approach - it seemed doable since, while it required some crying on your part, mommy and daddy could come in periodically to comfort you.  Plus your pediatrician and Ranjamma seemed to have a lot of faith in the method.  Weissbluth was too cruel (he seems to think crying till you vomit is ok - mommy does not agree) and the other ones seemed like it would take months and I didn't want you to have to deal with that.

On the first night you cried for 28 minutes - and my darling it was one of the hardest 28 minutes of my life.  Especially between minutes 20 and 28.  Mommy cried along with you and am even tearing up right now as I think about it.  But you fell asleep, without your pacifier, and woke only at 1AM for a small feeding.  Then you didn't wake until 4:15AM.  The next night you cried for 19 minutes and woke at 4:30AM.  Night number three you cried for 10 minutes and woke at 4:45AM.  And tonight you cried slightly for five minutes.  Whether we like it or not, the method works.       

We still haven't tackled naps during the day yet, but we will.  For now we'll work on the nights and once you've had those down for a couple of weeks, we'll get to the naps.  Plus you may have a regression once in a while - if you get sick or we do some traveling.  So we still have work to do.  

There are so many difficult decisions and sacrifices parents make every day.  We tenderly raise you, thinking way too much about each choice and then one day have to let you go so you can make your own decisions.   Indeed, one day, if we're all so lucky, you'll do the same thing for your daughter and you'll do it out of love as well.

But today, on this quiet evening, I just want you to know that I love you, daddy loves you, and just like the past three mornings, we hope you'll have a big smile for us tomorrow morning. 

Love, Mommy   

Breastfeeding - One Day at a Time

I have been thinking about writing this post for a long time.  But every time I tried to determine its focus it changed.  It has been such a roller-coaster ride - slowly going up, then a bewildering dip, followed by a series of ups and downs.  And now?  I think we finally have a consistent ride.  There are bumps, but we take it all one day at a time.

I knew I wanted to breast-feed during my pregnancy - ideally for a year.  The research is pretty consistent on the benefits of breast-milk - the vitamins, nourishment and antibodies, and that's in addition to the special bond from something that only I could provide.  But I also knew it was not an easy thing to do.  So many of my friends and family have had trouble breast-feeding.  It requires technique and if you don't get it down, there is pain (serious pain!), both physical and emotional.

I first fed Shiloh about 45 minutes after she was born.  As soon as she was out she was placed on my chest.  Once she was weighed and covered she was back with me, and my doula helped with the first feeding.  Shiloh latched on and I distinctly remember saying "it hurts but it feels so good" - meaning it hurt, but I was thrilled she was on and I could provide my baby with something she needed.  At the hospital every time she was ready to feed I called a nurse to make sure I was doing it right (all the nurses at St. Luke's are lactation certified).   Then we got home.

I knew there was some pain at first (no matter how good you are).  My toes would literally curl up every time she latched on.  Then two weeks passed and the pain was still there.  On top of that Shiloh would start coughing at times as if she was choking.  I also knew she was sucking in quite a bit of air and as a result gassy.  Then came the sprinkler effect - yep, I literally sprayed Seth in the face one night.   So I started researching and self-diagnosed myself with either a hyper let-down or a lot of milk.  Well, turns out I had both.  I had a large milk supply and it was coming down really fast.  This was overwhelming Shiloh and as a result she would try to clamp down on my breast to slow the flow (painful, but on the other hand, another reason I am amazed at how resourceful babies are).

At about month two I hired a lactation consultant who helped tremendously.  She showed me how to slow the flow until my tissues learned what Shiloh needed, and technique on how to get her to latch better.  And I must've looked like I needed hugs, because she gave me those too.   But it still took time to absorb and implement everything I was learning.  There were good days and bad days.  I was constantly checking and analyzing to see if the latch was right (and in the process moving too much).  One day I woke up with a 100 degree fever and serious pain in my breast - I had mastitis.  Forget a year, every day I told Seth I just wanted to make it to three months and then I was done.  I would stop entirely and go on formula or just pump and feed her bottles.  I couldn't take the emotional toll of worrying constantly about whether I was doing it right.

But then one day, at about three months, something clicked.  The pain subsided, my flow moderated itself and Shiloh had less gas.  I took the consultant's advice to not constantly check how the latch looked and just check to see if it felt right.  It did. And that was the end of the analysis.   And, rather than thinking about a year or months, I decided to take it one day at a time.

And now we're at month four.   I don't know how, but we made it this far.  I just started publicly breast-feeding a few weeks ago, which was the final hurdle to cross (I think that has been more of a challenge for Seth).

I've faced many challenges in life, but make no mistake about it, breast-feeding was one of the hardest.  I doubt we'll make it to a year, but that's ok, we're taking it one day at a time.

Update on Ms. S:  She had her 4-month check-up this week - 12 lbs, 13 oz (almost 13) and 24 1/2 inches long.  The pediatrician called her a flirt by the way she was smiling at him (before the shots; after those she gave him a pretty bad stink-eye).  She's holding her head up and not minding tummy time so much.

Here's the four-month pic (boston creme pie for those keeping track).

Guilt

There are all kinds of guilt in this world.  As a lawyer, it plays a variety of roles: guilt beyond a reasonable doubt, guilt by association, and well, my client is guilty.

Then there's the other kind - the kind that's seared into you as soon as you're born.  I was raised a Catholic and went to Catholic school until 4th grade and CCD after that.  Before doing something bad (like punching my brother) there was always a moment to calculate how many Hail Mary's I'd have to do after confession.  Then there's being born to Indian parents - god forbid that I don't constantly think about how much my parents have done for me.  I hate guilt - I don't like doing things because I'm guilted into it - that's BS! It's my life dammit and...uh oh, I think I just went back to high school.  Back to present-day.

Guilt as a mother.

It certainly started when I was pregnant - so much of what I ate, thought and did seemingly affected the baby.  Every time I sprayed my allergy spray I hoped it wouldn't affect her (despite the fact that my allergist said it was perfectly fine).  And don't get me started on the H1N1 vaccine; I lost count of all the emails between me and my pregnant girlfriends on its safety.  First I was going to take it, but Seth was absolutely against it.  Then he thought I should take it but only the kind that was preservative-free, which was of course available nowhere.  I finally took it (nope, couldn't find preservative-free), and well, so far she doesn't have a third arm.  Feeling terrible if I had to go hungry for more than 20 minutes was constant since I had a busy job.  And then there's what I actually ate - see earlier post about things I would never take for granted (which incidentally, I still can't enjoy a lox bagel - because now I can't eat dairy!).

How about guilt after baby is born? The first night after she came home I was a mess.  I was up all night with her because she wouldn't sleep or was just fussy.  And by the second day EVERYONE had a reason why, and the most common was she's hungry.  OK, well as her sole food source - whose fault is that? Mine.  Then everyone thought she had gas.  Well, what is she eating? My milk, so again my fault.  In fact every time she cried Seth's first question was "what did you eat?".  Nothing!  I'm not eating onions, cabbage, broccoli and I don't even look at beans!  Well maybe you're not eating enough! (courtesy of my mother).

But then I went into warrior mom mode - I started doing research.  And guess what? Newborns cry sometimes for no reason at all - they've come into this new, unfamiliar world where it is not as warm and cozy.  So all you can do is comfort them.  And what gives me gas does NOT necessarily give her gas - only things that enter my bloodstream affect my breast milk (hence why I avoid dairy - newborns can't digest a protein in cow's milk, which is why you can't give cow's milk until they are 1.  And some have an extra sensitivity to it and it enters breast milk.  I've noticed that Shiloh is very fussy and spits up quite a bit a day or so after I have a dairy-heavy item - pizza, for example . . . or you guessed it, cream cheese.  I will one day have my bagel with cream cheese and lox, dammit!).  But I digress.  My point, quite simply, is that I am not always the sole reason for her unhappiness.

So guilt as mother - I know it will be a constant in my life (am I giving her enough tummy-time? does she look at me differently when I leave her for a few hours? does she have issues with men because I was overbearing?).   There will be times that I give in to it; but most times I have to tell myself that I am doing my absolute best (or call a friend who will reassure me that I am NOT the reason for my daughter's screw-ups).

As for Catholic guilt, well that went out the window when I realized some of those priests have nothing on me.  And as for my parents, well, oh wait my mom's on the phone and she wants to know why I never call her.  Sigh.

Working Girl

I went back to work this past Monday.  But there was no getting up and kissing Shiloh good-bye while mommy left for the office.  I'm working part-time and from home for the time being.   (I say time being, because I'm dealing with some issues with the office that may require me to come into the office two days during the week - or I may just end up dropping the whole working thing).

In any event, it was nice to be home, do the work and at the same time play with my girl during breaks.  We've hired a nanny for two days so I can focus on my work.  At this point I can't even imagine going into the office and working 60 hours per week like I did.  But I know many women have to; suffice it to say I am lucky to have a choice.  Though I have to say, on the days that the nanny doesn't come in, it can be pretty challenging and outright comical.  For example, I was talking to counsel at a state agency when Shiloh woke up from her nap and started jabbering - I had to walk out of the room pretty quickly.  Or the time I was talking to my partner  while I was nursing her and I put him on speaker-phone.  She was so shocked to hear his voice that she suddenly let out a wail.   And the fact that there's nothing like the "oh she just woke up" excuse to get off the phone with someone (hmm, did I just reveal my secret?).

I've been out for three months so I feel a little rusty on certain things (when my partner mentioned the words "upcoming major litigation" I felt a little nauseous), but totally back into the swing of things on others (for example, re-connecting with my clients - most of them are characters).

On this Friday I feel pretty good overall.  Shiloh takes frequent naps throughout the day so I'm able to get most of my work done.  I even managed to have dinner on the table on most nights.  How do you like them apples? Regular freakin' suzy homemaker.

One real low point, however, was finding out my grandmother passed away on Monday.  She was almost 95 years old and as you regular readers know, Shiloh is her namesake.  I was pretty upset when I first heard and I couldn't watch the funeral which was on a live-feed - I want to remember her with life.  But I know she is at peace somewhere in the universe, hopefully watching over us.

She's Here (and has been for three months)

So we're back!  On March 17, 2010 I completely forgot about this blog.  Actually that happened on March 16 - when I went into labor.  But that's beside the point, which is that I'm back.   I realized that our journey didn't end at her birth, it actually began.  So why wouldn't I want to document all of it?

Let's start with the birth.  I had been dilating slowly for sometime.  By 36 weeks I was already 5 cm dilated and about 80 percent effaced.  On Monday, March 15 I felt the tiniest trickle of liquid.  Being that I was still two and a half weeks away from my due date, I thought, "Could it be? No, it can't be."  So I monitored closely all night and didn't see anything; luckily I happened to have a Doctor's appoint the next day.   At the appointment, I told my doctor what I saw and she took a look and said she didn't see anything.  But being the good doctor she is, she did a litmus test and voila! Positive for amniotic fluid - this meant I had sprung a leak 24 hours before and therefore had to go to the hospital immediately (risk of infection increases).  I actually asked the doctor why and she advised "to have your baby!"  Nothing like a statement like that to get you going.

So off I went - waddling to the hospital (it was 3 blocks away), while Seth went home to get our bags.   No, I wasn't feeling any pain, just some pressure on my belly periodically.  I was in my hospital room by about 6:30 PM and hanging out.  My nurse was fantastic and indulged all of my birth plan requests (eat lightly, no IV just a hep-lock, able to walk around, only periodic monitoring).  Then at about 8PM my doctor came and fully broke my water (gush is an understatement) and half an hour later I felt my first pang of pain.   I labored for about 4 hours at which point I was at the end of my rope (I started telling my doula and Seth that I didn't think I could do it - meaning I might need to go for the epidural).  But my doctor came in then to check me out and I was fully dilated - it was time to push.  Luckily, I only had to push for about a half-hour.   I felt my daughter coming out and when they planted her on my chest - my life changed.  It's no less than absolutely dramatic.  Time stands still, yet there's chaos in the background.  This little being was looking directly into my eyes and whimpering.  She was slippery of course, but I was not letting this one go.   We just stared and stared into each others eyes.   Completely Awestruck.

And I have to say three months later I'm still awestruck.  Shiloh Divya Dymond is a fantastic kid.  She started sleeping 5-6 hours straight at night at about two months.  And she keeps it simple (and predictable) throughout the day - wake-up, eat, play, go back to sleep.  She started smiling about a month ago and hasn't stopped, especially when you talk to her.  

Here are her one, two and three month pics.