The Numbers Game

Happy Monday, ya'll!

Man, have I got a case of the Muuuuuuundays today. I've been battling a cold that developed at the tail end of a stomach bug last week, so my already-barely-there energy has taken even a bigger nose dive.

Today I was thinking about how I've never realized how obsessed I am with numbers. Numbers are what, in my mind, dictate my life goals, and can sometimes cause anxiety if I don't live up to them. Here are some of the numbers I've been striving for in the past few weeks:

3 - the number of months I'm determined to keep giving Violet at least a little breast milk each day
11 - the number of weeks I think we're actually going to make it
30- the total minutes of tummy time I force my daughter to do on weekends each day even though she just lays there with her face in the mat making pitiful noises and flailing her arms
7- the number of pounds me and my sisters decided to try and lose by the time we all go see Wicked in New Orleans over Memorial Day weekend
4-6 - the age in months where I've heard my daughter will start becoming more fun, as if on the day she turns 4 months she'll all of sudden start sitting up on her own and giggling uncontrollably
5- the number of ounces I hope to pump each time I sit down to do it
3 - the number I usually end up getting

These are just a few examples, but you can see - I'm constantly doing mental math. Chris actually laughed at me the other day because he saw me adding 4+4+4+4 and so on on my phone calculator. He said "You could always just multiply." I had to explain to him that I was actually thinking back mentally to how many times and how many ounces Violet had eaten since 4am that morning to see if I was giving her enough in a 24 hour period.

This can drive a person batty. Obsession at any time is not healthy, and the health of your child can easily become an obsession. The truth is, I have little control over any of it. I can't make my milk produce five ounces every time. I can't say whether or not I'll even produce enough to give her an ounce after the end of this week. I can't say I'll lose 7 pounds because I am not even close to watching what I eat and I never have time or energy to exercise. My V may still be a little bit lump-like at 4 months. Maybe she's a late bloomer like her Mom.

I can only keep doing what I'm doing. Simple math says that if I'm giving her 4 ounces at the same time every day as I have been, she's getting plenty to eat. If I don't get pregnant the moment she turns 18 months, who cares? (Although, wouldn't it be awesome if I did? That would take some crazy planning.) My point is, I can't obsess over everything. And sure, I still will. I can't just turn it off. But I'm hoping to relax about a few things as time goes on. A number is just that - a number. And everything will be fine if it changes.

food for thought, people. Now I'm going to eat my food for nourishment and taste buds.

Love,
Dominique

I'm hip. I'm "with it." Ducka ducka ducka...

Happy Friday!

Recently I have learned that I am exponentially uncool. Now, I've never been one of the "cool kids," but I did have somewhat of a nerdy chic thing going on for a while there. Now, with  life revolving around life insurance, mommyhood and my lack of cable, I have found that I am generally at least a month behind everyone else when it comes to trendy things. 

I've had the song "Thrift Shop" stuck in my head for the last hour. Have you heard it? Of course you have. Every one has. Thrift stores were quoting it on their signs months ago. People are sick of it. I'm not. I'm just now into it. I learned about Gangnam style from my friend Katie's facebook, and had to text her to ask what it was. I still don't understand twitter. 

Recently before our chosen loss of cable, my friends and I caught the MTV Music awards. None of us knew half of the people presenting/singing/winning. I am behind. the. times. 

If I weren't way closer to 30 than 20, this would be bother me. I once read a study saying that people generally establish who they are going to be by age 27. Now, I can't say that the moment I turned 27 I thought "I know exactly who I am, and what I believe in, and what I like." But I do agree to some extent that my opinions were pretty concrete by that point. Most of them my husband would tell you are silly. I don't like it when guys play the acoustic guitar. I don't trust people with Italian brown eyes. I'm ok with facebook being the last social technology I care to learn, and I hate it when Mark Z changes it up on me. I get disgusted when I go into a liquor store and the sign that says what date you must be born on or before to purchase alcohol is in the 1990s. 

I've actually said on multiple occasions that "music today is terrible." Honestly, most of the time the first time I hear of a song is if they cover it on Glee. I still haven't seen Les Mis. I tried to read a plot summary on wikipedia, but even it was too long to hold my attention. 

I guess I'm ok with how I am now. Sure, sometimes I miss being able to stay up all night, or catching Cocina's happy hour whenever the mood strikes me, but my new life of diapers and bottle sterilizing is ok too. I still have Glee. I still have wine. I still have Just Dance 4 for the Wii, even if I haven't had the energy to try it out yet. (This weekend, I swear!) I still have amazing friends who knew me when I could stay up all night, and could go on "Spring concert tours" (Now THAT I really miss!)

Happy Friday everyone! Be happy with the life you have in this moment, and be happy with the changes that will eventually come your way. Even if it too, makes you "exponentially" uncool.

Your life is your life, and my life is this life.

Happy Monday, ya'll!

This weekend had me thinking about our roles as parents. Chris was gone for a whole day and night for the first time since we had the baby, and if' I'm totally honest about it, I was bitter. 

He had been invited with about a week's notice to go to Auburn for the A-day game and last rolling of Toomer's corner. No wives or children allowed. I think one of the things that often causes resentment at times in any new parent's lives is the huge difference in roles each parent plays to a new infant. Especially for breastfeeding moms, the baby is almost entirely dependent on mom. Leaving for even a few hours requires careful planning to assure the baby's basic food needs are met, whereas dad can pretty much do anything on a moment's notice. 

I remember my dear friend Katie warning me these feelings would eventually emerge because "you'll notice their lives just don't change that much." Of course any father will tell you that simply isn't true, but to a new mom who is nursing every few hours, going on just a few hours of sleep, pumping three or four times while working and dedicating every night to establishing a routine, dad's life starts to look pretty carefree. Now you know I've started formula, which means Chris has been able to help me a whole lot more, but it's hard to let go of that feeling that I have to do everything for the baby. 

So as I was thinking about my role as a mother to my almost 10 week old daughter this weekend, I realized that a lot of the problem was me. I was harboring resentful feelings towards my husband for never watching the baby when he pointed out that I let him watch her once (a month ago, for a lingerie shower) and hadn't let him since. It's true, he did offer all of the time. But like a self-proclaimed martyr, I felt it was my duty to take care of my child, sacrificing my personal life and my friendships to do so. I've always been a little bit of a control freak, and I think deep down I like that she is dependent on me. 

She's almost 2 1/2 months old now, taking a bottle like a champ and going to bed at 8:30 pretty much every night. I've done my duty so well that taking care of her by anyone would be a breeze, so why am I still afraid to leave her? Am I afraid she'll start to depend on me less and less? That she will somehow figure out an as infant that she is a daddy's girl? And so what if she is? Chris is her father, and is willing and capable to provide for her whatever she needs. I need to trust him. I need to let go. I need to go get a margarita baby-free with my friends every once in a while. I also need to find a good sitter, so I reclaim my marriage. 

As we watched "This is 40" last night, (I know, who would think I could find meaning in a Judd Apatow movie?) I realized that our new family is meant to bring us closer together, not separate us apart. It's a trade off, and while an infant requires a lot of focus, my marriage requires some focus too. We had a life before baby, and we can have a life with her as well. It's just more work now. But I'm willing to do it. I'm willing to work hard to find that balance so we can all be happier. 

Love,

Dominique 

To Christen or not to Christen...that is the question

Good morning,

Bet you thought I wouldn't write in this blog that much, didn't you? Well you're probably right. A new blog is like a new toy. You want to play with it all the time, and it's shiny and pretty and then something else shiny and pretty comes along...and wait...what was I talking about?

Anyway, lately I've been thinking a lot about baby Baptism. I was baptized as an infant in the Catholic church, and raised Catholic, and while I am no longer an active member, I still value the tradition, the morals and especially the special bond of my Godparents.

If it were up to me, I would Christen my daughter like she was a boat, and just break a bottle of champagne against her chunky thigh and call it a day. Three problems present themselves with this idea:

1) That's child abuse
2) She's not a boat
3) Who wants to waste champagne? Save that for the after Christening mimosas.

The point is, I want my daughter to have Godparents, and I want to raise her with the same sense of tradition and value as I was raised, even if it's not necessarily in the Catholic church. I've been looking a lot into Episcopal Christening. Episcopalians are doin' it right in my mind. All of the tradition of Catholicism, with none of the calories (aka strict and unchanging rules). Not to say they are right or they are wrong. I've learned that when it comes to denominations, I know nothing about anything, and it's best if I just stick with what I believe, and let my friends and family do the same.

Here's the problem. I am not now, nor have I ever been, Episcopal. From what I understand, they recognize all baptism in the Christian church, so I could become a member of the club if I wanted to, but I struggle with wondering if I am doing it for the right reasons. The last thing I want to be is a hypocrite, joining a church because it's the cool thing to do and I want a ceremony and a party afterwards.

God and I have always been cool. I would describe my relationship with Him as best said in a Sufjan Stevens song "I think of you as my brother."

I actually have a brother, who I love dearly, so this equation works well for me. That being said, I have no problem promising to raise my child in a Christian home with Christian ideals. It's the promise to raise them a certain denomination that bothers me. I also am not a church goer, and this is attributed to shear laziness on my part. I have the desire often, but I feel awkward, and I have missed so many Sundays it would be like returning to a book club where you never read the book and just stand there silently with nothing to say and a glass of wine in your hand.

So this is my problem. How do I even begin to get back into that? How do I know I'm doing it because I believe it, and not because I just want to belong to something? Or is that a good enough reason? I don't know if Violet will be baptized. Making that decision for her has proven to be agonizing for me, but then I think "Nothing is final, right?" Just because I promise to raise her a certain way doesn't mean I will stifle her beliefs as she gets older and has a better understanding of  her world.

There I go getting all dramatic on my blog again. I hope at least one person can relate to this and give me some good advice on it. Happy Wednesday everyone!

Love,
Dominique

"It gets easier."

Dear soon-to-be-first timers,

If I had a nickel for every time I heard that over the past two months, I would be able to afford that soy based gentle stomach colic reducing powdered gold I so feared we would have to get.

The first few times will be from family and close friends who have witnessed your post pregnancy low point breakdown where you're unshowered for a few days, still in your PJ's and glasses and weeping uncontrollably as you say "why doesn't my baby loooooooooooove me?!" because they have been melting down for about 30 minutes.

The first time you hear it from a stranger will be about three weeks out, when you make that "mandatory" trip to Target for all of that stuff that you "need." Translation - if you don't get out of the house with that baby then you might throw them out the window and hope they land on something soft. As your child screams in their car seat, you're struggling balancing your humongous diaper bag that you have filled with enough stuff to survive in the woods for a month and figuring out how the hell your "fast action" stroller folds up to fit in the trunk of your car. And then you'll hear it.

"It gets easier." Maybe it's from super dad who is holding his three year old's hand while balancing the 16 month-er on his hip like a pro and looking at you like he knows what you're going through. Maybe it will be from the kind older lady who raised 7 kids 50 years ago and doesn't understand why you need all of that crap. (hint: You DON'T.) Regardless of the speaker, your first reaction will be to look at them with panic and want to scream "WHEN?! WHEEEEEEEN?!"

Don't do this. Just smile and say "That's what they tell me."

Well let me now save you some trouble. Unfortunately, this entire phrase is a lie. It doesn't get easier. What people mean to say is "You'll stop caring." You'll stop caring if your child eats every three hours on the dot. They're asleep? LET THEM SLEEP. at least a few more minutes. Because they're fine, and trust me, they will let you know when that is no longer the case. You'll stop changing diapers the second you hear that poop sound. Why? Because they're not done. And won't be for another 10-15 minutes. Let them finish.

You'll stop caring that they haven't been bathed in three days because they smell fine, and how dirty can a baby get, really? Or that their clothes don't match, because everything they own has poop stains on it by now. These are all things that new mothers will learn, myself included. So save yourself some trouble and just relax a little bit. In a sense, your lack of caring will make things so much easier. But don't expect things to turn into sunshine and rainbows at whatever mark people tell you they will. And even if they do, your baby will have a curve ball in their pockets just waiting to throw at you.

I hope this  helps.

Love,
Dominique

A formula for success

Hello all!

I've started this blog because as most of you know (if you're reading this), I am a new mom, and my facebook has turned into nothing but mommy posts, some of which are apparently causing my family to think I'm stressed out constantly. That's what I get for brutal honesty on a public forum! Well, now with a blog, I can still express my views and thoughts without it showing up in anyone's face. Read on if you're interested, and if you're not, may I suggest www.dogshaming.com or www.buzzfeed.com. Both highly entertaining.

So, to start off, I had my February Violet two months ago on Valentine's day. A big girl from birth (a whopping 9lbs), she has always had an insatiable thirst for life...and milk. I have been successfully breastfeeding for those two months now, including two full weeks back to work full time. I'm very proud of that.

That being said, here's the twist ending - my little angel had not one, but three full bottles of formula this past weekend. The first time my husband held that bottle to her lips, I cried tears of sorrow and felt like the failure I promised myself I would never feel. I've been very vocal about my struggles with keeping up with her, and even before her birth, my stand on formula. I had no issues with it. If I was unhappy, she would get that bottle in a heartbeat.

My fears of the expense and the time consuming bottle cleaning actually turned into what some would argue are more irrational fears. What if she was allergic? What if I had to get special soy based gentle stomach colic reducing powdered gold that bankrupted us within a week? And then, as I gave her he third bottle last night (I had to do it sometime, right?) I looked at her beautiful face and wondered if it would somehow make her eyes less blue.

This is the moment I realized I had to stop feeling guilty. She was fine. She liked it, although God knows why because I've tasted both, and I'll tell you - the real stuff is much sweeter. She went to sleep with a full belly and didn't stir for almost 7 hours. For the first time in several weeks, I felt that my baby was satisfied at night. I felt like even though she had completely tapped me out for the day, she was still full and content. It was a good feeling.

I may have lost the battle with exclusively breastfeeding, but I'm still in the war. We are doing both, and will continue to do so as long as my body will allow. I'll never be a "lactivist," but I will admit it was harder for me to let it go than I ever realized it would be. To all of you moms who stuck with it, I applaud you. For all of you moms who realized that it was just too hard and went to the simulated stuff, I applaud you too. The key is recognizing what is good for you and your family, not waiting until it has become close to unbearable to spend time with your baby.

I promise not all of my posts will be this heavy, but I thought it was a good place to start. More to come, so stop by again soon!

Love,
Dominique