Higher Highs, Lower Lows

Controversy Wednesday: LETTING MEN BE MEN

An awfully good-looking pair of guys.

In my opinion, there is no more obnoxious humor than men-bashing. Quips and jabs about how stupid men are, how slow they are, how simple they are – first of all, are not all that funny, and secondly, give me the heebie-jeebies. That our culture finds this public emasculation socially acceptable is an indication of how pathetically reluctant we all are to grow up.

Take, for instance, just about every sitcom on television these days. Somehow between the genesis of the situation comedy and now, it became the norm for television families to berate Dad. “Look, kids!” says the fictional mother, popping a sassy hip and rolling her eyes with thinly-veiled contempt. “Look how stupid Dad is!” [Canned laughter.] “Yeah!” say the kids, “Dad’s a real idiot!” [Canned laughter.] And all the while, TV Dad sits in his recliner with his beer and remote control with a stunned, moronic look on his face. Really hilarious.

While I was pregnant with Seabass, Jake and I took a six-week birthing class with a wonderful instructor named Kathy. Every week, Kathy distributed photocopied articles that she thought might help us to prepare not only for birth but for everything that comes after. I’ll be honest: So much of that information went in one ear and out the other. But one article stuck with me. It was about letting dads be themselves, letting them play and contribute to the care of the baby, even if it means that the style is different than that of the mother.

In theory, this doesn’t sound too difficult. But in practice, it means letting Jake dangle Seabass by one leg over his shoulder when I’m terrified he’ll drop him. It means watching the baby thrash and fuss while Jake’s trying teaching him how to crawl. And it means standing aside to let Jake dress the boy like a circus freak – camo shorts, black socks, a turtleneck and a jester’s cap – no matter how ludicrous I find his fashion choices for our son to be. I’m not saying I succeed at giving Jake total autonomy all the time, but I’m certainly working on it.

Reading that article made me hyper aware of my friends’ interactions with their husbands and kids. I started to notice how crazy controlling some of my fellow moms are. One mother (don’t worry, she doesn’t read the blog…at least I don’t think…) got in a tussle over the father letting baby put a *clean* restaurant spoon in his mouth. (“We don’t know where that’s been!” she spat through her teeth.) Another snapped at her husband for giving the baby zerberts on the belly. “You’ll scare her!!” she barked. “You don’t stay home with her all day but I do. And I know that kind of thing really freaks her out.”

I’ll admit it’s very tempting to make these kinds of remarks to Jake. And sometimes I honestly do know better. But I try really hard to let go because I want Jake to parent Seabass in the way that’s most comfortable to him. If I interfere and control every little facet of that relationship, chances are Jake will give up and shut down.

This theory is reinforced by a piece on MSNBC from earlier this year entitled “When Moms Criticize, Dads Back Off of Baby Care,” in which researchers found that nagging, persnickety mothers preclude distant father-child relationships. In a nutshell, if I want Jake to be involved in the raising of our Seabass, I need to let him discover his own style, because if I don’t, he’ll tend to stop trying altogether.

Taking this train of thought to its logical conclusion, if Jake never develops his own relationship with Seabass, I’ll inevitably become that pathetic mocking martyr of a housewife on TV. “Why can’t you be more involved? You don’t even try to parent our children. You come home from work and turn on the game and tune everyone out. I have to do everything around here.”

And why? Because I wouldn’t let him dress Seabass in camo shorts at six months of age.

But enough outta me. What do you think? Is it important to let Dad do his own thing with children, even if Mom is sure she knows best? How hard is it for you moms to back off?

Comments 11 Comments
Categories Jake, Life After Baby

Eight questions for a (terrific) labor and delivery nurse.

7 Dec

Mama's scrumptious little muffin

When I gave birth to the Wild American Seabass at the hatching grounds – oops, the hospital – I was lucky enough to be attended to by a dear friend who is a labor and delivery nurse. We didn’t plan this – it just worked out perfectly. I thought it might be fun to ask her a few questions about the nature of her job in the delivery room. Here’s what she said.

How long have you worked in your field?
I’ve been in maternal/child heath for 15 years.

How have things changed since you started?
Changes in labor and delivery are always happening – not so much for the natural process, but on the medical side. The most astounding change I think I’ve seen is the increase in cesarean sections, for many different reasons. Natural childbirth is my preference and if I can help a woman get there, I will. Sometimes things are beyond our control.

What’s your favorite thing about your job?
I have many favorites parts of my job. Encouraging and helping a woman surrender to the birth process and letting it roll with her body, shows power and strength through surrender. Watching a new father cry when he sees his baby enter the world. The cherished moment when a baby wants to lock eyes with his/her momma or turn to his/her father’s voice. Participating in helping mother and baby breastfeed in those early days. The list is so long, but those come to mind.

What’s a favorite story from work?
Story? I got stories!!!!!! But here’s a fun one. When the birth happened, the mother looked at her husband’s face with anticipation of emotion and when she saw the look in his eyes, she said, “WHAT?” You could tell she was frightened. He couldn’t help but give something away through his expression – his eyes were popping out of their sockets!! He responded, finally with, “It’s a girl!!” Again mom said,”WHAT?” Then he handed her their daughter and then they both cried. The ultra sound said it should have been a BOY! They shopped for BOY, had a shower for BOY. The whole family and friend network was expecting a BOY! I can still see the whole scene in slow motion. Classic and beautiful. They were overjoyed, because they admitted to me that they secretly wanted a girl. Just glorious!

One of my other favorites is when I walked into the room when a woman was obviously in transition, screaming out of control. The other nurses were rushing about trying to get things ready and get the doctor there. I grabbed her screaming face and said, “Look at me. You are going to have your baby!” She stared desperately at me and said, ” I can’t do this!!” I said,”You ARE doing this and you WILL grab your legs and push!” She did just that and we delivered her baby as she gave the battle cry, the cry of a primal warrior woman. It was beautiful and we all celebrated with tears when she held her baby in her arms. I was so fortunate to have participated in this birth.

Who has been your worst patient? And please, for the love of God, don’t say me.
The most difficult and demanding types of patients I have are the ones who come in with a mind set of how they expect to have their experience. A birth plan in hand, refusing most if not all types of medical/supportive suggestions and care that the doctor, midwife, and/or nurse and staff have to offer. The patients who treat us like the enemy. Like we are here to control their world. I sometimes wish they would deliver somewhere else. It is just frustrating to be there with the knowledge and background and be shot down. I, more than anyone, want a patient to have the best birth experience she and her partner can have.

Any advice for expectant mommies?
My best advice for the expecting mommy is to surrender to a life change. Nothing will ever be the same. Life as you know it will be pretty much altered, interrupted, faced with new challenges and blessings. There is no black and white. So for you Type A personalities, it would be smart to always have a plan “B”!!

Any advice for expectant daddies?
Dads refer to the previous answer and try to be supportive. In labor, be mom’s advocate and know you can’t “fix” labor. Take on more responsibilties at home. This will be a family soon, so work together. Communicate with each other daily about your growth, frustrations, plans, etc. Don’t wait for the baby to be old enough to play with. They need you from the first day. You are a very important role model.

Who is the cutest baby you’ve ever seen?
Cutest baby I’ve ever taken care of? Um, there are thousands and I can’t remember all their names. But God gives us the cutest baby every time – they all have very special qualities!!!

Thank you SO much for taking the time to answer all these questions. The only one you got wrong was the last one. The correct answer was SEABASS. I mean, come on.
You are very welcome and I have to say that, yes, Seabass is most definitely one the most gorgeous babies I have seen in my career. He is just so scrumptious!!

Comments 1 Comment
Categories Uncategorized

A whole new method for stalking people on the internet.

3 Dec

Ew, business.

So many of us perform widely varying roles from day to day. For instance, I’m a wife/mom first, but I also write about food/wine/beer/travel, volunteer in my community and keep this blog for your reading pleasure. Sometimes I wish I had a digital business card that encapsulated all my different roles into one place.

Enter About.me, a new service I learned of from Maggie Mason at Mightygirl.com. The folks at About.me call their service a “custom splash page and personal analytics dashboard.” Whatever. I think of my About.me page as my home page, where ANYone who has ANY reason to work with me in ANY capacity can find me. Here, have a look.

What’s this “digital business card” good for, you ask? Well, I plan to add it to my e-mail signature first. Then I’ll post it to my Facebook, Twitter, and LinkedIn pages.

And THEN, I’ll paint the URL on the side of our house. You don’t think that blurs the line between my professional and personal lives too much, do you?

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Categories Uncategorized

You’re so going to think I have an eating disorder.

2 Dec

Today, I’m lucky to be SCARY. That’s right, I’m featured on the amazing, hilarious blog, Scary Mommy. You should really go read what I wrote, and poke around a bit on the site while you’re at it. Jill’s sense of humor does laps around mine.

Here’s the thing: The post is all about me and my stupid body. I tell you this as a warning, because I don’t want to hear any “Oh Jaime, you look great!” nonsense. It was not written to elicit compliments or flattery. I was just trying to be completely honest about a lifelong obsession that I know I share with many, many women.

Are you still here? Why haven’t you gone to Scary Mommy to read it yet?!?

Love ya.

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Categories Uncategorized

Controversy Wednesday: CALLING QUITS ON BREASTFEEDING

1 Dec

Disclaimer: This post is about breastfeeding because that is what I am doing. This in no way reflects on those of you who choose/chose formula for your baby. I am a firm believer that breastfeeding doesn’t work for everyone, so more power to ya. However, this is what I know and experience, so please bear with me if the breastfeeding discussion doesn’t apply to you. Thank you.

Long ago and far away, I was a yuppy working in an office. One day, a client came in with her five-year-old son to take care of some business. In the middle of said business, the son looked up at the client and announced, “Mommy, I want milk.”

Now, remember, I was a clueless young woman with no intention of ever having children. I thought he was asking for a cup of milk, so I offered to grab some from the convenience store next door. “That’s okay,” said the client. “He’s asking to nurse. Do you mind if I do?”

“Mommy, I waaaaaant MIIIIIIIIILK!” the child persisted, though now that I understood what was really going on, he may as well have been speaking King James English. Mother, prithee offer thy breast that I might not expire forthwith. Seriously, he seemed that mature.

I said of course I didn’t mind and the mother proceeded to whip out her left breast (quite deftly, after so many years of practice) and breastfeed the child right there in my office. Not knowing how to react, I went with my first instinct, which was to stare. And then my second instinct: to call Jake and tell him everything.

“Freaky,” he said over the phone. “If we ever have kids, we’ll never let it go that far, right?”

“We’re not having children, remember?” I quipped, and hung up the phone.

And now here we are, eight years later with a 22-pound, three-foot-long baby that I am breastfeeding four to five times per day.

I think he's getting enough.

Things have definitely changed since I saw the five-year-old manchild nurse in my office. I’m committed to breastfeeding Seabass for one year because

breastmilk is the most perfect, complete food for him
it’s free
it’s easy (at least NOW it is – remember how hard it was before?)
every medical professional and their mother says to do it for at least that long.

There’s another reason we’re sticking with breastfeeding: We both really like it. I never thought I’d say that. Seabass wakes up once in the middle of the night to breastfeed about two or three times per week. Ever since he started sleeping longer stretches, I have never once minded getting up at 3am to feed him. There is something so fulfilling, peaceful, and beautiful about a mother satisfying her child’s hunger in the quiet hours of the early morning, and I’m honored to serve Seabass that way.

Whoa. Did I really just SAY that?!?

Anyway, even though I’m definitely enjoying breastfeeding at 6 1/2 months, I’ve been feeding Seabass solids irregularly since he hit four months of age. I hadn’t planned on starting so early, but Dr. Awesome suggested that introducing rice cereal at four months might calm Seabass down a little. I don’t know that it did, but he enjoys the process, and we love watching him attack the spoon with reckless abandon.

How do the sweet potatoes wind up above his eye, I ask you?

The real adventure with solid foods isn’t so much at the mouth end of things, let me tell ya. Since we started fruits, vegetables, and the occasional grain, this kid’s butt has been working overtime to gross us out. My favorite poops are after he’s had quinoa grains. They come out looking exactly like they did going in. (Which reminds me of a story. When my brother Dusty was a baby, I distinctly remember my mom opening his diaper one day to discover an intact rubber band. Now he is a father of two kids of his own. How time flies.)

I’ve heard horror stories of women who encountered crazy amounts of criticism from older generation folks who thought breastfeeding past a couple months was weird or unnecessary or unhealthy. Thankfully, I have only received a very little bit of mild concern on this front, usually because someone was worried about my mental health and independence. (Seabass won’t take a bottle, so we’re pretty much joined at the hip, er, boob.)

But what if Seabass and I decide to nurse for another few years? What would people say then? At a pre-birth breastfeeding class, the lactation educator said that many babies across the world nurse until their seventh birthday. SEVEN YEARS OLD? That’s the year I started piano lessons. I’m sorry: If Seabass can play the Can-Can Polka on the piano and he’s still nursing, I authorize you to confront me on it.

I have a dear friend who was committed to nursing her baby until he turned one year, but even now at fifteen months, they’re still going strong. “I only nurse him once when he wakes up and once when he goes down at night,” she says. “I don’t know how I’m still producing milk for such a small bit of nursing, but we’ll keep going until I dry up or he decides he doesn’t want it anymore.”

I don’t know if I can be that selfless. Much as I enjoy nursing my baby, I’m very much looking forward to being able to leave him with someone for longer than an hour and a half. But who knows? Maybe I’ll be too whistful for Seabass’ babyhood to stop at one year. It’s entirely possible.

Enough outta me. What do you think? When did/will you stop breastfeeding and why?

Comments 42 Comments
Categories Baby Growth & Hygiene, Lactation

Apron Giveaway Winner

1 Dec

…and the winner of the Pammy’s Attic apron giveaway is

ShotwellWallace! Who, ironically, posted the following comment for the giveaway:

aw, those are totally cute, but i do wish they had a ‘daddy bird’ one. my husband does all of our cooking and totally wants to get our little dude on board, so i feel like getting a ‘mama bird’ apron probably wouldn’t be fair to him.

Well, Shotwell, I hope your man is utterly secure in his masculinity, because the Mama Bird apron is now officially his. Congrats!

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Categories Uncategorized

Cyber Monday Giveaway

29 Nov

You’ve probably heard of Black Friday. But have you heard of Cyber Monday? Yeah, you probably have. It was news to me though. Apparently I live under a rock.

Cyber Monday is today – the day most Americans are back on their computer AT WORK after Thanksgiving, poking around on the internet for Christmas gifts. (I can almost hear all the “Who, me?” now.)

At the risk of getting you in trouble with your employer, I’m celebrating Cyber Monday with a giveaway! This time, it’s a pair of charming aprons – one for mama, one for baby – once again from Pammy’s Attic.

Mama Bird and Baby Bird aprons

To win, just comment on this post below by midnight PST on Tuesday, November 30th (tomorrow night). The winner will be randomly selected and announced Wednesday morning. Good luck, and happy illicit cyber shopping!

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Categories Uncategorized

The Seabass Circus Goes On The Road

28 Nov

I have a confession to make: I dreaded Thanksgiving.

It’s not that I dislike turkey or the Macy’s parade or kicking off the Christmas season. To the contrary, this is my favorite day of the entire year. (A holiday celebrated with good food and gratitude? Yes, please.) But this would be the first time Seabass traveled away from home, and the thought of it filled me with anxiety and despair for, oh, about as long as he’s been alive.

Thankfully, the trip to Grandma and Grandpa Lewis’ house in Big Bear Lake was not nearly as hellacious as I’d expected. Seabass slept decently well for the seven hours it took to get there, as well as the four days we spent away. We, on the other hand, did not. Not having slept in the same room with him since he was a newborn, we startled him with our every move. The mere plumping of a pillow invited sniffles and whines that threatened to escalate into howls. Suffice it to say that after the first night, I opted to sleep on an air mattress under the pool table rather than share a room with Mr. Sensitive.

In Big Bear, Seabass enjoyed his first snow and a couple tiny bites of turkey.

He even got a reindeer sleeper from Grandma and sported it around the village to the many oohs and aahs of onlookers.

For me, the best part was handing him off any time he made so much as a dissatisfied grunt. Many hands make light work. Brilliant.

Unfortunately, it was the trip home that confirmed my dread of traveling with an infant. Holiday traffic on the freeways of Los Angeles kept Seabass from ever really falling asleep, plus he was just too distracted by being away from home to nurse very well, if at all. He was miserable, letting out a gut-wrenching “WAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH” that nothing could appease. We stopped for food in Oxnard and Jake took the baby and the dog out to a patch of grass in front of Wendy’s to roll around and expend some energy. I stayed in the car to pump a backlog of about 19 gallons from my right boob while scarfing a Quizno’s sub. The only thing missing was a ringmaster and a tent.

The remaining two and a half hours of the drive, I was behind the wheel while Jake attempted to entertain the boy to no avail. There was no toy, no song, no game, no snack that could placate him. Poor Jake tried it all, but once we were within15 miles of home, over the din of wailing he declared, “Okay, that’s it. Everyone just has to deal with the crying until we’re back at the house.” And with that, he pushed his fingers into his ears and stared out the window, effectively shutting down. He might as well have hung a sign around his neck reading “CLOSED FOR BUSINESS.”

This is one of the big differences between my parenting style and Jake’s. He can turn off, but it’s very difficult for me. “Seabass!” I cooed from the driver’s seat, pushing my hand over the back of the infant seat to touch his furry head. “SEA-bass! Oh SEA-bass!! Almost there, sweetheart!! Almost there!!” I sang frantically, trying to distract him from his misery in any way I could while driving. He kept crying all the way to the curb outside our house, so I don’t know whose parenting method is more effective, mine or Jake’s.

In any case, we made it home safely – if you don’t count the safety of our eardrums – putting Seabass down at 6:30pm and falling into bed ourselves shortly thereafter for a total of 10 hours.

It is a wonderful thing to see family, to travel together and to experience a change of pace. But in the end, there’s no place like home.