Tandem Nursing: 7:36 pm

I am tandem nursing. True, my son has yet to be born. Right now my fifteen-month-old daugther has exclusive nursing rights. Yet I have recently realized that tandem nursing begins the moment a nursing mother becomes pregnant with a second baby. Suddenly you are eating for three. Even if my toddler takes one sip of mama's newborn milk and decides that it is not for her, toddler and newborn will have been nourished together for the entire duration of the pregnancy.

Tandem nursing, nursing more than one baby at at time, happens most often when a mother has twins. This seems natural. Both babies need to be nursed by mom and so she nurses them either one at a time or at the same time as needed. Perhaps less well known is the practice of tandem nursing a toddler and a newborn. Most babies in the States are weaned from the breast at or before one year of age. Rarely then does a mother need to consider tandem nursing. For moms who practice nursing past the first year, however, tandem nursing becomes a possibility.

I had planned to nurse my daughter for at least one year. It was a struggle. Getting started was rough. Then my second pregnancy when she was eight months old decreased my milk supply just as she neared the one year mark. She was having trouble gaining weight and my pediatrician recommended weaning. She showed no signs of wanting to wean and I decided to encourage her on all nutritional fronts after she turned one: eating as many solids as possible, drinking whole milk, and allowing her to nurse as she wished. She is still "small" but vibrant and eating/nursing like a champion.

Some babies wean when a mom is pregnant again due to decreased milk supply (usually in the fifth month) or a change in the taste of the milk as the colostrum develops (the high density "pre-milk" produced by mom for newborns in the first few days). Other babies are quite happy to nurse even though they don't get any milk at all. They are comforted by the physical relationship, the cuddling and the sucking. It is a ritual they enjoy. At first I was waiting for my daughter to wean herself, but at 32 weeks into my pregnancy (about 8 months), she shows no sign of losing interest.

This is fine with me. More than fine. It was rough going for a few months when it was only mama who could comfort her or put her to sleep. But now I see that she is still a baby who needs me. Especially with baby # 2 coming so soon, nursing is an important tool I have to communicate with her about our physical bond. I can't rationalize with her. I can offer her my breast. There are other ways to comfort her as well. But if she is willing to nurse, I see no reason to stop offering her such comfort.

The conundrum, however, is how to offer my breast to two babies with very different needs. Baby # 2 will need to nurse on demand. My daughter will sometimes have to wait. Tell that to a seventeen-month-old. The tricky part is sleeping.

For the first ten months my daughter and I slept together. Now she is nursed to a drowsy state and then placed in her crib where she sleeps at night. She wakens, but most often can fall back asleep quickly. Many, many of my friends have babies that waken and nurse frequently through the night. Miss Iza prefers to nurse during the day. Actually she prefers to nurse and nap. By this I mean that for her nap or naps she prefers to nap while I rock her in our chair and she nurses. She stays attached throughout the entire nap. This was fine in the early months of my pregnancy as I would simply nap right along with her. And now in the later months it gives me time to nap myself and/or read a novel on my iPhone. Here is the snag: I can't possibly give her an hour or two hour nap on my breast when baby # 2 arrives. (Can I?)

Thus I have been trying to break the association between nursing and napping. She can nurse all she wants, but she needs to learn how to sleep without nursing. Try explaining that. You don't explain, of course. You do.

You develop an alternate ritual for the baby. I did this with the help of the book THE NO-CRY SLEEP SOLUTION FOR TODDLERS AND PRESCHOOLERS by Elizabeth Pantley. I was resistant to this book for quite some time (there is one for newborns too). For some reason I thought it was a sleep-training book, one of those that suggests that babies should just cry it out alone and learn to be independent. I was wrong.

Pantley gives useful advice that takes into account various parenting styles and is considerate of those who co-sleep. Basically her idea is that babies, like big people, thrive on ritual. They need a dependable pattern to anticipate. Izabella's ritual had been pure breast--it worked all the time, even if sometimes it took longer. Yes, I darkened the room, played soothing music, and told her "sleepy time" and "sh, sh, sh" each night. But each evening and every nap culminated in nursing her off to sleep.

Pantley suggests that babies can learn to fall asleep in other ways, but that it is important to be consistent so that they begin to form a habit that can be predicted and repeated by others if need be. This is key for me: the need for others to step in when needed. If baby # 2 was not on the way, I would probably be happy to nurse her to sleep for naps and in the evening. But now that I will have two nurslings, I think that it will be best for my daughter and my family if we have another way of putting her to sleep.

During the first week of trying to break the association between nursing and napping, I practiced what Pantley calls "gentle removal." I allowed Iza to nurse and as she got drowsy I would count backwards from ten to one (a suggestion from another mom) and then break her latch. The idea is to not allow her to fall asleep while nursing. She would cry and protest. I would allow her to comfort herself on the breast and repeat the removal. Tears, struggles. Repeat. When she finally began to sleep off the breast I would say "bye bye nursy" (to signal a complete end) and then place her in the crib. This worked about once. Mostly we ended up with her falling asleep in my arms, but not on the breast. This was an accomplishment. However it still meant that I had to sit with her for the entire nap time. As soon as I would try to transfer her to the crib, she would awaken and the nap would be over. A cranky afternoon was sure to follow.

This week I decided that perhaps we should work on the evening ritual. She sleeps great at night and I hate to mess with her sleeping pattern. Yet perhaps if I can remove the nursing to almost-sleep association at night, she might fall into a better napping habit. Our old habit looked something like this: dinner, bath, playtime on the bed with Tata, pajamas, then off to nurse in her room with pulled shades and soothing music.

Pantley suggests parents actually write down the new plan, giving great thought to the goals and how the new pattern will achieve those goals. As my husband is often away, I needed a plan that I could follow alone. (I probably would have tried to nurse her and then hand her off to Tata for the final cuddle off to sleep. He has on occasion put her to sleep on his own.) My new plan is this:

1. Dinner at 6 pm

2. Bath at 6:30

(eliminate play time on bed)

3. Pajamas/wearable blanket

4. Nurse in our bed practicing gentle removal

(no more nursing in her room)

5. Go to her room and together set the stage for night by a) closing shades, b) turning on music, c) saying goodnight to her bunny and her teddy, who sleep in the crib with her (these are transitional objects, i.e. comfort objects, whose use Pantley suggests)

6. Sit in our chair and read stories, drink milk from sippy cup if she wants

7. Say "sleepy time," "good night," "sh, sh, sh"

8. Place in crib, patting her and saying, "sh, sh, sh"

9. Turn off lights and leave room at 7:30

If she cries, go to her and pat her and say "sh, sh, sh."
If she continues to cry, take her to nurse on our bed and then return her to crib and pat her.

I actually had to consult my written plan before the pajamas stage to remind myself of the steps. I stuck to the plan. She did cry. I did take her into my room again to nurse. And, imagine this, she was asleep by 7:36 pm. And she slept this morning until 7:14 am. (I heard her wake and fall back asleep only once.)

I can now report that the first two days we ended up nursing back in our bedroom before she could be transitioned back to her crib. By the third night, she feel asleep around 7:30 after I place her in her crib with no need for me to return to comfort or nurse her. The fourth night we took a risk. We visited friends who live on the seaside about an hour away. We took her travel crib, bunny and teddy, pajamas/wearabable blanket, and story books. Amazingly, she went to sleep with no crying right after story time. We were then able to transfer her to car seat and later into the crib with no crying. Last night she did cry after story time and I sent in Tata to comfort her one time. Currently she sleeps from 7:30 pm to at least 7:00 am. That means this pregnant mom can get her much needed sleep before the new baby arrives!

My plan is to mimic her evening ritual in a shortened version for the naps. Perhaps she will be able to transfer her story-time-to-sleep ritual from the evening to her daytime naps.

I am doing my best with this attempt to break the association between nursing and napping because I think it may be helpful for us as a family when the new baby arrives. I don't want my daughter to wean unless she is ready. If my almost-toddler (still no walking yet!) decides to continue to nurse, then I am open to that as well. I never imagined such a thing. Yet now it seems the natural thing to do.

When I first mentioned tandem nursing to my mother, she reminded me that I had seen her tandem nurse. I had no memory of this. It turns out that she nursed my little sister and a foster child at the same time. I was four or five years old at the time, which is old enough to remember. I suppose that it was so natural at the time that my brain did not store is away as a profoundly unique snapshot. Instead it programmed my brain to see tandem nursing as something that mothers can do.

To learn more about tandem nursing--positions? timing? sleeping for mama? nutrition for mama and babies?--I have read ADVENTURES IN TANDEM NURSING: BREASTFEEDING DURING PREGNANCY AND BEYOND by Hilary Flower. It is published by La Leche League International. My local La Leche League group has been supportive as well. These woman don't bat an eye when you mention tandem nursing. For them it is not "news" like it was to me!

Note: For all you mothers who have tandem nursed, I would love to hear about your experiences! and publish your stories here if you wish.

Moving Out

I was fully aware that I could get pregnant at the time. Getting pregnant when my daughter was only eight months old, however, means that soon I will have baby brother to care for in addition to my then seventeen-month-old baby girl. Two bottoms to change. Two little people who hardly know that they exist distinct from my body. I have heard that having two is not twice the work, but ten times the work. (Funny how they never mention that is ten times the joy.) Having three, on the other hand, is a piece of cake. So they say. I say we wait a while to test out the theory about three.

Since learning about baby # 2 things have changed. Our beloved apartment (despite our absentee landlords and leaking kitchen ceiling) has been vacated. We now officially live in the suburbs. Still on the T (metro) line. Still within walking distance of all things necessary (grocery, post, park, flower store, dry cleaners, karate studio). Yet this is the burbs. And we have a home that screams "responsibility" every time our automated sprinklers kick in at 3 am. I have already met three families at the park with 2 under 2. I guess we are not alone in our path toward sleep deprivation, tiny stuffed noses, and worrisome rashes.

The move involved drama. As I have been pregnant the last two times we moved, I was happily exempted from hard labor. Movers came and packed up our stuff in one day. We were reduced to hastily packed suitcases for our last evening in the apartment. Our walk to a local greasy hamburger joint ended with mama at the Emergency Room. I had been coughing violently for almost two weeks. So violently that I caused a back spasm. It was my first. It was excruciating. Within twenty-five minutes I could no longer stand or walk. We took a cab home. Then we rushed to the hospital. I'll spare you the details. Let us just say that I believe that vocalization is good for pain relief. There were tears, moans, and expletives. They checked the baby, who was fine. After several hours I was home with painkillers and a prescription for an antibiotic for my bronchitis.

My husband took my daughter home around nine pm and put her to sleep. This was the first night that she was not nursed to sleep. He left her with our babysitter and returned to the hospital. This was the first night in her life that she was left with a sitter. It was our first night out. How sexy. I was advised to go home and drink some wine to relax. So our first date night ended with champagne (wine opener was packed) enjoyed straight from a sippy cup (all glasses were packed).

They next morning at 8 am the movers returned and started to haul our things down the three flights and into the moving truck. By Sunday night we were suburbanites.

I started this post with the intention of writing about another topic related to the changes caused by our second pregnancy. Tandem Nursing. Yes, I know, if you are like me before all this baby blitz, you are thinking, "what is that?" I can tell you that I have been thinking about the subject for months now. My little one is a dedicated nurser despite the fact that I have very little milk supply due to the pregnancy. (Yes, I am still nursing throughout pregnancy. No worries unless you have a high risk pregnancy.) The very same baby who could not latch on and nurse now does not seem interested in ever breaking the latch. Which means that this mama may have two bottoms to change AND two babies to nurse. And that is tandem nursing. And that is my next entry. Sooner I hope rather than later.

And one more note: Miss Izabella has started to use her signs. She can now sign "nurse," "eat," and tonight she started to use the sign for "more." It is really cool. Of course tonight I also started to try and break her association between nursing and sleeping. (More on that in my next entry.) And perhaps that is what prompted her to sign "more" followed by "nurse." You have to see it. Such tiny perfect hands communicating so clearly. We are working on signs for "sleep," "please," and "thank you." She also practices "glad" and "play."

Worth It

Feel it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0UE3CNu_rtY

Obama at Notre Dame

Right-wing Catholics vs. Obama

by Joan Walsh

Wednesday April 1, 2009 17:04 EDT

I've tried to ignore the controversy over the University of Notre Dame's invitation to President Obama to give its commencement speech in May. I don't believe the effort to block his visit can succeed. For more than 30 years it's been a tradition for the renowned Catholic university to invite the new U.S. president to give the address and receive a doctorate from the law school. Nobody protested when George W. Bush visited, despite his ardent support for the death penalty, which the Catholic Church opposes.

But the growing movement to stop Obama's visit isn't your ho-hum sort of Catholic League media dust-up, where Bill Donohue harumphs on television and then goes away. It's part of a well-funded lobbying effort by a group of right-wing Catholics to run liberal Catholics, and dissenting doctrine, out of the church, and to recruit the remainder of the faithful for the GOP. As the L.A. Times' Tim Rutten reports, it's been organized by the Cardinal Newman Society, no relation with the nice liberal Newman Centers that do outreach to Catholic kids on college campuses.

This is a group of rabid right-wingers who came together to make sure Catholic universities enforce Catholic doctrine. They publish the work of ultra-right Opus Dei member Rev. C. John McCloskey, who has argued that "for a university to be truly Catholic," its faculty must be "exclusively" Catholic. Operation Rescue fanatic Randall Terry, who converted to Catholicism recently, is bringing his special kind of crazy to the movement. "The faithful Catholic world is justly enraged at the treachery of Notre Dame's leadership," Terry rants. "Notre Dame will rue the day they invited this agent of death to speak." Once a thug, always a thug.

Today the Washington Post's Michael Gerson weighs in with what purports to be a fair and balanced approach to the controversy. He urges the protesters to back off some -- they should respect the office of the president, if not Obama! -- but he accuses Obama of stiffing Catholic supporters in his first 70 days, due to his moves to lift the antiabortion gag rule on contraception counseling abroad and Bush's ban on federal funds for stem-cell research. Gerson warns darkly that Catholics are turning their backs on Obama, pointing to a Pew poll that found the number of Catholics who disapprove of his job performance has increased 9 percent over the last month (Gerson says 9 points, but it looks like it increased 14 points to me). But 59 percent of Catholics still think Obama's doing a good job, the same percent as Americans do overall.

Even more interesting is this Gallup poll, released Monday, that finds Catholics are actually more liberal than other Americans on the so-called moral issues the Cardinal Newman Society seeks to use as a wedge. Polling more than 3,000 people, Gallup found that Catholics are more likely to think abortion, stem cell research, gay relationships and sex before marriage are "morally acceptable" than non-Catholic Americans. Even devout churchgoing Catholics are more liberal on those issues than devout churchgoing Christians of other denominations.

Although Father Andrew Greeley's research has been documenting Catholic liberalism since the 1970s -- Catholics are more likely than other religious groups to intermarry, religiously and racially, for instance -- my people have long been stereotyped as close-minded. There's still some class disdain that hangs over from 19th century WASP derision of dumb white "ethnics," particularly the Irish.

This also has personal resonance with me because my daughter attends Fordham University, New York's great Jesuit institution in the Bronx, where she's a leader of the College Democrats and is thriving in the free-thinking, compassionate community she's found there. This month her College Republican colleagues are bringing Newt Gingrich, the twice-divorced GOP leader who in fact served his first wife her divorce papers when she was recovering from breast cancer. Not terribly Christian, if you ask me. But no one challenges Gingrich's right to speak at Fordham -- including me.

We don't need a new Inquisition in our Catholic universities, we need them to model reason and compassion, and most do. One factor that helped us choose Fordham was a serendipitous NPR profile of Rabbi David Hartman, who runs the Shalom Hartman Institute for interfaith community in Jerusalem, and who credited his time at Fordham for helping him more deeply understand Judaism. That's the kind of environment a college student deserves; if Fordham ever adopted the Cardinal Newman Society approach, it wouldn't be Fordham anymore.

Luckily, Notre Dame's president, Father John Jenkins, is holding fast to his plan to host Obama, calling the president "an inspiring leader." According to Tim Rutten, 73 percent of Notre Dame students -- and 97 percent of its seniors -- support the Obama invitation. Young Catholics are even more liberal than their parents, so the work of the Cardinal Newman Society will be increasingly futile as the years pass. Futile, but noxious nonetheless.

-- Joan Walsh

Starr-Crossed Lovers

A beautiful, sad video:

http://vimeo.com/3089746

borrowed wholesale with title from http://justprettydeep.blogspot.com/

Izabella's First Album

My Izabiza celebrates her first birthday today. We will have a few friends and family over to share her first dobos torte, a Hungarian cake that we ordered from the same bakery in Cleveland who created a trio of dobos for our wedding. Silly hats will be involved. And soup.

I suppose by now I should have gotten my life into some kind of order allowing me time to lovingly document Iza's first year in a photo album and scrapbook. Let's just say that I am not that kind of girl and apparently not that kind of mama either! What follows is my version of a keepsake for her. A picture may be worth a thousand words, so a thousand words should be worth a picture. I goaded myself into this project my aiming for a thousand-word portrait. Much to your boredom, perhaps, there are quite a few more than a thousand words here. Read through them like you are glancing through an album, only lingering on the one or two that draw your eye.

This is the second time I have set out to write a thousand-word portrait. The first I wrote for my stepson on the occasion of his tenth birthday. My thanks to Mary N. for sharing this writing exercise with me. She told me how she created one for her daughter to share with her during her wedding. It is a marvelous way to get your pen to paper and capture in words details that might get lost in a camera's flash.

****************************************************************************************************************

Izabella’s First Album

Hair. You can’t talk about Izabella unless you mention the hair. Born with a fierce black wedge of gravity-defying locks, she now has a style that causes her Tata to call her “Baby Beethoven” or “Baby Einstein.” The color has lightened to a dark brown with lighter strands. Some even swear they see just a little red in it. (We call that, “Janetics.”) By eleven months her bangs need to be secured with a cutesy barrette or they hang past her eyes. Tata recently quipped: “Mama wasn’t born with poor eyesight. Her parents just never cut her hair either!”

Miss Izabella’s first tooth emerged on the bottom and was a loner for quite some time. Soon it was joined by another tooth on the top. At almost one-year-old she had four teeth, the bottom middle two and the upper two just next to the center. This is an unusual eruption pattern. That is Iza.

The first tooth emerged on October 14th when Tata was on a business trip. It was tough going.
She had a fever and woke up crying inconsolably in the middle of the night, something she hadn’t done for months. That cute little toothers cost both baby and Mama both some sleep. After it emerged she would run her tongue over it and a look of wonder appeared on her face.

When Iza boinks over and bumps her head, she is aghast at the injustice. The tears of pure disgust at such an unwarranted injury are desperate. These tears also make an appearance if she has been tipped over by another baby at a play group, or if Mama ever so slightly bumps her head on the refrigerator door. If she wasn’t an infant, you might be tempted to call her dramatic. As it stands, however, her entire life is pure stage, each moment a study in improvisation and discovery and never saying “no.” (They say she will start to say no after age one.)

Iza has her own email account. She can be reached at: izabarabasiatgmaildotcom.

On Iza’s eleven-month birthday, she took her first lurching crawl. Tata placed his Movado wristwatch, a gift from Mama on Christmas, at the end of the bed. She wanted it. She made forward progression--lurches, face plants, never getting belly and head aloft at the same time--from one end of the bed to the other. A few days later and the she repeated the trick with greater speed if not greater dexterity.

The blue eyes were all Mama from the first time she gazed at the world.

When other mamas see Iza twist and curl and do impossible yoga moves, they are impressed by her flexibility. When her mama sees her move in such unorthodox ways, she thinks that she will find her own way to get from A to Z.

Those that know Tata’s mother agree that Miss Iza looks just like her nagymama. She even sometimes has the same demeanor—a true lady, dignified and regal; quick to enjoy a good laugh; easily mortified.

Iza had her first solid food at six months and a few weeks. Mama fed her mashed up banana from her finger. It was in Csikszereda and nagymama was there too. Iza liked it. A few weeks later and she wouldn’t eat bananas. A few weeks later and that is all she would eat.

Some of her favorite first foods: parsnips, butternut squash, avocado, beet, and carrot purees. Occasionally prune puree has been administered to get things moving.

Some purees that produce a yucky face: green beans, peas, broccoli, and cauliflower.

Iza sat up unsupported at 7 months plus one day.

Iza has grown into quite a party girl. Except for a transient fear of Victor and Jorge, she loves people. She may be a grump at home, but take her on the T and she is Miss Social Butterfly--all smiles and waves and coy little glances from the safety of Mama's arms.

Before Iza turns one-year-old, she will have traveled to the following places: Kansas (twice), Indiana (three times), Washington DC, The Dominican Republic (weekend trip for my sister’s wedding), Hungary, Romania, and Japan.

Iza was exclusively breastfed for the first six months plus a few weeks. This is notable because Mama had to pump and feed her from a bottle for the first six weeks before we switched entirely to the breast. Miss Iza had difficulty latching and Mama had to figure out how nursing really works. For a while it appeared that Mama might be forced to choose between pumping continuously, an awful experience, and using formula. (To place this in context, since 1997, The American Academy of Pediatrics has recommended breast milk as the exclusive food for the first six months, and that breast milk remain the main source of nutrition with a mixture of solid foods for the first year of life. Despite this recommendation, The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (C.D.C) reported that only 14% of babies were exclusively breastfed for the first sixth months in the state of Massachusetts. And only 21.7% were still breastfed at one year of age.)

Iza didn’t use a pacifier. Well, she didn’t use a plastic one! Mama is her pacifier. Those four teeth, however, do get a bit ouchy now and again, probably due to her shallow latch.

Iza and Mama slept most or part of the night together until she was ten months. After they returned from Japan, the family was so discombobulated that major changes took place in sleep patterns almost without any control. By eleven months Iza was nursed to sleep in the rocker and then transferred to her crib where she slept until around 7 am. This change seemed to work for everyone. (Mama was sad to see the bed-sharing end. They still occasionally nap together in the daytime. And in the morning she takes Iza into her bed to nurse and nap as they reconnect at the start of the day.)

At ten months Iza started to wave and clap her hands with great enthusiasm. When she sees Tata, he always gets a smile, a wave, and a few claps. At eleven months she would clap if she heard applause on the radio. Also at eleven months she waved when she heard Dani say “szia” to her over the speaker phone.

Her first bath all by herself was at eleven months. Up until then Mama or Tata would join her in the tub. When Mama gave her a bath and Tata was not at home, she would prepare a bath mat and a towel on the floor where she would lay her down while she toweled off. These days Iza is not content to lie there and giggle at her fresh-from-the-tub Mama. She wants to squirm and sit up and get into the trash can. One night Tata was gone and Mama realized that it just wasn’t going to work. So she sat next to Iza while she bathed alone. Iza loved it. It exhausted Mama to keep up with her curious explorations all around the tub. Who knew the ceramic soap dish was so fascinating?

Iza spent her first Christmas in Kansas. Grandma gave her a Cabbage Patch Doll. She wore her black velvet dress with the red plaid trim, white tights, red shoes, and her red flower barrette to Christmas Eve mass. (Mama neglected to take the requisite photo of her in Christmas attire next to the adorned tree.)

Iza has yet to enjoy the process of having her nails done.

Mama fell in love with black pearls the fall before Iza was born. Tata gave her a beautiful ring with a single black pearl for her birthday. She wore it for the rest of her pregnancy and even wore it in labor and while giving birth to baby Iza. When Iza was quite small Mama decided that she would save the ring for Izabella.

Iza has not quite figured out that she will love talking to Grandma via Skype video calls. She will. Mama loves it!

Iza’s first word (at almost eleven months): “ball .” Mama is pretty sure she was using English to indicate her love for her little, round, bouncy ball. As Dani pointed out, however, “bal” means left in Hungarian. So her first word was bilingual!

The first time Mama left Iza in another person’s care was in Japan. Mama left her upstairs in the hotel room with a babysitter hired by our hosts while she and Tata and Dani were downstairs at an award ceremony. She was alone with the babysitter for almost two hours! Mama kept her cell phone clutched in her hand, waiting for it to buzz her back to nurse and cuddle little Iza.

Zsofia was Iza’s first “mommy’s helper.” She came to our apartment a few times a week for a few months to allow Mama to take a shower, step out for lunch, etc.

Mama wishes that we had a grandparent, sibling, an aunt or uncle, or even a cousin within several hours travel! Iza is extremely lucky, however, to have Big Brother near us. He moved with his family to Newton in the fall of 2008, a mere ten minute drive! He is patient and playful with her. He takes great pride in being her big brother and has been an amazing help to me, both taking care of her and helping me too! There was one week when Tata had to travel to Europe and Dani, who was thirteen and getting ready to enter the eighth grade, volunteered to spend the week with us just so that he could help take care of Izabella.

Izabella was born at 1:30 pm on a Friday afternoon.

Mama’s favorite time of the day: after Iza’s bath when she is warm and naked and wiggles across the bed. She usually needs to have some of her giggles extracted so that she won’t explode during her dreams.

Grandma Kelley was Iza’s first expert rocker. She stayed with Iza for nearly four weeks and rocked her for hours on end. By now Mama is an expert rocker too. She often can’t bear to put her in her crib for an afternoon nap and so joins Iza by taking a nap with her as they rock.

Isis Maternity is a retail and educational center for parents. Miss Iza is only two T stops away from Isis and within walking distance (in warm weather) and she has spent a lot of time there. Even before she was born Mama and Tata took childbirth classes and Mama took prenatal yoga there. After Iza was born she attended Great Beginnings, Next Steps, Caterpillars, and Movers and Groovers classes. Each class features play time—singing and toys—and mama topics to discuss and share.

Izabella Kelley Barabasi, at nearly one-year-old, is otherwise known as Iza, IzaBiza, BizzyBee, BellaBaby, BellaMia, Biza, BizaBee, Elizabella, IzalaBizala, IzaB., Bells, Mia, Izuka, as well as, Noodle, Plum, Sweet Pea, Honey Bear, Sugar, Sunshine and Pie.

2008 Names and Izabella’s Future Playmates: Isabella is ranked number four, much to our surprise. Emma is first, followed by Sophia, and fifth is OIivia. For boys Aiden is the most popular, followed by Jayden, Ethan, Jacob, and Caden.

Izabella knows a Sophia. Mama met her mother, Rebeca, in a prenatal yoga class and Miss Iza is two days older than baby Sophia. They have seen each other almost every week since they were about ten weeks old. Izabella’s other little friend is baby Ixa. I met her mother, Akesha, in mommy-and-baby yoga class. They live nearby in Brookline Village. When Iza was 11 months, we started a “Music Together” class with Ixa and Akesha.

Izabella has been a big help to Tata as he writes his new book. When she was younger, she would play on the bed while he typed, giving Mama an extra hour of sleep in the morning. Now she is an expert at scanning in his new chapters.

Mama found out that Iza was going to be a big sister when Iza was about 9 months old. She told Tataon November 4th, the night Barack Obama became the President-Elect. She had tried to give him (Tata, not Obama) hints, but it wasn’t working. So she put a big red bow on her tummy and showed him the positive pregnancy test. Hooray!

Iza at one-years-old enjoys the occasional You Tube moment viewed on Mama’s iPhone. Her favorite so far is a short clip of the Smurfs in Hungarian. Good taste. View it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Ao99RIKyd8

The best advice Mama received: No matter how wonderful things are going or how terrible things might seem, they will change. She heard this mantra at a La Leche League Meeting (one of two she was able to attend in Izabella’s first year) from another new mom, who had heard it from another new mom, etc. Wise women, indeed.

More About 25 Things

'25 Random Things' is the latest Facebook phenomenon - The Boston Globe

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Saturday Morning

Saturday Morning
by Hugo Williams

Everyone who made love the night before 
was walking around with flashing red lights 
on top of their heads--a white-haired old gentlemen, 
a red-faced schoolboy, a pregnant woman 
who smiled at me from across the street 
and gave a little secret shrug, 
as if the flashing red light on her head 
was a small price to pay for what she knew. 

The Cherry Tree

The Cherry Tree
by David Wagoner

Out of the nursery and into the garden
where it rooted and survived its first hard winter,
then a few years of freedom while it blossomed,
put out its first tentative branches, withstood
the insects and the poisons for insects,
developed strange ideas about its height
and suffered the pruning of its quirks and clutters,
its self-indulgent thrusts
and the infighting of stems at cross purposes
year after year. Each April it forgot
why it couldn't do what it had to do,
and always after blossoms, fruit, and leaf-fall,
was shown once more what simply couldn't happen.

Its oldest branches now, the survivors carved
by knife blades, rain, and wind, are sending shoots
straight up, blood red, into the light again.

http://www.americanlifeinpoetry.org/current.html

25-ish Things

For those of you not addicted to Facebook, here is a writing exercise currently circulating on The Face. Proof that English Teachers really rule the world and manage to trick the unsuspecting public into creative writing.

And, yes, you are correct that is something akin to those email questionnaire forwards of yore. But the improvement is that you only send it to your friends, limited to 25 people, and it does not clutter your email inbox in quite the same way. Most importantly it allows your friends to comment on your list. This is difficult to appreciate without seeing the interface. So you will just have to join The Face.

Note: "tagging" entails affixing a friend's name to your list so that they receive notification of your Facebook activity.
___________________________________________________________________

Rules: Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you.

(To do this, go to “notes” under tabs on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, type your 25 random things, tag 25 people (in the right hand corner of the app) then click publish.

1. I have been tagged approximately 20 times with this random list exercise and have to admit that it makes my English-teacher heart go pitter-patter to see my friends and family compose such lists. So I better do my part. I love homework.

In somewhat autobiographical order:

2. I was captain of the cheerleading squad in high school (or were we co-captains, Jennifer?) and graduated with a class of fourteen students. (Fourteen total if you are generous and count Magda from Poland who was somehow plopped down in central Kansas for her exchange experience. Whatever happened to Magda?)

3. Only two people in my life have every called me “Jan.” The first was Steve, who coached my YMCA gymnastics team. He was a big bear of a man. The second was Mr. Warren, my high school drama teacher. (I liked them both immensely.)

4. I had my ears double-pierced in high school. The second pair of holes has never healed completely. Am considering taking up the two-earring style. Why not? Leggings are back in too.

5. I graduated from Saint Mary’s College where I once shared a room with three other women—one overhead light, one phone, one boyfriend visiting from Ireland (not mine). I graduated from college in 1997 without ever having a cell phone.

6. My grandmother, Anna Mae Kelley, taught me how to crochet.

7. I have a master’s degree in theology from the University of Notre Dame.

8. I produced/directed/acted in THE VAGINA MONOLOGUES by Eve Ensler. I am pretty sure that means I can claim the label of “community organizer.” I met some amazing people and learned that women and men LOVE to talk about vaginas.

9. I see a direct line between Aquinas (# 7) and vaginas (# 8).

9. On the fashion (or lack thereof) front, I once had brilliant blue hair. It was gorgeous. But I had to sleep with a towel under my head because it rubbed off on the pillowcase. I also left an unfortunate blue ring on a friend’s antique bath tub in London. Oops.

10. My book club in South Bend, Indiana is important to me. (Understatement.) Note: I don’t even live in Indiana any more.

11. CONVICTION: The world needs more potlucks.

12. I have a silicone implant. Just one. My retina decided to spontaneously detach a few years ago. I had my eye pulled out of my head, the juices sucked out, an air bubble pumped in, and a silicone band implanted around my eye. I then had to lay face down for three weeks while it healed. My prescription index is an impressive negative 10 and negative 15. And I am allergic to contact lenses. Awesome.

13. I am a deeply convinced vegetarian, currently nonpracticing. Read my food philosophy here: http://jkkelleywritenow.blogspot.com/2005/12/food-philosophy-in-fast-food-nation.html

14. I have the third draft of a novel I am writing stacked next to my bed. Waiting for me.

15. I am married to a Transylvanian. I understand Hungarian and speak it horribly.

16. DIDN'T SEE THAT COMING: I would never have guessed that I would be so lucky to be a step-parent to such a great kid.

17. I taught high school English for three years before taking time off to raise my baby. I learned that the best teachers don’t take themselves too seriously. (I take myself too seriously.) Probably there is some parallel truism about the best parents. I’ll have to work on that.

18. I gave birth to my baby daughter with nary an aspirin. This is significant because my husband made fun of me for years because as soon as I sniffled I would buy ten different medications and then suffer for days. A woman’s body is astounding. I am learning to trust my blood and bones.

19. Prenatal yoga—love it. Highly recommend it for pregnant ladies.

20. I love my iPhone. (Huge, glaring understatement.) I don’t have a single song downloaded to it.

21. We don’t have cable television. Or tivo. Or reception. It makes watching football very exciting with several shadow players and never knowing for certain what the score is until the announcer says it.

22. I want to eat at Alinea in Chicago. I will eat at Alinea one day.

23. You can’t overestimate the value of a good, local diner with a waitress who knows you.

24. HIGHLY RECOMMENDED: Shaving your significant other’s head. Changes everything for a few months.

25. SECRET: I am pregnant and expecting a baby BOY on July, 7 2009.

Love it. Tis Best.

Check out this website.

http://www.tisbest.org

I heard its founder interviewed on NPR just before Christmas and found it compelling. Sadly I had already selected gifts for the season. Then. Opportunity.

A few days ago I managed to get myself and my baby girl out of the house into the frigid Boston air to meet with other mommies at an event called "Whine & Wine" (or "Wine & Whine"?). It had been a rough day of near-naps and nap fails. I had a head cold. Did I mention how the sunshine merely intensified the glare of the snow and the glint of ice? Somehow I managed to get of the house and arrive at the event. Of course, I didn't manage to RSVP. Or notice that the event started at 4:30. I arrived at 4:00. Or succeed in bringing a bottle wine to share. Alas.

The good news! This gave me the opportunity to use Tis Best.org.

As the site instructs:

Q: What is a TisBest Charity Gift Card?

A: It works like any other gift card, except that instead of buying stuff in a store, the recipient spends it to support a charity of their choice.

You are the donor and your recipient chooses the charity!

I went online, uploaded a supercute (indeed) photo of my sweet baby girl, chose a $$$ amount, opted to send the charity gift card via email, and BAM. In lieu of wine, I gifted my hostess with an Obamafication. Pay it forward. Give Back. You get the idea.

At any rate, love it. I do.

Take out your pencils. Begin.

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/20/us/politics/20text-poem.html?partner=permalink&exprod=permalink

The following is a transcript of the inaugural poem recited by Elizabeth Alexander, as provided by CQ transcriptions.

Praise song for the day.

Each day we go about our business, walking past each other, catching each others' eyes or not, about to speak or speaking. All about us is noise. All about us is noise and bramble, thorn and din, each one of our ancestors on our tongues. Someone is stitching up a hem, darning a hole in a uniform, patching a tire, repairing the things in need of repair.

Someone is trying to make music somewhere with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.

A woman and her son wait for the bus.

A farmer considers the changing sky; A teacher says, "Take out your pencils. Begin."

We encounter each other in words, words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed; words to consider, reconsider.

We cross dirt roads and highways that mark the will of someone and then others who said, "I need to see what's on the other side; I know there's something better down the road."

We need to find a place where we are safe; We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain, that many have died for this day. Sing the names of the dead who brought us here, who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges, picked the cotton and the lettuce, built brick by brick the glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle; praise song for the day. Praise song for every hand-lettered sign; The figuring it out at kitchen tables.

Some live by "Love thy neighbor as thy self."

Others by first do no harm, or take no more than you need.

What if the mightiest word is love, love beyond marital, filial, national. Love that casts a widening pool of light. Love with no need to preempt grievance.

In today's sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun.

On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp -- praise song for walking forward in that light.

Arrest Me

“I am hoping to offer language that will give people
a moment of pause...That there is almost a quiet pool
in which they are able to stand and think for a moment.
I think that’s part of what poetry does. It arrests us.”

Elizabeth Alexander on what she hopes to accomplish 
by reading her poem at Barack Obama’s inaugural,
January 20, 2009.

--Thanks to Mary N. for sharing this.

2008: Ten Best Books

The Ten Best Books of 2008
as selected by the New York Times Book Review
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/12/14/books/review/10Best-t.html?partner=permalink&exprod=permalink

Personally, I can't wait to get a copy of Toni Morrison's new book, A Mercy.

Anxiety Is Not Just Me

I recently came across a passage from one of my favorite pregnancy/parenting books that I thought I would post as a way to suggest the title to anyone in search of such. The book is from the hips: a comprehensive, open-minded, uncensored, totally honest guide to pregnancy, birth, and becoming a parent by rebecca odes and ceridwen morris. (They used all lower case on the cover for title and author.) Here is the passage:

***
the anxiety trap?

In her book A Potent Spell: Mother Love and the Power of Fear, author/psychotherapist Janna Malamud Smith suggests that our society actually cultivates mothers' anxiety. Anxiety serves a purpose, she says, making mothers focus all their energies on worrying about their children instead of advocating for universal healthcare or otherwise making a nuisance of themselves. In other words, anxiety preserves the status quo. And when mothers bear so much of the burden of responsibility for their kids' welfare, they also bear the biggest burden if their children get sick or hurt or die. So they're trapped into obsessive vigilance--for fear of the ultimate punishment. Where does the basic desire to protect our children end, and the culturally induced paranoia begin? It's hard to say. We can't necessarily avoid the worries, but being aware of the forces at work may help to put them in perspective.

***

In addition to this particular passage that seems to speak to me now with my 9-month-old soundly asleep for her afternoon nap, this book works well as a basic guidebook during pregnancy and the first months. The book that I would happily talk you out of buying: that tome that just about anyone can name, What to Expect When Are Expecting by Heidi Murkoff. It is filled with just the anxiety and fear-inducing stuff that Malamud Smith warns about.

Now, it is time for me to get out there and advocate for stroller accessible public transportation in Boston. And univeral healthcare. And such.

Thanksgiving '08

This year I decided to cook my family's Thanksgiving meal. This may just be the first time that we have stayed home without guests or extended family. Of course it was the first time that Miss IzaB. joined our family gathering.

Thanksgiving is an American holiday. You come to appreciate this when you are married to a non-American. (Well, technically now he is a citizen.) Outside the U.S. turkey and mashed potatoes do not conjure ineffable childhood associations of excitement, wonder, and the comfortable bewilderment of a family gathered to feast late in the afternoon. Thanksgiving foods, quite bluntly, are bland. True, the butter factor does add a savory afterglow. Yet even when the turkey is exceptional, it is decidedly not sexy. At all. Nor are you after second helpings.

So I decided to explain to my non-American this way: it is like a dinner party you through just for your family. You know, you clean the house--even running the vacuum beneath the couch cushions. You plan the menu and write up a shopping list, starting at least a few days in advance. You buy all the best ingredients and cart them home. You set the table with the best stuff you have in the house, transforming your everyday dining table into an image of domestic order and splendor you hardly recognize. There has to be some form of bubbly drink, sparkling water with a lemon afloat will serve just fine. There should be courses: soup, main, and dessert, at least.

You are required to shower and take off your sweatpants. (Well, sweatpants might pass as long as from the table up you are not in leisure wear.) Remember, this is a dinner party and you want to show up looking like you appreciate all the effort being exerted in your honor. Sure you only had to travel a flight of stairs, but your journey to the table has really been taken together through the past year since the last time you shared a Thanksgiving meal.

You are carefully pleasant to one another, as well as gently direct if need be. You talk about something other than: what you had for lunch, your gastrointestinal health, and what you are doing tomorrow.

You exhibit outright delight in the food that you and your loved ones, your generous hosts, have lovingly prepared.

This, then, is the way I might have explained what Thanksgiving dinner should be if I had had the wherewithal to compose such an analogy extemporaneously at the dinner table. As it was, I managed a table cloth and three humble courses. I whittled my parent's traditional feast down to the Thanksgiving essentials. The side dishes of butternut squash and candied yams become my first course: a soup culled from the New York Times. (See below.) It was healthy. Then I served turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and brussel spouts. Pumpkin pie from Athan's bakery followed. Notice: no mashed potatoes. (And my family will notice, no dumplings. Without dumplings, what is the point of mashed potatoes?) Later my husband would pronounce this omission a mistake. I was fine with it.

While we had a fine lunch, it still was not a Thanksgiving lunch. Essentials are simply not enough. Roasting a turkey breast is not the same as having a stuffed bird. There is not nearly enough drama in the roasting or in the presentation. You need excess. You need to have a reason to practice restraint. You need to be tempted by that extra slice of pie or else you simply feel full and not satiated. You need at least one person to get huffy and slam a door.

There is always next year. My parents have had almost fifty years to build their Thanksgiving repertoire. I hope my own version will develop the same depth over the years. I'll keep the soup. I like the idea of a soup course to lengthen the time at table. But there will be dumplings and potatoes, and Grandma Schamber's meat dressing too. Not to mention warm rolls and butter. And gravy. You just have to have gravy with lumps. And that is where the dinner party analogy finally breaks down. With your family, you are allowed to have lumps and pour it on thick.

Sweet Potatoe and Butternut Squash Soup:
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/20/health/nutrition/20recipehealth.html?partner=permalink&exprod=permalink
I served it with buttered whole wheat toast cubes and a sprig of thyme.

Notes After Japan

I recently traveled to Japan with my 9-month-old daughter, stepson, and husband.

Of note:

Having arrived home less than 8 hours ago, I have already forgotten the sheer physical angst (yes, physical angst) of an infant in meltdown on a plane. Poor girl. Night and day suddenly become day and night and she is literally turned inside out upside down. Rubbing her blue eyes, rimmed with red and dark half moons beneath. She cries. She can't sleep. She can't nurse. She just cries. Yes, I have forgotten the tears (hers and mine). The amazing thing is how she rebounds. Desperation at noon, flirty smiles for passengers five minutes later.

Having eaten sushi at The Source, the Fish Market in Tokyo, I have to admit: I am more of a Kobe steak girl. I just can't quite bring myself to relish in the cold flesh that is sushi. I don't dislike it. But deep down it oogs me out just a bit. I am okay with a rare, bloody steak. But raw fish somehow just doesn't satiate me. I'll keep trying.

The Japanese are precise, polite, and polite. Yes, polite times two.

I love the bow. It is so much easier than the awkward, "should I kiss one cheek or two--or not kiss at all" question at stake with European friends. It is simple and deeply reverent still. It has room for humor. It can say it all. On the bullet train between Kyoto and Tokyo the conductor would turn to the entire car and bow before exiting. Each time she entered and exited. It injects a bit of Zen into each day. This must be healthy.

On every corner: vending machines with drinks.

I love the bento box. Cubicles of foods I can't name. A surprise in every lacquered square.

FYI: pregnant ladies in Japan eat sushi. (BTW pregnant ladies in France drink red wine and eat unpasteurized cheese.)

Tokyo is clean. Spotless. Shiny, especially at night. And yet you can not find a garbage can to save your life. There are recycling bins. But what to do with a dirty diaper?

Speaking of diaper changes, the Japanese have excellent baby changing facilities in the department stores. The best I have seen.

Places we visited:
Kyoto: Daisen-in Zen Garden at Daitoku-ji and Kinkaku-ji (the Golden Pavilion);
Nikko: Tosho-gu Shrine and Nikko Edo Village;
Tokyo: Tsukiji Fish Market, Roggongi area, the Imperial Palace, National Diet Building, Ginza area--high end shopping, The Sony building, Akihabara--the several blocks of high-tech wares and anime products galore, and Takeshita-dori (to see the funky teen scene).

We mastered the metro.

Number of times we were stopped because a local Japanese person wanted to take Izabella's picture: once.

The gifts: the giving of gifts, small symbolic items, is automatic. For the Japanese. For us it caused a bit of strife. What to give? To whom? When? Do we unwrap in front of them? But it is a tradition that reinforces gratitude. Words inevitably fail. A small gift can speak your kindest intentions even when your words fumble.

I turned 34 years of age while in Tokyo. I got a kiss and chocolates.

Truth: I did have a gathering moment in a Starbucks. I needed to nurse the baby and was too tired to nurse in the Ergo while walking. You should know: there is no decaf option available for espresso drinks (at the one Starbucks we visited).

Number of times we were interviewed by the local press: once. (We looked clueless and were holding a cute baby = perfect subjects for an evening news spot about tourists.)

We learned that you do not need to tip. We left a small tip after our breakfast the first morning. The patroness literally ran after us on the street to return it. Later we asked a Japanese friend and we were told that there is no habit of tipping in restaurants or even cabs.

We hauled the stroller all the way there. Times we used it: once.

The shopping in Tokyo: endless. Yet we managed only to buy a few souvenirs for family and nothing for ourselves. It was overwhelming. Besides we had *ahem* over packed for the week. (Our arrival required an entourage to assist with luggage.)

True story: I missed dinner two nights in a row because Iza decided that it was bedtime at 5 or 6 pm local time. (I was so tired that I went to sleep with her both nights.) After missing two dinners, I ate three sandwiches for lunch. Three.

If you leave a disposable plastic baby spoon or cup in a restaurant, you will be chased down and have it returned to you nicely cleaned.

Iza sat up for the first time all on her own. She did it my starting on her belly and pushing back into a seated position. She was quite delighted.

Iza also managed to do the work of breaking a new tooth. Hooray! Total teeth: two.

In the end, regarding Japan....

Conclusion: more, please. The question, when?