But I’m not sure what I would say.

I don’t know if this is the four month growth spurt or just something that happens when a kid turns four months old and suddenly they’re all “You can’t force me to sleep, Milk Lady!” We are just in a stage where my daughter is getting more complex and harder to read. And I feel like I haven’t slept in weeks.

My darling turtle who used to sleep through the night and take a few solid naps during the day despite the fact she was the salty sea captain of the Crappy Napper, has been waking up many many many many times nightly out of hunger. And angst. And playfulness. And now she is taking nearly as long to go down for her naps as they wind up being in length. I am trying to switch things up to make it easier on her, while still keeping some semblance of the routine she’s used to. We’re trying to bump back her bedtime to make her more tired during the day. We’re trying to bond her with her snuggly wuggly lion in hopes that he can calm her down, or at least entertain her in her crib. And sometimes I just give up altogether, throw her in the Ergo and take a fourty-five minute walk so that she’ll sleep all the while considering that a mighty fine nap and a good way to eventually fit into my favorite pair of jeans.

I feel like I have the mental strength to tackle these new challenges, but what is really puzzling me is the lack of energy I suddenly have. It’s taken four months, but my body is finally back to normal – in the sense that I no longer ache along my incision, I have regained feeling in my stomach, and all those ligaments that moved around during pregnancy seem to have gone back to their normal places. I am working out more than ever before, but am not getting all the energy I’m supposed to with that. I think my exhaustion is a combination of saying goodbye to those marvellous pregnancy hormones that make each new mom into a veritable Superman, and the lack of sleep that is finally catching up with me.

Sleep.

And so I’m trying to slow down on the booking of fun things and amp up my time at home with hopes that Penny and I both can get a bit more rest. I’m also trying to just let go and follow her lead during this time of change. It makes sense that she is having trouble sleeping now that she can nearly sit up on her own and wants to constantly be petting the dog or throwing toys on the ground. Life awake has become much more fun. For her and for me.

But how do I survive until the waters calm and we fall back into a new routine? What are your tips, seasoned moms?

Today is election day which means there is lots of poo-slingin going on. In lieu of writing a political diatribe, I’m going to instead update you on our experience with cloth diapers.

Penny has been in her BumGenius 3.0s for about three months now, seeing as we started her at three weeks of age. And I can’t say enough great things about them. The biggest misconceptions about cloth diapers are that 1) they will stink to high heaven along with lots of poo handlin’ and 2) All! That! Laundry! I’m here to set those misconceptions straight.

If there’s anything I’m thoroughly impressed with in the cloth diapering realm, it’s just how clean these diapers get in the wash. I am washing them according to the manufacturer’s recommendations using a front-loading washing machine, Charlie’s Soap, and once-a-month bleach treatment. About twice a month, I opt to dry my inserts outside in the sun to bleach out any discoloration that has started to set in. The rest of the time, they go in the dryer. After three months of use, my diapers still look brand new.

There is seriously no smell on the diapers after washing them. None. And then during a diaper change, I can avoid getting poo on my hands just as easily if not more than when using disposables. In fact, Matt loves cloth diapers so much that he finds changing disposable diapers to be really gross. I imagine this is because of how absorbent cloth diapers are. Also a kid in a dirty disposable stinks from a mile away, whereas it’s often hard to tell if Penny has soiled her cloth diaper because of odor and moisture absorbency.

As for the laundry aspect, I admit that I might be biased about this one since I love doing laundry, love my laundry appliances, and love my laundry room. But I really do not find an extra load of laundry every other day to be a big chore. Especially when you get as much of a kick out of cloth diapers as I do. Stuffing and folding Penny’s diapers is fun, nay even therapeutic, after a long day. I can imagine that doing the diaper wash for more than one kid would be disheartening, although if I’m honest with you, I think changing the diapers of more than one kid in and of itself would be disheartening. I do not believe I am called to that particular challenge, Lord willing.

I have become such a lover of cloth diapers that I recently switched over to cloth wipes. It’s really a smarter choice when you’re cloth diapering so that you don’t constantly have to be throwing away half of your dirty items while storing the other half. I wash my wipes in with my diapers and mix up my own solution of baby wash and water to moisten the wipes. I hate the word “moisten.” It takes me about 2 minutes every other day, I can fold them to pop up automatically in my hand-me-down dispenser, and Penny’s butt isn’t slarved with all sorts of unrecognizable chemicals – just baby wash and water.

Which brings me to the best part of cloth diapering… her butt. Seriously, her butt is in mint condition. (My mother-in-law even noticed which made me awfully proud!) She gets the occasional rash because I no longer change her diaper at night (and she can wear a cloth diaper all night without any leaking! That’s the power of BG!) which easily clears up without ointment from spending a day in clean cloth dipes. On occasion we will use Grandma El’s butt cream to clear up rashes even faster, and it doesn’t damage your dipes like most other butt creams do.

I thought I would switch Penny to disposables when we are out on errands, but thanks to marvellous wetbags and very compact BumGenius Flips, I only keep cloth dipes in my diaper bag now. Penny’s babysitter is even willing to do cloth diapers, so I won’t need to stock up on disposables before going out on date night.

If you’re not a believer yet, perhaps this will seal the deal. In the past four months I have spent a total of $50 on diapering items. That includes the disposables she was in up through week 3, one package of disposables when we were traveling in September, and disposable wipes up through last week when I switched to cloth wipes.

Which means, if all goes as planned, I won’t spend another dime on diapers until I pick up some disposables for our cruise in February.

So if you are considering cloth diapers, let me assure you that these are NOT your mama’s diapers anymore!

I could yack about this until I’m blue in the face, and you’re probably tired of hearing me talk about it, especially if you haven’t experienced it and it’s just um… awkward! But I so feel the need to talk about the loss of a tiny child because it’s so taboo and women HURT because of that.

So this blog post is for all of those many, many, many women who contacted me after my miscarriage. You sent me emails, cards, texts, a whole host of encouragement. Your stories were so intense, so devastating, so real. Knowing that I wasn’t alone in my anger, sadness, and hope kept me going.

My heart breaks for the women who have experienced this loss over and over again. And they continue to wake up each day and try life over again. It is heart-wrenching to lose a piece of you only to look around and see women who seemingly have what you want and have it so easily. I know what it’s like to want to walk up to that woman who is grumbling at her kids in Target and say, “They are so precious. You have no idea.” You just want them to see how daggone blessed they are.

But what makes me admire you women even more than the fact that you got out of bed today, is how you reach out to other hurting women and let them cry in your arms in the middle of a church service, or send them to online support groups, or drop them that email to ask how they are doing today. You know what it was like to go it alone, and come hell or high water you are not going to let other women go it alone.

Thank you.

Thank you for being that to me and to other women who are undergoing loss. You are so unbelievably brave.

Thank you for being a friend to your friends (including me) who have been blessed with other kids. Thank you for holding those babies, for snuggling them, for babysitting them. Thank you for going outside of yourself.

I want you to know this. I cannot ever make it right. I cannot ever give you that which was taken from you… that which I understand you wanting back so badly. I am one of those crazy women who were outrageously blessed with a baby after a loss, and please know that not a day goes by that I am not eternally grateful for the gift I’ve been given. I will pour my life into her again and again, and on the days that I don’t feel I have the strength to mother her, I will take on your strength and mother her as you would. If I screw up everything else, I will raise my daughter to be like you – a brave women who is willing to talk about difficult things and reach out a hand to people who are hurting.

I promise.

And you should also know that my daughter is yours too. You are her second, and third, and fourth, and four hundreth mama. And I am very proud to share her with you.

We’re still recovering from the excitement of having family here all last week, and I just have so little to say. (As an aside, I’m considering a rather substantial blogging hiatus. Sharing has become tedious, and I’m tempted to become reclusive and make other people do the work to know me for a change.) I have a million and one things I need to do, so here is a picture of my not-so-tiny-anymore turtle playing in the exersaucer that used to be her cousins’. She totally digs it.

Life before her was totally unnecessary.

From Daily Daguerreotype

This weekend we found ourselves in New Jersey introducing Penny to Matt’s family and enjoying the fruits of Penny’s Pops’ clambake. It was outstanding.

Don’t believe me?

Visual proof:

Penny did a great job flying and being in a new place all weekend, and handled the festivities well with only minor meltdowns. I was awfully proud of her. But frankly, I was proudest of myself.

You see, on Saturday night we left her with my mother-in-law and sister-in-laws so Matt and I could go out to dinner to celebrate our six year anniversary. It was my first time leaving her with anyone other than Matt and for longer than two hours or so. Fortunately, she was in the very capable hands of an allergist’s nurse, a pediatric nurse practitioner, and a therapist for the criminally insane. Which really gave her maniacal alter ego free reign to go all Winnie the Pooh on the nearest jug of peanut butter, should it wish.

I got a little verclempt walking out the door, but as soon as we were in the car listening to some Genesis, I relaxed and proceeded to thoroughly enjoy the company of my best friend at the restaurant where we celebrated our very first wedding anniversary. I ate all of the sinfully delicious delicacies that I swore off during pregnancy including clams and oysters on the half shell and a filet mignon still mooing. Penny only came up in conversation briefly, but other than that we had a great time just being with each other alone.

I’m glad I did it. I’m glad I can be away from her for a few hours so early in her life without turning into a basketcase. I want my daughter to be independent and confident. I consider this first night out as the first step towards making sure she never moves home after college.

Letting go has hit me with full force in another way this week. My special friend has returned. I suppose it is the price to pay for a little nugget who sleeps well at night, but I was not at all ready to welcome it back into my life. And I was not at all ready for the shakeup it would cause to my milk supply. I’m desperately pushing through it to make sure I can continue breastfeeding, but since Thursday I have had to give Penny two bottles of formula.

Yes, the first bottle had me sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor crying.

I’ve already mentioned that I’m not outrageously passionate about breastfeeding, but I guess I expected to be able to wean her when I wanted and how I wanted, not to be stuck in a moment with a hungry baby and nothing to give her. I should have known better.

I could be a purist and just make Penny feed every thirty minutes or so until things kick back into place, but I hate seeing her hungry. So I have resolved to give her formula when I don’t have enough milk for her and to pump 24/7 instead. And you know what? It’s not going to kill her even though it’s killing a teeny tiny little piece of me.

Because I know this letting go is good for me, because I want to be a chill and laid-back mom, I am choosing to roll with the punches and keep smiling.

But that doesn’t mean I didn’t totally reorganize my linen closet and kitchen cabinets today to have something I could control. Boo-ya!

Today I had my six week appointment with the world’s greatest midwife, Lauren. It was encouraging to see that my healing was moving along well, although a serious reminder that it will take a long, long time to get back to “normal.” It was news to me that they suggest a subsequent pregnancy no sooner than a year, even better – eighteen months, after giving birth via C-section. Not that that’s a problem since our hope is for a second child about four years from now.

I found it strange walking back through the halls to my midwife’s office, this time not pregnant, not sore. Lauren, of course, was checking in to see if there were any signs of PPD, but found quite the opposite. I’ve been in Lala Land since Penny’s birth – a strange euphoria that just doesn’t seem to wear off. I feel sort of silly, actually, because I don’t have that perpetually stressed and tired look that I see so many new moms wearing. I don’t find myself rolling my eyes when she cries in the middle of the night, or when I’m starving but have to feed her first. I don’t worry about her constantly, that she’ll get sick or abducted. I’m just… really… happy.

Only during the happiness that I’ve found in being a mother have I been able to accurately look back at pregnancy. As much as I tried desperately to keep my complaining to a minimum, to be thankful for each day I had with a healthy baby inside of me, knowing how difficult it is for some women to conceive, and the loss that others have experienced, I just could not get into pregnancy. To be perfectly frank, I hated it. There were very few moments that excited and thrilled me about pregnancy. I didn’t like being slowed down, being tired and sore. I wanted to just drink another cup of coffee and push through it, but found that I just couldn’t. For me, pregnancy sucked.

I told Matt last night that I would rather go through labor and delivery every single day for nine months instead of being pregnant. As difficult as labor was, at least it was going somewhere. At least there was an end in sight. I wasn’t just waiting and waiting and waiting for months on end slowly getting bigger and sore-er.

Crazy, that.

But this, the here and now, holding her and talking to her and watching her smile and talk back. THIS is amazing. THIS happiness is what I heard in other women’s voices when they spoke of feeling their baby kick inside of them, which did nothing but startle and annoy me. I understand it now. I just feel that euphoria with Penny on the outside instead of the inside.

Just a minute ago, before I put her down for her nap, I held her swaddled in my arms and looked down at her face, her eyes drooping. She is the most beautiful human being alive. She is. She is absolutely beautiful. Jaw-droppingly beautiful. And when she smiles, the whole world stops and turns and looks at her.

In the morning, from 6am – 8 am, she comes into bed with me and we lay on our sides facing each other. She tucks her head up into my neck, and I roll so that my body is nearly on top of her. She cuddles up under me and sleeps sounder than any other time of day or night. She doesn’t make a sound. And part of me wants an 18-wheeler to come crashing through the window about to land on top of us on the bed because I’m absolutely certain that I could push it away to protect her.

And perhaps that’s part of it. I’m a wholly and completely different woman than I was nearly seven weeks ago. I can hardly recognize myself. Half of it is the euphoria, and the other half is that I feel like a better, stronger, wiser person than I was before. I feel like Penny makes the best Me come out. That each day she challenges me to be a better person than I was the day before. And I want to be all of that for her.

Because she’s just so stunningly beautiful.