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?

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!

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.

Life before her was totally unnecessary.

From Daily Daguerreotype

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!

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.

This was, of course, the first visit with a heap-load of vaccinations. Matt and I had discussed vaccinations and his philosophy was that she needed all of the suggested vaccinations but that I could choose the schedule. So I looked around for a pediatrician who would let me do a delayed vax schedule, and that was my plan.

But I had a change of heart while I was in there today.

I realize that vaccinations are a really heated debate, and I don’t dismiss either side of the issue because I really think parents disagree on this mainly because they want to do what’s right for their kids. So I can understand the philosophy behind both sides.

However… yeah, you knew there was a “however” coming around the bend… Y’all know Matt’s occupation, and you probably know his stance on vaccinations as well. He is a firm believer that there is no link to Autism with vaccinations and that by vaccinating we can prevent a whole host of horrible diseases. And I agreed with him. But there was this tiny little part of me that, as a mother, thought “what if all this research winds up being wrong? What if years down the line they DO find a link? And I’m the mother who gave my kid the XYZ vaccine?” So I wanted Penny to have the delayed schedule so I could watch like a hawk to see if she had any bad symptoms.

One thing Matt had to keep reminding me of while I was pregnant was that the medical decisions I made needed to be based on scientific evidence, not my emotions. He was fine with whatever I decided – a midwife, a natural birth, limited interventions – because I could prove that my midwives had a lower infant mortality rate than the national average, that a natural birth had lower chances of PPD than a section, and that using a doula would decrease my chances of having interventions that could have a wide range of negative side effects. But he never let me get away with statements like “no epidural because maternity anesthesiologists are in with the drug companies and want to kill me!” (Dr. Shane quickly took away all those fears!)

So while I was in the pediatrician’s office debating what to do about the vaccinations, I decided to put Penny on the regular vaccination schedule based on the scientific evidence that no link has been found between vaccinations and Autism. But I also chose to do that as a vote of confidence in my husband, in what he does, and how wonderful I believe he is at it. (Over dinner the other night he said, and I quote, “I actually prefer working with really, really low-functioning kids as opposed to those who are just barely on the Spectrum.” He’s an awesome guy. What can I say?)

I chose to put Penny on the regular vax schedule to not give credence to the Jenny McCarthy’s of the world who are basing their theories on anecdotal evidence. I chose to do it because I live with enough irrational guilt from a miscarriage, and would rather live with the irrational guilt that Penny’s possible future developmental disability came from an unsubstantiated link to vaccinations than to see her in the ICU dying of whooping cough.

I chose to do it because I don’t think my pediatrician has it in with the drug companies. And I think she wants to see Penny healthy. And I don’t think she’s evil. And… gulp… I don’t think doctors are evil.

You know how hard that is for me to say. But when I really, truly think about it… LOGICALLY… that is how I feel.

Ok, it’s out there. All my anti-vax friends, feel free to tear me a new one in the comments section.

I came home from the pediatrician’s office and changed Penny’s clothes. I changed her into this outfit – a little number that Matt picked out at the Carter’s outlet when we found out we were having a girl. Because orange is his favorite color – the color of giraffes. And one thing’s for sure… this little giraffe ain’t gonna get whooping cough!

From Daily Daguerreotype

• Today Penelope is six weeks old, which pretty much blows my mind. She saw both sets of her grandparents this past weekend who hadn’t seen her since birth, and they all remarked that she was chubbing up a bit. It’s hard to see it when you’re with her all day, but my arms certainly can tell that she’s gaining weight. She’s got a pediatrician appointment on Friday, so I’ll find out how much she weighs now.
• Just when you feel like you’re starting to get into the groove of things – her schedule and feeding patterns were becoming more predictable – your parenting gets totally thrown because they hit another growth spurt. Right now we’re in the throes of it as she is eating all the time – sometimes once an hour. It’s wearing her out, though, so she’s sleeping a lot and being cute while doing so.
• This past weekend Penny took her first flights – from Nashville to DC to NH, then NH to Newark to Nashville. I loved that DC was the first place outside of Tennessee that she visited, since I have a special love for it after living there one summer in college. Our flight attendant on the first leg of the journey gave us a signed certificate from the pilot and co-pilot with her name and seat number on it. Matt especially found that adorable.
• Yesterday we took our first trip to the grocery store alone – just the girls. She cried the whole time, but her tiny newborn squeal was barely noticeable in such a large building.
• Six weeks is also a huge step in healing from my C-section, and I’m so happy to finally be here. I definitely feel almost back to normal, I’d say about 90%. Frankly, I’m thrilled that I’m finally at this point so I can start exercising regularly to lose the baby weight. I have some extra weight that I want to lose on top of the baby weight as I put on some pounds from some serious emotional eating after my miscarriage. I have a goal to lose it all before our family cruise in February, with my reward being a hot mom bathing suit and… um… ALL THAT CRUISE FOOD.
• She looks absolutely gorgeous in baby blue.
• We’re starting to make habits, and her personality is starting to shine through. She is a major snuggler. She wants to be held and snuggled all the time and sleeps best when she’s snuggled in bed with me. We get that time every day during her afternoon nap and first thing in the morning while Matt’s getting ready for work.
• She fights going to sleep at night, so we’re starting to just act like nothing big is about to happen, then we let her fall asleep in whatever room we’re in and transfer her to her crib. I think we are programming a terrible habit, but The Behaviorist is not concerned and thinks we’ll be able to break her of the snuggle-to-sleep when she’s old enough to cry it out.
• Yes, we’ll probably do the cry-it-out thing. I’ve already determined that Penny is definitely the type of kid that gets worn out by crying instead of escalating. I think when she’s about 3 months we’ll start sleep training her. Which is crazy since we’re halfway there!
• She has been introduced to Ben Harper, David Gray, Led Zeppelin, The Eagles, Tom Waits, Journey, Elton John, Billy Joel, and John Scofield. The only one she hates is Billy Joel, although it’s hard to determine whether she really hates him or just hates it when I sing his songs.
• She is smiling and cooing now, and it’s more than I can handle.
• She looks a lot like her daddy.

From Daily Daguerreotype

I can’t believe there are two people in the world I love this much.

Both of these people asked me how breastfeeding with Penny was going, and whether or not I liked it. Frankly, I went into motherhood pretty blase about breastfeeding, and I continue to be blase about it. I choose to breastfeed because A) Penny took to it really easily, B) I like the research behind breastmilk building a stronger immune system, and C) it’s cheaper (probably my most compelling reason, honestly)!

I’m all about people who are breastfeeding advocates, and completely understand why they are. I’m also all about women who choose to formula feed because of the many logical reasons they choose to. For me, it’s all about the cash money.

The more I started to think about it, the more I realized most of my mothering decisions so far have had to do with my thrifty New England spirit. For instance, I’m cloth diapering because I love how it is better for the environment, but I’m also doing it because the average home spends $50-75 a month on disposable diapers. Because of my very generous friends, all 16 of my cloth diapers were given to me, without me spending a dime on diapering. I’ve realized I need to pick up a few more, but with some giftcards that I’ve been given, I think I might only wind up shelling out $20 or so to round out my supply. Pretty incredible when you think that Penny can wear these same diapers until she’s potty trained. And then I can reuse them for future kids. When you add it up, that’s a hefty savings!

(I did have a higher water bill in July, probably from doing a load of diapers every day. Which is all the more reason for me to get more diapers since 14 dirty dipes is only a half load in my washing machine.)

Well if I’m not a hyper breastfeeding advocate, why am I a hyper natural childbirthing advocate? A lot of this, again, comes down to money. We just got the bills from my C-section and hospital stay which added up to a whopping $30,000. Fortunately, because of Matt’s fairly comprehensive employer-sponsored healthcare we only have to pay about 15% of the total bill for my care, Penny’s nursery stay and her EKGs. But $30,000 as opposed to $2,000 for a natural delivery? Why would anyone choose the former if they didn’t have to?

What it all comes down to is that Penny (who is currently wearing some cute, and free! hand-me-downs) won’t be carrying a cell phone in Elementary school not because I have issues with it (although I do), but because I’m too cheap to buy her one. And perhaps all the money that I’ll save by handling her poopy cloth diapers for all those years will make it possible to build that Frank Lloyd Wright-inspired house in the Tennessee countryside that I was sketching out earlier today.

What’s the driving factor behind your parenting decisions? Whatever will keep your kid from life behind bars? Whatever prevents you from being blamed in 10 years of therapy once they’re adults? Or are you just cheap like me?

I remember when Penny was first placed on my chest after the C-section I sniffed her head trying to figure out her smell. I had read in a study that mothers who had spent as little as 30 minutes with their infants could identify the babies later just by smell. Some survival of the fittest thing. So I sniffed, and I sniffed, but I smelled nothing except generic hospital smells.

Weeks went by, and I never really sniffed her thinking for sure that my Penelope had no smell. Or at least that her smell was so light only Berlin could identify her by scent. Or maybe Robert Pattinson.

And then last night I was rocking her to sleep in her nursery, holding her curled up against my chest, her all-time favorite position, and I took a deep breath of her to finally find her beautiful scent. I am officially one of those crazy people who sniffs babies. And who now finds the smell of my baby utterly intoxicating.

Penny’s pure, sweet, unadulterated smell is a beautiful mix of two things – her Pops’ world-famous nut bread, and New England the day after a huge blizzard when the air is crisp and fresh, and you can smell the newly fallen snow.

After an hour or so of breathing her in last night, and an hour of smelling her while she naps on my chest today, I know for sure that I could identify her by her beautiful scent alone. As long as I wasn’t outside my parents house on a January day eating a slice of nut bread. With Robert Pattinson.