Music…more than a good time

Note: To get the full effect of this blog post, click here for some background music from children’s artist Roger Day to enhance your reading enjoyment.

I miss Music Mondays. In the tiny, farming community of Hartington, Nebraska, where I used to live, when my oldest daughter was just a baby, there was a mother who would reserve the library basement every Monday for what she publicized as “Music Mondays.” There, babies and toddlers and their parents would sing and dance and play musical instruments for an hour – a free-flowing, no-structure exploration of movement and music, I used to take my speakers to listen to music by using just Bluetooth, so you can take look at this page to see if is Bluetooth actually using data and think about if it works for you. I was only able to be a part of this activity for a short time before my family moved across the state, and our new hometown didn’t have a similar activity for families.

Continue reading “Music…more than a good time”

International Babywearing Week 2009

This week is International Babywearing Week 2009. My posts over the next week will, no doubt, be mostly related to babywearing, it’s benefits for both baby and wearer, and how to do it.

What is babywearing?

From http://babywearinginternational.org:

Babywearing simply means holding or carrying a baby or young child using a baby carrier. Holding babies is natural and universal; baby carriers make it easier and more comfortable, allowing parents and caregivers to hold or carry their children while attending to the daily tasks of living. Babywearing helps a new dad put a fussy newborn to sleep. It allows a new mom use both hands to make a sandwich. It lets an experienced parent or caregiver carry a baby on her back and wash the dishes, do the laundry, take a hike, weed the garden … all while keeping the baby safe and content

From Wikipedia:

Babywearing is the practice of wearing or carrying a baby or child in a sling or other form of carrier. Babywearing is far from new and has been practised for centuries around the world. In the industrialized world, babywearing has gained popularity in recent decades, partly under influence of advocates of attachment parenting; however, not all parents who babywear consider themselves attachment parents. Babywearing is a form of baby transport.

A one-minute introduction to babywearing:

Attachment Parenting International would like to thank Amanda from The Sour B for her guest post in honor of International Babywearing Week 2009.

Why AP?

This post addresses a sensitive topic, and therefore might generate some strong emotions.

I am a very vocal advocate of attachment parenting and the consequences that impact our lives if we choose not to fully attach to, and be attached to by, our children.

As I sit holding my 14 1/2 month old son, he turns and gives me his slobbery kisses. As I read about ways to guide him, to use discipline gently as he is learning to throw fits, and how he has somehow figured out how to hit (how do they learn that?) I am in continual awe of the attachment between us. It is something tangible. It was forged as we walked through pregnancy together and “talked” to each other. Forged as we birthed together and were carried through the ring of fire, as we slept together, ate together, and continue on this lifelong learning adventure together. We are like stem and leaf, firmly attached and yet at the same time not restricted or restrained by it, but it has made us free to grow. Continue reading “Why AP?”

The long-term goal

I was browsing my birth board on a site where I have visited since I found out I was pregnant back in the summer of ’07. One of the titles caught my eye, it read something like this “AP parents are you sorry that you did it? I AM!” the rest of the post read more or less the same. The writer was sorry that she had ever practiced APing. She states that she has a “monster” on her hands (at just 15 months old) and that it is the fault of APing, the fault of breastfeeding, baby wearing, non-CIO, and responding quickly to her child. She stated that “they” (other people, friends, doctor etc.) had said this was the “best” way to do things and now it was backfiring, and she is angry. Continue reading “The long-term goal”

Breastfed Babies and The Growth Chart

I am not a large person. At 5 foot 8, I’m taller than average, but I’ve always been a healthy size and my weight gain during both my pregnancies was well within the range recommended by my doctor. My husband isn’t a big guy either.

So it was no surprise to me that both kids seemed to follow those same growth trends. Both were the same size at birth, just over seven pounds. My daughter was an ounce heavier and an inch shorter. Both were healthy. I was happy. So why were so many others concerned with their size, or lack of it?

Among the many comments I heard from mostly strangers were:

“Is your pediatrician okay with you breastfeeding?” (Of course she was.)

“When are you going to stop breastfeeding?” (None of your business.)

“Wow, my baby is the same age and he’s much bigger-was he premature?” (No, actually he was born on his due date. And hey, guess what, it’s not a contest.)

“If you give her some formula, she’ll grow more.” (Actually, she’s growing just fine, thanks.)

I got to be pretty good at brushing off the comments and ignoring the unwanted advice, but the more I looked into it, the more stories I heard about parents of breastfed babies being hassled by family members, strangers or even their own doctors about the lack of “adequate” weight gain, regardless of the size of the parents or the health of the child. Why, in the face of a childhood obesity epidemic, does bigger continue to equate with better? Why are growth charts considered to be the number one indication of a child’s health, rather than just one tool of many to assess wellness?

Consider the following:

**Ounce for ounce, breast milk contains far more naturally occurring ingredients than cow’s milk-based formula does. According to Dr. Sears, when vitamins and minerals are added to formula to compensate, it makes it harder to digest. Breastfed babies generally need to eat more often because of the easier digestibility of breast milk.
**A 1992 study at UC Davis showed that breastfed babies tend to be leaner than formula fed babies. Specifically, while weight gain for each group was similar, the breastfed babies had a lower weight for length ratio.
**Many doctors in the USA are still using the charts from 1977, which are based on decades of measurements of actual children, most of whom were formula fed. The CDC updated the US growth charts in 2000, and these charts can be used to track the growth of exclusively breastfed infants, but don’t take into account how breastfed babies tend to grow. In 2006, the WHO published growth charts that represent healthy breastfed babies, but many doctors don’t use them.

While both my kids are at the bottom of the US growth charts, they score significantly higher on the WHO charts. In addition, while small, both mostly stayed on the same growth trajectory as they got older. While my son did have a milk protein allergy, removing any traces of milk from his diet fixed his symptoms. And two years later when my daughter was born and she grew in almost the exact same way her brother did, without a milk protein allergy to complicate or slow things down, I didn’t worry. She was healthy, and was just growing the way her genes had programmed her to do.

Still, I wondered. Are breastfed babies doomed to be the shorter members of their classes, simply because of how their mother’s choose to feed them? Out of curiosity, I posted a poll on my personal blog, titled “How Large or Small Were Your Children On The Growth Chart?” 30 people voted and the results looked like this.

I breastfed and my babies were smaller than average. (5/30-16%)
I breastfed and my babies were larger than average. (11/30-36%)
I breastfed and my babies were average size. (8/30-26%)
I formula fed and my babies were smaller than average. (1/30-3%)
I formula fed and my babies were larger than average. (4/30-13%)
I formula fed and my babies were average size. (3/30-10%)

I didn’t know what to expect from the poll, but the results show one thing candidly–babies come in all shapes, sizes and weights, regardless of how they are fed. Yes, both my children were little, but it wasn’t because they were breastfed or because there was anything wrong with my breast milk.

Both kids are older now, and they remain small. My almost three year old is a twenty-five pound bundle of energy that eats anything that doesn’t eat her first. At my son’s recent five-year well child visit, his BMI categorized him as underweight, but his pediatrician isn’t concerned. He did gain both weight and height over the past year, is rarely sick, is meeting or exceeding his milestones. He’s just on the skinny side–just like his dad, his grandfather and other assorted male family members.

How about you? How were your breastfed babies sized, and did anyone hassle you about it?

Separate but Attached

DSCN2261aI slipped into the apartment at 5 pm, kicked off my sandals, and looked around.  “Where’s the baby?” I asked my husband.

“She’s in the crib.  She cried herself to sleep.”

My heart froze.  “She did what?

He looked as  uncomfortable, unhappy, and upset as I felt.  “She cried from the moment you left until she finally fell asleep.”

I shouldn’t have left the house, I thought.  Without another word, I swept into the bedroom and lifted her out of the crib, holding her tight against my chest and burying my face in her thick, dark hair.  “I’m so sorry, little girl,” I whispered, guilt welling up in my chest, my throat tight as I fought back tears, “I’m so, so sorry.”

My husband walked over and wrapped us both in his arms.  Our daughter woke up, looking up at us, her dark eyes serious and her brow furrowed for a moment with sleepiness.  I felt judged.  Then she smiled, raising a hand and pressing her fingers to my lips, and I smiled in return, gently biting her fingertips to make her laugh.

I felt forgiven.  But there’s still a lump of guilt in my chest every time I think about those words: She cried herself to sleep.

You see, at seven months old, our daughter is going through a serious separation anxiety phase. A lot of the time, I can’t walk away without her starting to whimper and whine, and as soon as I exit her line of sight those little sounds of discontent grow  to full-blown wails.  I never try to slip away from her stealthily; I kiss her forehead and tell her, “Mama will be right back,” before I walk away.  There are things I need to do — use the washroom, get dressed, pour some coffee, feed the dogs — that are infinitely easier and faster without having to hold her in my arms.

When she wants me, she doesn’t want her Daddy.  She doesn’t want her blanket.  She doesn’t want her teddy bear, or to listen to music, or to be read to; she wants her Mama.  Now.  I could be standing on the other side of the gates we use to block off the kitchen, talking to her about what I’m doing, and she’ll start screaming and bashing her hand against the gate because I am not holding her.

But on that day, I had to leave the house.  Right now, my husband is unemployed and so am I; I needed to get out and apply to some jobs.  I made a plan as to where I’d go, plotted out the most time-efficient route between them, and made certain she was nursed and happy before I left.  I knew she’d be upset when I left, but I had no idea that when I walked into the house an hour later, she’d have cried for fifty-five minutes straight as her Daddy tried desperately to comfort her.

She loves her Daddy.  Every few days, they leave the house together for awhile and go out to the park, mall, or library for several hours, and she’s giggling when they leave, just as she is when they return.  They have a great time together!  When we take her to playgroups, she’s the baby wandering everywhere, exploring everything, and greeting everyone, not once looking over her shoulder for her parents.  I know she knows we are always here for her.

So why did she cry so relentlessly, exhausting herself, that day?  What am I supposed to do when I get a job and I need to leave her at home with her Daddy? This guilt, this sickness in the center of my chest, knowing that she suffered, makes me cringe.

Can someone out there help us?

Healthy Fear and Careful Responses

We have arrived home again. I can’t believe the difference it has made. Allow me to give a little background information.

My son has traveled for 8 of the 15 months of his life. We have just recently come back from a 3 week trip. My community travels very often, the trips anywhere from several days to several months in length. We are a performing arts team, a work crew and an extended family (which includes family +).

My son is constantly surrounded by close people that he knows and trusts. He is not a particularly social child. Even though he is chatting and usually fairly smiley, the smile and conversation are not an invitation to play!

Our most recent trip, the one we just returned to home base from, was to Kansas and then a couple of weeks in Sioux Falls SD for a music festival. My boy is very busy and kept me chasing him all day, every day, with the exception of nap time! Thank goodness for my community at these times as people are happy to give me short breaks when necessary; it sometimes saves my sanity. We had many people in and out of our camp during these couple of weeks, old and new friends. Of course who can resist the crazy smile, dirty hands and face, tousled blond hair and the hearty laugh of a toddler?

When my son is approached by someone he does not know he is shy and hides behind whoever is close to him that he knows well. If the subject is pushed he starts to cry. Sometimes hysterically. I was told many times this week by, I am sure, well-meaning people that he “needs to get over it” or “needs to get out more” (which is an amusing statement considering how we live). I, on the other hand, am not concerned. I am actually happy under our unique circumstances that my son does not go to complete strangers. I do not have to worry that he will be overly friendly or that I will have to warn him about people he does not know. On the other hand I do not want him to be afraid of people, especially friends, I have to calmly reassure him without pressuring him to “get to know” someone. To him it is instinctual to steer clear of people he does not know. It is a healthy fear.

Now, on the other hand I have no idea what happened in the self preservation section of my son’s brain because “healthy fear” did not seem to come installed there. While on this last trip we spent a good amount of time on concrete which those of us who have small children know is not an ideal situation for a toddler. There were also a pair of concrete stairs leading down to our camp, a completely fascinating item for my little guy. The most common response from my son to these falls? “Ops.” That’s it. Now in this area I have had to carefully contain myself. I have to measure my response to these events and wait on how my child is responding to the event before I do. If it is as “ops” situation I have to swallow my initial run and cuddle response and allow him to continue his play, lending him a reassuring smile. I have to put my own reactions and emotions to the situation aside and learn from my son how he needs me to respond.

Sometimes it is necessary for me to take action, then it is comfort and cuddle time and I am rewarded for the newly acquired stress-moment grey hairs  by chubby little arms around my neck and his newest response, sopping wet baby lip kisses that he reserves, just for mom.

All in all I am happy to be off the concrete and we are both happy to be surrounded by those we know and love. We are happy to be home.

Unconditional Love

When we were moving a few months ago, I stumbled upon an on old journal from my childhood. I sat down, amidst a pile of boxes, and ignored the surrounding mess to go back to a place that I hadn’t visited in a long time. The pages were laden with my 12 year old scribbles. There were entries about my loves , my friends, and trivial problems, but in between those pages were some hauntingly poignant entries about the abuse that filled my childhood. As I read, it wasn’t the entries describing the latest attack, it was a simple statement, ended with a question, that I think I sent out to the universe:

“I feel like I will never be good enough. Like I will never measure up. I feel like unless I do what they want, and only what they want, they will never love me fully. They call me names, they insult me, they punish me when I stray from their beliefs. Is this how a parent is supposed to treat their child? Is this normal?”

As I grew up, I spent a lot of time asking that question over and over again. It wasn’t until I had my own child and pulled out this journal that I recognized the answer to that question was supposed to be a resounding “NO!” I’d like to say this discovery has ended any self-doubts, but daily, I still ask “Is this enough? Am I enough?” The impact of this emotional abuse as a child has left a permanent mark, even so many years later.

Continue reading “Unconditional Love”