Those Days, Those Weeks...

It’s not even 10am and the heat is pounding down on us, temperatures rising rapidly outside while the AC runs softly inside, 75 degrees on a 111 degree day. Another weekend with heat advisories, another weekend where we stay in because the sun outside is unrelenting. Always sensitive to my surroundings, I feel the tension in the air, electric, sizzling down the line, zapping my fingertips, painful behind my eyes. I close them and wish for a moment of pure silence so I can quieten all of the sounds crashing around in the thunderstorm that inhabits my skull right now. Silence. I breathe it in the same way I swallow my coffee, in huge, frantic gulps. Silence, just a few moments. And there it is, those few moments give me the peace of mind to continue and put this week behind me.

This past week has been a week of despondency, a week of wondering why we climb so well in order to stumble back hundreds of steps, clinging to whatever we can grab hold on to along the way. The rational side of my brain tells me that it’s normal, it’s life, we have our ups and downs, and that next week everything will look a lot brighter again. The more emotional side stands in the middle of the room, staring out into nowhere, hoping the tears won’t start falling again, just so I don’t have to explain something that I cannot voice. Emotions wax and wane, coastal tides often swept by high winds and riptides. Sometimes it feels good to cry, even if there is no specific reason for it. Sometimes I laugh through the waves of tears falling down my face, because the tears are just another release, and that throaty laugh is another emotion. It is possible to be overwhelmed and still happy, we are not one-sided but multi-faceted, a book with thousands of lines, hundreds of pages. Everything will be allright, but expressing feelings is normal. We shouldn’t feel the need to hide them, but we do.

We talk about tantrums and meltdowns, of terrible twos and threenagers, but our tantrums are not tantrums. They are earth-shattering moments of brain-melting screams, with punches, kicks, flying objects and finally headbutting the wall, until the inevitable sobs followed by “I love you so much Mummy”. The breathing lessons that we go through don’t always work and I stand there, helpless, waiting for the cloud to pass, and the sunshine to light her eyes again, our balance returning to ripples rather than waves. I am used to this, so used to this, but some weeks hit me harder than others, the lack of sleep, the day-to-day worries about bills and rent and food, the underlying guilt and fears that we messed up, somewhere. We haven’t, I know that, but I am driven by perfection, and embrace the imperfections a lot more than I used to, but cannot help kicking myself. Waking up in the middle of the night, cringing because I yelled too many times again… Yelling is not me, it never has been and never will be, but impatience creates a bubble in front of my eyes, I have to close them and wait for the moment to pass. I don’t understand the anger, I don’t want to feel the anger, I want to breathe through the anger. And then it passes. How can I help my daughter understand her emotions while still giving her the space to unleash them? How can I make sure that she never feels that she has to hide anything? I am slowly, only now, learning that it’s OK not to hide everything I feel. I want her to always know that I am her safe space. She will always know I am her safe space. All three of them will.

Breathe. Just breathe through it all.

I never understood why people complained about feeling “touched out”. Guarding my personal space was never a problem, I was used to pushing back, keeping my distance, surrounding myself with walls. Now I understand the concept, the needing a break from being touched constantly, little hands reaching out, pulling my top down, little hands stroking my cheek, little hands grabbing my hands, looking for guidance and warmth. I cannot build walls around myself any longer, and I cannot push the little hands away, as little hands soon grow into big hands that will no longer look to me for help, love, and a simple embrace. “Mummy I love you SO much”. Those words fill my heart with so many feelings; it grows and grows each day. But while our hearts grow and our arms continue to hold we are still allowed to say “space please, just a little space”. I step into the shower and let the water flow over my face, calming my senses, healing and sealing, relaxing. A daily shower, no matter how fast, is essential to my mental health, soothing, a moment to myself, even when little faces are watching me, talking to me.

It’s the simple things: the shower, the warm coffee with its perfect smell, the sunlight first thing in the morning, the silence late at night. The warmth of the baby in my arms, looking up at me with his big, brown eyes, and the soft sound of a toddler breathing next to me, dreaming of all the things that little children dream of, blown into the night time air by the BFG. It’s the knowledge that some days are better than others, and that no matter what, we will always be together. It’s the sound of my partner’s voice, his smile that I can hear, and always picture when he’s at work. The email that a friend sends at just the right time, making your heart sing, it’s the video of the ocean and the sun setting that your best friend sends you to calm your mind. And it’s the thoughts that these long days are only long for a very short time, and even over the space of a few weeks everything changes. Even the tantrums and the meltdowns deserve their place in the sun, making us both tougher and more empathetic, better humans in the long run.

Looking forward, this week will be one of positivity and hope. I do dislike the saying “count your blessings”, but I do, I always do. I am insanely blessed, and lucky. But it is OK to not be OK, even when those around us are even less than OK. And it is OK to be happy, so happy that our hearts burst towards the sky. As long as we continue to hold hands and reach out, always. Sometimes a smile hides a barrel of sadness, and tears cloud a hundred smiles.

The Perfect Kind of Mayhem

Yes, it's mayhem. A controlled mayhem, but still mayhem. Sometimes I yell and have to walk into another room and take a deep breath. It's not their fault that they have so much excess energy. Sometimes all I want to do is sit on the couch and cuddle my last child, savor these newborn moments that won't be here much longer, before life takes hold again. Sometimes I want to scream because I thrive on getting things done, and nothing is getting done fast enough. Sometimes I just let it go and know that I don't have to report to anyone. No one is keeping tabs on me, no one is taking notes on my mothering capabilities, in order to give me a pass or fail at the end of the week.

We have accomplished quite a lot over the past couple of weeks. The girls seem to have adapted well to the arrival of their little brother, and while cabin fever sometimes sets in and the My Little Pony theme has been ensconced in my brain for eternity, we haven't fallen apart. I've actually been able to provide three somewhat nourishing meals a day and bed times have been easier than expected some days. Nursing three kids to sleep can be a bit of a challenge, especially when you are counting on the cluster feeding newborn to go down first. We have ventured outside several times, gone for coffee and croissants, ran around the park, gone to dinner...

I remember those days when I had just had Luna and going outside seemed like such a huge feat. Two more kids later and I just cannot stay inside. The girls have had their doctor’s check-ups and shots, and Ludo goes for his two week appointment in a few days. He's already growing, out of newborn size clothes now which isn't a surprise, nursing like a champ, quiet and observant, mesmerized by his sisters. Luna likes to help, Aurora is hot and cold, and I have to make sure her easygoing personality doesn't get lost in the mix.

The apartment doesn't look too bad, it's actually pretty tidy despite the fact that the girls think the couch is a trampoline and pile the cushions on the floor for extra bounce. And despite the fact that Aurora has taken to dumping dry cereal on the carpet once she has eaten all the good bits (raisins), and then stomping on it with glee. There are still boxes in the closet, waiting to be unpacked, but they can wait. I'm itching to buy closet organizers and get all of the clothes out that have been packed away since we left NYC, but that will wait too. I'm kicking myself for thrifting the two way umbrella stroller we had a few months ago because while Ludo seems to like being worn, Sacramento summers are just too hot for baby wearing for hours under the sun. This kind of limits my movements with the kids by myself for a bit... Luna prefers to walk anyway, but our double stroller isn't made for tiny babies, so we are figuring out alternative solutions.

Being completely independent is super important for me, especially as Cesar works so many long hours and I like to do my own food shopping. I need to be able to go back to my food planning, bread making, crockpot-using self, so that I don't stress about healthy meals and making sure the girls are eating a varied diet. I know I ask a lot from myself, but it's how I function. I love lists and plans and organizing. I also love deciding to do something on a whim, something that can be a little tricky with a few kids in your arms. I want to explore our new neighbourhood, try out new breakfast spots and dinner locations, and photograph new murals and old street art. I do feel like we are now at a point where we can actually look towards the future a little more, and make some plans. Plans that don’t involve a ton of money but that are fun for everyone, even this tiny (big) little baby boy of ours. By the way it still surprises me to say the words “my son”, I’m still in that place where the last 10 months seem to be a little bit of a dream, even though that beautiful little face looking up at me is so perfectly real.

But then I look at my body, and I know nothing has been a dream, and for the first time after a pregnancy I know what to expect and surprise myself that I am not overwhelmed by the need to lose the stomach. It’s been two weeks, and I know full well how my body works: it takes a while. And while I didn’t put that much weight on this time around, I don’t even care to look at any numbers on a scale. I have time. Everything will go back into place, and all of those clothes that I haven’t worn for years will once again see the light of day, but maybe next year. This year is one of recovering and finding new routines and starting on the next chapter as our life as a family. And there is no question of dieting while nursing three children – I am constantly hungry, burning calories faster than I can eat them. Just send me all the salads and cheese and pasta please, and liters and liters of water. That’s all I want right now (and chocolate, but who doesn’t want that?!). And for some reason butterscotch Angel Delight – which you can’t get here of course.

Ah, time is up for today’s musings… I have some work to finish, a little baby to bathe and bedtime stories to read. I promise to have Ludo’s birth story finished this week too, before it all becomes a blur that blots out the scary parts. I have to remember those parts so that I don’t listen to my heart when it starts telling me it misses being pregnant again. Back I go to the perfect kind of mayhem, tripping over the blocks on the floor as I go.

Recent posts: We Just Get it Done (The Blessing of the Strong Woman) and And The Hidden (The Curse of the Strong Woman)

You have time, tiny little baby...

So, little one, will you give me the last few days to relax and appreciate the last kicks and the rolls? Or are you going to rush out right after the move, ready to attack life in the new home? I would love to have a little time where I can prepare your area, ready for you, quietly fold clothes again, laughing at how tiny they are and how there is no way that a baby can be so tiny... Knowing full well that you will be, just like your sisters who have grown so fast into beautiful, healthy wonderful girls. Those last little baby clothes, all stripes because we love stripes, and little rompers, and baby hats you will never wear because you will be born with a head of thick hair like your siblings...

I know it may sound strange, but I am one of those people who loves being pregnant. I don't even mind the all-day nausea of the first trimester so much when I know that it will bring the second and third trimesters, with growing belly and sharp little kicks and punches. I also know that our planet is severely overpopulated and that by adding another child to the mix we are just contributing to this overpopulation, but I can't help it. For some reason Cesar and I seem to have babies without really trying. But this little nugget will be our last and I will have to come to terms with that myself. My heart will never be too full, but our hands are now full, and this chapter of pregnancies is coming to a close. And in the meantime we will live as green as we can, until we can afford to build our own little sustainable home off the coast of Mexico, where many of my decades old dreams of living by the sea will come true.

Today we move to our apartment in the middle of downtown Sacramento, after living in the suburbs for just over a year. I've packed up all of our belongings and am ready for this new era, where city life belongs to us again, where Cesar can work, and where I can wander around the Capitol rose garden whenever I want to, watching the children learn about colours and smells and nature. It's important for me to learn to love this city somehow and I think that will be easier when we are in a place that allows us to do that in a way that we are used to. I cannot keep pining for NYC and the memories of years and years walking those same sidewalks. I must embrace this city for as long as we are here and show my children how to appreciate even the smallest of things around us. Sacramento may never feel like home, but it is home for now, and I'm excited to see where this new page will bring us. New child, new home, and new outlook. Even the disgusting person who calls himself president cannot ruin that for us.

So I hope tiny little baby, that you will give me a few days to really remember the last days of my last pregnancy, after all of this rushing around trying to find a place to live and packing and working and running after two toddlers who also feel my stress. This summer will be full of us taking life as it comes, adapting again and making plans for the future. Being a parent is one of the hardest and sometimes most heartbreaking roles I have ever had to embrace but it is also the best, most honest and most beautiful part of my life, and I'm so happy to be able to share it.

Tonight I will slowly unpack boxes and find new places for old, loved belongings, creating and recreating a dream I have had in my head for a long time now. Cesar will hang pictures and set up the DVD player and stereo (as I forgot to order internet service until the last minute), and we will look at each other and laugh at the chaos surrounding us.

So, tiny little baby, this wonderful chaos will be your world soon, and we can't wait for you to join us in it, completing our gorgeous little family. There is no need to rush, take your time, and we will be here waiting when you are ready.

Tandem Nursing While Pregnant

I’ve written about breastfeeding a lot since I had Luna a little over three years ago, and I will continue to write about it long after our journey is over, especially as I feel like there are many more years to go on this journey (probably not with Luna, but definitely with our third and last one). I’ve written several times about nursing a high needs child, about nursing while pregnant, and about tandem nursing a toddler and infant and then two toddlers, and then even about moving into my third pregnancy while still tandem nursing. I have spoken to a few people who have nursed two children while pregnant, but all of them mentioned that their eldest weaned before or on the cusp of the third trimester. In addition to that, I have perused all of the most comprehensive and inclusive breastfeeding resource websites, reached out to them, and haven’t really received any helpful information back. So, I shall just add to my collection of breastfeeding essays, in the hope that I can maybe help someone else one day.

If you know me you also know that I am a huge breastfeeding advocate and I do believe that it is best for our children. I also believe that there is nowhere near enough support for breastfeeding women, and that women also seem to feel like they are pitched against each other for their choices in feeding their children. By being a breastfeeding advocate I believe in helping those interested in breastfeeding, or struggling and not willing to give up. I am not interested in forcing women to breastfeed, nor am I interested in shaming women for not breastfeeding. Formula has been developed to be a perfectly fine substitute as well as complete nourishment for babies, not every woman wants to breastfeed and not every woman ­can breastfeed. In any case, this is my personal story and I’m probably only halfway through this journey now, so there will be a lot more to come!

Luna is now three years old and Aurora will be 20 months in a few days. With Luna I had given myself a goal of one year of nursing; with Aurora I didn’t even bother setting a goal… And that turned into “we will stop when they want to stop”. So Luna nursed through my entire pregnancy with Aurora, and I have been tandem nursing ever since. When I got pregnant late last year again I was pretty sure that at least one of them would self-wean during the pregnancy, so we would just see how it went. I also made sure that my doctors were onboard (they are absolutely 100% fine with it), and just made sure I was getting the nutrients I needed. I’m also a vegetarian, and suffer from a lot of food aversions while pregnant, so it’s not always an easy task. In any case, I suppose the amount of Tums I have to take in the third trimester are going to keep my bones strong… e are now heading into the 31st week of pregnancy and neither child has any interest in weaning, both are actually interested in nursing MORE. I am pretty sure that both of them will be nursing while I am in labour.

Navigating nursing two with a big bump... No tranquil, non blurry pictures of that around at the moment!

I have reached out to some people online via different social media platforms over the past 20 weeks or so and while people have responded, breastfeeding resources just seem to refer me back to their tandem nursing sections, and other mothers I have spoken to have said that their eldest weaned before 30 weeks. I know I am not alone in this, I just don’t think there is much documentation out there. I would just love to speak to other people about how to deal with some of the annoyances of breastfeeding two kids through the last trimester, and also about navigating the transition to three. Because yes, newborn will trump toddler when it comes to boob, but the transition to tandem nursing was already tough enough, I have no idea how we are going to figure out nursing three together!

If you Google tandem nursing pictures you will come across loads of beautiful, peaceful pictures. I have a few of those too here on my hard drive, moments to remember when these years are far behind us. But most of the time our breastfeeding journey involves two toddlers simultaneously pulling on my top, one saying “dootiyah” over and over again (her word for nursing), and the other yelling “MORE MORE”. Or me nursing one after the other to sleep, only for the first one to wake up again just as the second has gone to sleep. It’s working on assignments while nursing a 36 inch child on my lap, or hoping that no one is going to say anything when one of them demands to nurse in the middle of a public area. I don’t have any issues with nursing toddlers in public of course, but apparently many people do. Luna has always been high needs, and still wants to nurse when she falls over, feels tired, wakes up at night etc etc. And I don’t want to force her to wean. I don’t think I could handle the hours and hours of screaming for days that that would cause.

For me, nursing while pregnant doesn’t really cause any issues until later in the second trimester when latching on starts to hurt, and as the weeks go by it gets more and more uncomfortable. This time around I have also developed some nursing aversion, and have to sometimes unlatch one of the girls and walk away to clear my head (this usually happens with Luna because her latch is more painful and she is just so much more demanding). It doesn’t happen all of the time, but specifically on days when I feel a little tapped out and tired. This pregnancy has been the easiest of all of them, but some days now I feel exhausted and just want to stay in bed for a few hours doing nothing. Of course this isn’t really possible, so I push through it most of the time, and try to explain to Luna that Mummy will give her a backrub/cuddle etc instead of her dootiyah this time. Sometimes it works, sometimes the screaming starts. These reactions so late into my pregnancy have made me really start to wonder how we are going to juggle it all after birth!

Luckily I don’t have any real physical issues associated from nursing two and growing a baby (my latest blood tests revealed that everything was within normal ranges, although my iron has dropped a little, which is pretty normal at this point and nothing some Floridix can’t fix). Weight gain is normal, baby weight gain is normal, I have some strong Braxton Hicks here and there but usually when I’m stressed out or upset about something, not while I am nursing. So basically we have passed the 30th week of pregnancy and I’m still nursing two, so what used to be a joke between Cesar and myself about nursing three is most likely going to become reality. How this will actually translate into real life is another story, and one that we will face once we have to. I had better stock up on food as much as possible though because I know how ravenous I get during the first few months, and with the hours that Cesar works I’m going to have to count on a lot of pre-birth-made frozen meals and one-pot crockpot soups and stews! And our very comfy king size bed that still seems to accommodate children and adults and pets without complaining.

If anyone has been in the same situation before I would love to hear your story, and if anyone is planning on tandem nursing during a pregnancy and has any questions, I would be more than happy to provide my own personal insight. In the meantime we shall continue on our journey and will provide other updates and stories as we progress through the last weeks as well as the first few weeks after birth. Is there such a thing as triple nursing?! (Apart from those with multiples of course, I always admire the commitment it must take to EBF multiples).

With Spring Comes Hope

I lie in bed, at some point between midnight and 2am, surrounded by little toddlers sleeping peacefully, a cat curled up at my youngest’s feet, other half dreaming about something nice, and I close my eyes and wonder when I will allow myself that deep, uninterrupted sleep again. If I place my hands on my belly, I can feel tiny little baby moving around little kicks and punches here and there, finding a comfortable spot to sleep in. There is ample room in this womb, used to growing little babies now, my belly appearing so much bigger than the baby it is holding.

I’m so hyper aware of cherishing every moment, the last first kick, the last time I will meet the halfway mark, but my days are full of toddlers and words and important moments that I rarely have the time to sit down and remember that I am actually pregnant again. Even during those moments when I am standing under the shower I am usually singing children’s songs or talking to the girls through the shower door, hoping that I won’t walk out of the bathroom into a mayhem that even Winnie the Pooh cannot curtail for 5 minutes. Sometimes I just stand there under the hot water and talk to tiny little baby in my head, telling him or her little stories, just like I did with Luna and Aurora.

In the morning I wake up before everyone else, cuddling those little beings, one on each side of me, knowing that it won’t be long before they wake up demanding to nurse, to play, to eat, and that it won’t be too much longer after that that they will prefer their own company to mine. Little radiators, hopefully dreaming of the park, the ocean, the tallest skyscrapers and the widest forests, flying over earth on their broomsticks with their beloved pets in tow. Sometimes I feel so helpless about this world and where we are heading, but they are only thoughts I let myself have when everyone else is asleep. Morningtime is for smiles and stories and cuddles. I will keep the silence of the dark to curtail my own anxious thoughts, and devise plans to continue to create a better world, one step at a time.

Nursing two toddlers while pregnant isn’t easy, there are moments when I just want them to stop, to push them away and cry “enough!”, but I know deep down that it will all work itself out in the end, that once they are ready they will wean. I don’t have the strength to work on that right now, Luna is so anxious and needs her comfort, if that is how she finds it for now, so be it. I’m as healthy as can be, so the tandem nursing isn’t affecting the baby or me, but the discomfort can sometimes be too much. And I’m certainly not a martyr, I shout as much as the next person, and feel as much guilt as any mother. In the end all that matters is that we provide health, comfort and love, as well as the right tools to deal with what is ahead. No one is perfect, no matter how hard we try.

I’ve been inspired by several people and happenings and instances recently, leading to me writing some things that I have never been able to write before. They may or may not appear online at some point, and will be published anonymously because I don’t have the courage to see my name next to them, not because I fear people knowing certain things about me, but because I just don’t want anyone to feel pain or sadness for me, or even anger. Life is what it is, we learn and we grow and we aim not to perpetuate what we may have been subjected to as children. My objective in life since having children has been to grow and evolve and become a better me, for myself, my partner and my children. And writing about certain things is very cathartic and may even help others.

Spring comes earlier on this side of the country, but all we have had since Christmas is rain, rain and more rain. California needed it, but there is moss growing on the wooden roof tiles and nothing is drying properly, and I miss days and days of sunshine. But tiny little baby will be born during the year that the drought broke in California, and I will tell him or her stories of endless rain and green, green grass that hadn’t been seen in years, not naturally in any case. And yes, tiny little baby has a name, actually two names, because we still won’t know whether we are having a boy or a girl until next week, and are going to keep that quiet until he or she arrives in early July. I’m excited to finally see him or her move around inside me, to make sure that everything is growing well and that we have nothing to worry about. These next 19 weeks are going to go by quickly, and while I am collecting thoughts and words and pictures in a written journal, I worry that it is not enough. Because there will not be another time like this. As Cesar and I mused yesterday, once tiny little baby arrives it will be time to focus properly on all of our futures, together.

With the world declining again into dark, dark times, we must continue to stand up and bring light to those who cannot reach it, or are being denied it. We must continue to write, to draw, to create, to dream, and to inspire others to do the same. I have to tell myself every single day that there are more of us who want love, rather than those who refuse to believe we can all coexist, through fear, or hatred or ignorance. I have to move past all of those comments that I take too personally, people insulting everything I believe in, the existence of my family, my life, and have to remember that the answer lies in the fight and the way that we continue to resist against the dark. The future IS ours, and it will be a better place, and I must continue to smile in the face of adversity. Spring is nearly here and with spring comes a lot of hope.

Happy, Healthy and Glowing

(That's my new mantra anyway!). 

I used to have a “uniform” of sorts, one that started in my teens and followed me all through my 20’s and half of my 30’s. Skinny jeans or shorts, tank tops and band tees and biker boots or Doc Martens. Dresses, leggings and boots. My weight didn’t fluctuate too much over those decades, maybe up or down a size or two at the very most, and I could tell exactly how something would fit by just looking at it in a shop, no need to try it on. That said, I was never comfortable with my body, some days it was too big, other days too small, some days my hips looked enormous, other days my breasts were non-existent. I never totally accepted that my body was strong, healthy and used to dealing with a less than optimal lifestyle of cigarettes, alcohol, meals when I felt like it, and long, long nights. When I look back at photos now I see this slim woman with long legs and arms and wonder how on earth I didn’t appreciate it when I had it!

I know that for some people, pregnancy doesn’t really change their body, or they find it easy to get back into the same shape as they were pre-pregnancy pretty easily. Some women barely put any weight on at all, naturally, and breastfeeding actually leaves them lighter post pregnancy than they were before. Neither of those statements worked for me. I put on 50lbs with my first, weight that was in a way much needed as I started off underweight, and it wasn’t from overeating. I think that for the first time in my adult life I was healthier than I had ever been before, and my body was soaking it all up. And for the first time in my life I felt 100% comfortable with myself and how my body was changing. I loved that I was all belly, and I loved dressing myself, layering cute band tees over maternity jeans, keeping my personal style and adapting it to my pregnant body. And I felt absolutely amazing, right up until the last few weeks when everything started to feel super uncomfortable and painful. I still look at those pictures and see how I was confident for the first time in my life, proudly displaying my little-big baby bump.

And then I gave birth and had a pretty tough recovery. Baby bump became baby flab and sleepless nights lead to days of fog. I will always remember going to the mall and trying jeans on, bursting into tears when nothing fit like it was supposed to anymore (I was only 3 weeks postpartum and it was the most stupid thing I could have done at that time for my self esteem). I emptied my closet of all of my skinny jeans, donating them to friends and the thrift store, knowing that I would never fit a hip in those jeans again. I naturally lost half of the weight gained but the rest stuck to me, my body refusing to let go of the extra pounds it needed to breastfeed and stay healthy. So I compromised with myself and bought pretty maxi dresses and skirts and decided to embrace the changes, knowing that at some point my body would drop the excess weight when it was ready.

That “at some point” wasn’t meant to happen for a few more years though, as I got pregnant again 7 months after I had my first. I started this pregnancy 25lbs heavier than I had started my first pregnancy, and even though I put on less weight, and I physically felt a lot better during the pregnancy, I also felt absolutely huge. And that belly just grew and grew and grew! Everyone thought that I was going to have a ginormous baby, even my doctor, but no, she was still under 8lbs, like her sister, just very long. I boxed up all of the clothes that I wore during the last few weeks of that pregnancy and will not be using them again – I felt huge, clumsy and just really BIG. I’m glad I forced myself to take pictures, but the idea of being that big again does worry me a little. Not because I don’t want to be “fat”, I’m not worried about that, but because of the sheer amount of time and effort it took to feeling like myself again. The second time around, I lost 20lbs post birth and then nothing.

Two months later, nothing. I was eating normally, walking with the kids, breastfeeding both of them around the clock and I still remained at the same weight that I was right before I gave birth to my first child. I weighed myself once a week (no more), and just wanted to cry every time I did, not understanding why it was so difficult to lose it. I saw people I knew who had had babies and they looked amazing and I just felt like a frumpy old woman. I realised that I needed to go back to seeing my body in a positive light again and to set myself some attainable goals that I could easily reach, starting with making sure that I got outside every day and walked at least 10,000 steps a day, and started making sure that I was eating three proper meals including snacks a day. Tandem nursing makes you ravenous at all times of the day and night and it’s so important to keep the blood sugar levels on an even keel, because otherwise you feel faint and even sick.

I gave myself a first goal of getting to the weight I was when I got pregnant with my second. With my new positive outlook, a few pieces of clothing that I bought that were cute, flattering and in my style, and a little perseverance I managed to get to that goal by the summer, the next goal being to meet my “ideal” weight on my second’s first birthday. My “ideal” weight was 15lbs over my pre-pregnancies weight, and I actually made it there, lowering my goal then to my “final” goal of being 5lbs lighter. I very nearly made it, and started my third pregnancy within 2lbs of my final weight goal. I’m really proud of myself for actually persevering, because it helped me learn a lot about my body but also how the way we view our own bodies can be very destructive. It is very important to me to teach my kids to accept and love themselves, physically and mentally (you can read more about that in an article I wrote for Mamazou a while back), and in order to do that I need to accept my OWN body.

This will be my last pregnancy, and I am determined to love every minute of it as much as I loved my first pregnancy, embracing the weight gain and the changes all over again. My wardrobe is a mismatch of things that are either too big or too small, and after seeing a photo of myself the other day, and wanting the delete it immediately I decided enough was enough, and to spend a little money on some clothes that help me feel like I am beautiful, rather than large and frumpy. And it worked! I will yet again be all belly, but if it means growing a happy, healthy baby again, for the last time, then I will happily display it to the world. Having three kids in three years means that I started showing before the baby was even bigger than a grape, but I’m ok with that. One of my plans for the new year is to make sure I take better care of myself again, and a bit of self love does wonders for the self-esteem. I don’t know if there is a message in all of this really, but I think it’s important to remember that we are ALL beautiful, whatever our shape or size, and we are the worst when it comes to judging ourselves. Here’s to a happy, healthy and wonderful third and last pregnancy! 

What Mama Means To Me

I originally wrote this last summer and it was featured on SJ's The Mama Cave, but when I reread it, it reminds me of why I love to write and why I will continue to write about everything until I die. I've been in a bit of a writing slump these past few weeks, lacking in ideas and motivation, but will be back very soon with something new. <3

I’m a bit of a paradox. I always imagined I would have kids, at least one daughter, but I would roam through my life, picking up and taking off whenever I felt like it, trying not to become too attached to anyone, soaring away any time I felt trapped. When I turned 34 I suddenly realized that I probably would never have children, and actually felt at peace with that. I liked my life in New York City, I loved my crazy lifestyle and the whirlwinds and the ups and downs and the all-around colourful pictures I painted of it all.

A few months after that realization I found out that I was pregnant. Only a few weeks along, but very much pregnant. Fear raced through my heart and images shot through my brain, but after a five minute talk my partner and I knew that no matter what, we were going to be parents. No more alcohol, no more cigarettes, no more running around from bar to bar after work and no more eating here and there, if and when I remembered to be hungry. I went from free-spirited party girl to responsible adult as soon as I saw that pink line appear and haven’t really looked back. Nostalgia can be a lovely feeling, but that lifestyle had been getting old anyway, and I will never regret taking a huge step back and focusing on life and love.

Motherhood came easily to me. The aches and pains and sleep deprivation not so much, but the nurturing and that heart-crushing and earth-shattering love did. During those first few months it was impossible for me to see the bigger picture, what mama meant to me then was holding my tiny high-needs infant all day and all night and never wanting to let her go. It was a force that stripped me bare and built me up, my instincts grew sharper, my confidence waxed and waned and my worries deepened. I noticed that my focus on the world in general deepened again, my activist instincts whirred back into place and I felt more focused and possessed by a conviction that I would do anything to make sure my daughter grew up in a better world than the one we currently live in. I wanted my legacy to be one of many who at least tried (and that still stands today).

Despite the fact that I didn’t sleep more than an hour a night in three months, that my child continued to nurse around the clock and that it took me ages to heal from a difficult childbirth, for some strange (insane) reason both my partner and I wanted another child. At 4am when he would come home from work and find us both wide awake we would sit and eat ice cream and talk about our next child’s name and whether we would have another girl or a boy this time. I wanted to go through pregnancy again, this time with less fear, this time with a birth that I was in control of, not one that was induced. We both wanted two little ones to grow up together, close siblings. Family became everything that I had been looking for in my travels and adventures, a grounding point that could lift off at any minute, but never alone anymore, always together.

So, 7 months into motherhood found me yet again pregnant and still nursing my firstborn, overjoyed and excited about the prospect of having another little child in our arms. The pregnancy was different, slower, easier in some ways but so much harder in others. While I wasn’t running up and down managing the restaurant 70 hours a week this time around, I was at home working on different writing projects and trying to be the best mother I could be to my little Luna. By that point motherhood had evolved into something I felt I finally had a handle on, we were all doing OK, but at the same time it started to feel like a bubble waiting to pop. I felt more isolated, stuck in the far end of Queens, unable to actually pick up and run to Coney Island or a show or just brunch with friends due to an always needy baby and what was becoming a bit of a problematic pregnancy. We were all super healthy, but my doctors were concerned about a few issues and didn’t want me to do any lifting or extensive exercise. I didn’t want to become that person who complains about never seeing her friends anymore or feeling stuck in a rut so I surrounded myself and our family with tasks and activities and everything that I wanted us to accomplish before little sister’s arrival. Of course most of those never happened, and those last few weeks of pregnancy involved extra check-ups and gallons and gallons of water and hot, hot summer days where all I wanted to do was nap and scrub floors with bleach.

Aurora came into our lives one bright morning, after I paced the living room, groaning as softly as I could so as not to wake Luna who, for once in her life, was sleeping through the night. Motherhood then became strength and another thunderbolt of that intense love that seems to grow and grow and never stop growing. Motherhood also became messy and disorganized, loud voices and silent screams, toddler tantrums and late night thoughts wondering if we had done the right thing. Two under two makes for a fun hashtag, but a hashtag doesn’t give the term enough justice or depth… On the one hand it is a deep pit full of unknowns and sludge, on the other it is a bouncy cloud on a perfect English summer day, rays of sunshine touching rainbows and pots of gold. I still count my blessings that my partner and I come from a long line of adaptable people, and managed to easily adapt to the changes that another child brought with her birth. Her birth also gave us the strength to make a few decisions that were necessary for the well-being of our family life altogether and for our future happiness.

We moved away from the city that we had adopted as our home for so many years, towards the sunshine and the embrace of family members. California is where my toddler started to speak, finally using the words that she had been storing up inside for months and months, where “mama” became a standard word uttered at least every 3 minutes, and where my baby uttered “mama” for the first time. And my heart still melts every time I hear their sweet voices say it. Oh my gosh, they mean me! I am a MAMA! I am THEIR mama! And I know that just like it has over the past few years, that word will evolve in meaning, but it will continue to melt my heart every single time I hear a little voice saying it. Mama means everything to me, my world, my love and my family. I never thought I would feel this way, but I can’t ever imagine not feeling this way!

And so there it is, for me motherhood is a constant evolution, discovery and sometimes a struggle, but in the end I see endless strength, love and so much patience in the heart of the word. Mama means unconditional love with a few tears and screams along the way.

2016: A Little Retrospective

The last week of the year is going out like a lead balloon falling straight into the deepest part of the ocean. We have all been suffering from the most terrible cold and haven't set a foot outside of the house since Boxing Day. I find being ill very hard to deal with because I rarely am ever ill, neither are the children really. But I suppose being pregnant just makes it worse. So tonight will see me falling asleep by 9pm with a book on my chest, Cesar working late downtown, and hopefully a restful and peacefully healing night's sleep for our little ones!

Anyway, 2016 has been a strange, interesting, wonderful and terrible year altogether, better than some years in some senses, worse in others, but all in all full of changes, love, friendship and some sadness. Late last year we made the decision to leave our beloved NYC and move nearer my family in Northern California, a decision that still weighs heavy on us. While it's been wonderful to be close to my mum, sister and brother, living here isn't as easy as we had thought it would be, and both Cesar and I still miss NYC terribly. We also know that the move was the best thing for us as a family, so no regrets, just a little nostalgia, and a lot of thoughts towards the next few years and where we see ourselves then. So while the children are watching the Disney version of The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and we all cuddle in bed, coughing and sneezing up a storm, I will write my own little retrospective of the year, complete with my personal favorite blog posts...

This year two of my absolute favourite all-time artists passed away, amongst many other wonderful artists, some of which were a little expected due to age or illness, others whose death came as a sad surprise to us all. Losing David Bowie and Leonard Cohen sure felt like personal losses to me, and while I don’t blame 2016 for “killing” so many favourite icons I do believe that we were hit a little harder than other years, especially those of us who were kids in the early 80’s.

2016 was the year that our eldest turned two and finally started speaking. All of my worries in that department have disappeared as she now speaks as well as a three if not four year old. I shall have to write a follow up blog post to my previous speech-related one in the new year, especially now that our 16 month old has started talking and repeating everything we say. I started a high needs child series on the blog (Sleep is a Luxury, A Heart Warrior Mum's Account, Trust Your Instincts, Trust Your Child) that I hope to continue in 2017, because there are so many things that people don’t tell you when you are pregnant, and so many things that I feel women don’t talk about out of fear of being judged. While I still owe my blog a 15 month summary for my youngest, I’m pretty proud of the fact that I managed to continue her baby book/blog in the same way as I did her sister’s, because I will be taking all of the posts and photos and actually creating real books for them in the future. In other parenting news I blogged about tandem nursing, rambled about middle of the night and daytime thoughts, dreamt of the beach, discussed my vegetarianism, and talked about how we lead by example. And of course, not to forget, our newest news, that baby number three is on his or her way! And by the way, keeping with our tradition of not revealing the name until birth, this time around we will not be revealing the sex either.

One of my most proudest blog feats this year is gathering and publishing a collection of amazing immigration stories, and I hope to continue this series in the new year too (#IAmanImmigrant, The Ten Year Wait Part 1 & 2, Serial Immigrant, Henna from the Heart, In the Dead of the Night, They Are Coming For You, Female Janitors say Ya Basta). There were so many really awful things that happened in the world this year, civil wars spinning out of control with no end in sight, Brexit, US elections that made me want to leave and never come back (something that will happen once we get everything sorted, as we are a multi-nationality family that requires at least one person obtain a specific visa wherever we decide to move in the world), and horrific terrorist attacks leaving us all wondering if we will ever feel safe anywhere ever again. There were many, many other things that I wish I had taken the time to write about, but I’m spread so thin nowadays, between my work assignments, the girls and just trying to find quality time to do the things that I love that some things fall between the cracks. I did find time to continue my travel memoirs series though, and will continue to add stories over the next year (On Kibbutz Evron, One Night on a Felucca, Falling in Love with Barcelona, Working in the Kibbutz Dining Room, Memories of Poland, From Milan to Rome, via Venice and Florence).

When it comes to time, I feel like I haven’t taken the time to really work on my photography enough, and even the things I have worked on I am so behind on editing! So in the new year there will be collection of air show photos, some of Old Sacramento during the Gold Rush Days celebration, and quite a few autumn photos of the kids! In the meantime I have published quite a few albums, a retrospective of NYC street art that I shot and collected over the space of many years living there, the Western States Horse Expo, the California State Fair, the Chalk It Up festival, the Sacramento Mural Festival and the awesome Art Hotel 916, as well as a collection of photos taken in our local park during the summer months. All taken with Canon, FujuFilm and Nikon. I really want to work on more portraits as well as more horse show coverage this coming year, and possibly some sunrise/sunset photos on the delta too, but that will require some advance planning!

I’ve also had the opportunity over this past year to meet some wonderful, like-minded people via the internet, who have become my friends, and had the honour of having quite a few guest posts published. Ally on Life with my Little Duck published five (!) of my childhood stories, Jenny at Mamazou published my ramblings on tandem nursing, the words “fat” and “skinny”, and traditions, Vicki at The Honest Confessions of a NICU Mum published my story on raising a multi-ethnic family, a letter to my little girls on Pabarilife, and my story of unmedicated birth in a hospital appeared on Womb n Wellness.

I also had the opportunity to post some wonderful guest posts and interview some amazing people for From the Inside over the past year: Fear is Four Letter Word, So is Bomb by Simay Yildiz,  Raising a Heart Hero, and Raising CHD Awareness with Dara McBee, Ramblings with Charlie Romijn from Thought Forms, Interview with the Pechos Libros organization, Interview with Lynn Doak, Holistic Fertility Coach, A Chat with the Inspiring Jenny from Mamazou.

There were many other posts that have been published over the past 12 months, easily accessible via my Archive, and I aim to try to write more next year, at least until our third is born and then it will be a question of really finding the time! I have been blogging in some form or another since I created my LiveJournal account in 2003, and journaling and writing since I was 7 years old, and I love how far I have come in terms of finding my own voice, writing about things that are very important to me, and continuing to maintain my own little place on the web that will never be able to be categorized. I have some self-publishing plans for 2017, so hopefully they will work out and I can finally get some collections of poems, stories and essays out there! One step at a time.

I wish everyone near and far a very Happy New Year, much love, health and happiness in 2017, and to remember to feel blessed with what we have, and to reach out to those who need it, no matter where or who they are. I’m a little apprehensive about 2017, but at the same time very positive too. Come late June/early July we will have another little munchkin joining us, and while the world as it stands today is in complete turmoil, I hope that we can all stand up together to make some real changes. In the meantime, much love to everybody, and I hope that 2017 treats us all well.

So much outdated information still out there...

This is my third pregnancy and my second pregnancy while still breastfeeding. I’ve been breastfeeding for nearly three years, and obviously will be going on for another few after this one is born. Basically, I know what I’m doing and I also know my limits. If I start feeling too tired, overwhelmed or uncomfortable, I will start the weaning process. If not we will just continue onwards as we have been. I don’t imagine nursing three children at once, but I also don’t imagine my first born all of a sudden deciding to wean. As I always say, we will see. I don’t really care what others think either, what works for us, works for us. What works for you, works for you. What bothers me is when people decide to tell me something that is first of all incorrect, and second of all, just silly.

Apparently it is the California process to make sure you see a counselor at least once during your prenatal journey, so I saw the one assigned to me by the clinic this morning. She was lovely, very friendly and engaging, and made me feel completely at ease. Until she asked me about my diet and hydration and I mentioned that it was hard to drink enough water when all I wanted to do was vomit it back up, and that I really forced myself to down 3 liters a day as I was still breastfeeding two kids.

She said: “you do know that after 6 months there are no more benefits in breastmilk for the child, right? It’s only for comfort after that.” I just responded that my doctor and nurse were both perfectly comfortable with me tandem nursing while pregnant, and while she did say that I should at least wean one, she backed down and said “but in the end you know best as the mother.” My eyes must have begun to flash daggers! I no longer feel like an inexperienced mother when faced with these types of situations, but I know that when I was I would feel upset and confused. So let’s get some facts straight here.

1). The American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) does not recommend the introduction of solids until 6 months, see here for more information, and advocate breastmilk and/or formula to be the main source of nutrition for the first year of life.

2). Solids are introduced little by little over the space of 6 months, so by the time the child reaches the age of 1 he or she will be enjoying 3 meals a day as well as snacks – although this is by no means always achievable. Some babies take longer than others. It is still important to remember that breastmilk and/or formula are recommended as main source of nutrition until at least one year of age (see above).The AAP do not recommend the introduction of cow’s milk until after one.

3). Breastfeeding AFTER one year of age provides a whole slew of benefits, listed in detail HERE. These benefits are in addition to any nutritional benefits come from eating solid food. The World Health Organization (WHO) recommend breastfeeding until at least two years old (and beyond).

Breastfeeding benefits do not magically disappear once a child starts his or her first spoonful of pureed avocado or smashed banana. Breastmilk DOES magically change its breakdown based on the age and needs of a child, even on a day-to-day basis. It just drives me quite insane that even in today’s world people who have a certain influence on what a pregnant woman may or may not do can spout nonsense. Whether you are planning on breastfeeding or not, it’s so important to be able to find out proper information from those who are supposed to be professionals. And professionals who talk to you about breastfeeding/formula feeding, introducing solids and weaning should always be aware of the latest recommendations. Granted, these do change quite often, but it’s really not too difficult to read the updated AAP website or medical papers once in a while. We now know that introducing solids before 6 months can cause issues down the road, and that rice cereal really isn’t the best first food. So even if our mothers or grandmothers or great-grandmothers may say that they did it their way and no one died, I still believe in science and research. (For example, I always put my babies to sleep on their backs even though my mother put us to sleep on our tummies. Research has proven that this is the safest way for babies to sleep). So yes, all I want to say is while Dr Google is not always the best place to go for questions, it is always good to do some research and ask different people about breastfeeding rather than listening to someone who has outdated and incorrect advice to give. Breastfeeding can be really difficult for some at first, and lack of support and/or correct information can lead to women giving up before they are really ready to.

(As a side note I have to say that I chose the prenatal clinic I go to because of how they promote breastfeeding and non-intervention birthing. Both my doctor and my nurse practitioner are 100% behind me and don’t have any issues with me breastfeeding while pregnant. I think this counselor just had very outdated views and I probably should have mentioned that to her while I was there. I’m just not as outspoken as I would want to be at times, which often leads to ranty blog posts!).

I love this information page on breastfeeding by UNICEF – it brings up a lot of important points and really provides a great overview. Kellymom is my go to website for any questions – although I haven’t found much about tandem nursing while pregnant, so if there is anyone out there reading this who has done it please get in touch!

High Needs Child Series: Trust Your Instincts, Trust Your Child

This week's beautiful words come from a good friend of mine, Ryvenna. Ryvenna was due a few months before me with her daughter in 2014, and through-out our pregnancies and way into motherhood her texts and messages would help me feel a little less alone during sleepless nights and endless days. She is one of the most patient, generous and authentic people that I know and it really makes me happy to publish her story. 

When I wake up in the morning, it’s often because my nipples are aching. With my two and a half year old still nursing and often switching from side to side every few minutes in the hour before she wakes, I rarely wake because I’ve slept enough. Eventually, her eyes will open but she’ll keep nursing as I pet her fair hair, curls slightly damp from a sweaty night’s sleep. My bladder will finally announce that it’s time to get up, and I tell her I need to use the bathroom, waiting for the first words she tells me most mornings, a predictable, “Up, up!” Resisting is futile, because frankly, I can’t be bothered to deal with a meltdown ten minutes after I’ve opened my eyes, and before I’m really fully awake myself. So my 99th percentile toddler gets scooped up in my arms, and we head off to the bathroom together. I pee holding her, and most mornings she grudgingly, laughingly accepts that I will not let her nurse while I pee. 

On the weekends, my husband will manage to occasionally bribe her with some fruit snacks and a cartoon to let me sleep for an additional half an hour. I know that half an hour later, I’ll wake to her frustrated cries as he tries to convince her to let me keep sleeping, so I rarely manage to get back to bed. I’ve been tired since I was in my second trimester. At coming up on three years old, my daughter has never “slept through the night”. She’s usually asleep by nine pm, and will wake between midnight at two to nurse, again sometime before she’s in the “waking” phase, and then will drift between breasts for her last hour, usually waking fully before seven. 

I don’t love the term “high needs”. I think of myself as a gentle parent who adapts to my daughter’s needs. A sensitive mama. But when I see mothers who are able to carry quiet infants around in a carseat, letting them calmly look around while they enjoy a long lunch in a restaurant, I don’t identify with their experience. My daughter nursed around the clock, needed to be worn in a Moby wrap, and would not sleep on her own. I remember obsessively reading “Back to Sleep” literature about babies needing to sleep on their own, solid surfaces on their backs. My daughter slept on my chest or my husband’s for the first four months. I remember about two hours in three chunk where I managed to get her resting in the Arm’s Reach cosleeper I’d purchased for her while I was pregnant. I texted my sister, I danced in my living room, and then realized that it wasn’t going to work. I could get two hours of sleep with her on top of me, or half an hour (after two solid hours of failed attempts) with her in the cosleeper. So we moved our mattress to the floor with our side up against the wall, removed my pillows and sheet and blanket, and I made do with socks and sweatpants in bed for the first year. After that, I reintroduced a blanket around my waist and a light pillow. When she turned two I let a fluffier pillow back into my life, and let myself wrap a blanket around her waist as well. She sleeps most of the night with her head on my arm, and I leave the room, I still keep the baby monitor on because I know she’ll wake shortly without me there.

My daughter is distracted by my grandmother, my sister, or my husband from time to time, but her unwavering focus directs like a laser beam onto me for the vast majority of the time. When she senses that I’m trying to let Dada run the show for a minute, she immediately rejects him, pushing him off the couch and telling him that he can’t play with us. You can practically hear the sound of my husband’s heart breaking every time. He took lower-paying jobs for the first two years of her life so that he could work from home to be near her. His lunch breaks were spent on snuggling her down for naps as she kicked and screamed, fighting sleep. If I’m not around, they’re the best of friends.
In the last month, I’ve been able to plop her in front of the TV in the morning for long enough to take a shower. Not long enough to also throw some makeup on my face, but it’s enough for now. Two months ago, each shower was a tear-filled event with her begging me to pick her up, to nurse her, to watch a show with her, to play with her, to do anything other than leave her side for the fifteen minutes it takes to lather my hair and shave my legs in steamy water. I resorted more than once to reapplying deodorant, running dry shampoo through my hair, and spraying on a layer of body oil so that I could dry shave. I could probably count on one hand the number of times I’ve been able to poop in privacy in her lifetime. 

I’ve gotten a lot of judgement over this. If you don’t set boundaries now, she’ll walk all over you for the rest of your life. You’re spoiling her by indulging her like this. She has to know who’s in charge. But I know my daughter. I know that pushing her toward something when she’s not ready doesn’t work. She has an innate sense of what she needs, and she knows how to ask for it. And I know how to give it to her 95 times out of a 100. I do try to explain is that adapting to a high-needs child is not the same as giving in to every demand. It’s about knowing when to pick your battles. Her emotional needs are very real, and they are not wants. They are needs. She is still nursed, we cosleep, I carry her often. Because without these physical connections, her emotional needs are not being met. 

Her emotional landscape paints her perspective of the world. Many of her conversations revolve around the way she feels, and they are often the first things she wants to discuss in a recollection of her day. “I cried this morning because I was sad when you wanted me to put my shoes on the other feet” is not an unusual thing to hear from her. Neither is “I think about you all day when you’re gone, Mama”. She is able to understand emotional nuance that I find startling in a two year old. She offers to care for those around her when they say they’re sick or in pain. She initiates telling people that she loves them and enjoys their company.
Indulging a need for physical connection does not lead to a spoiled child. At two and a half, my daughter is articulate and polite, caring, and concerned. That said, she’s still a toddler. Occasionally, I’ll still get her coming up to me, grabbing at my shirt, and an obnoxious, “Nurse!” Most of the time, pointing out that isn’t the most polite way to ask will elicit another, nicer ask. When it doesn’t, I ask her where her beautiful manners went, and we explore the inside of her mouth, giggling, until I miraculously discover them, reposition them so that she can once again access them, and she happily uses the manners we both know she possesses. She helps set the table, has running jokes with the adults around her, tells me she loves “family dinner”, and feeds the cats.

What I will tell you, if you’re reading this while holding your high-needs baby, is good luck. Not sarcastically, but lovingly. Good luck, because I needed it. High needs babies do not suddenly become easygoing toddlers. I have shown up to events two hours late, and bailed at the last minute, and avoided making plans entirely with parents who have a different parenting experience than I do. Those folks who can just throw their kid in the car and show up to pretty much anything on time? We don’t have a ton in common. That said, on nights when I need to stay late at work for a Board meeting, she goes down okay with my husband. We’re finally starting to get in date nights, since we recently moved closer to my sister who is the Toddler Whisperer and can also get her down. When we need her to adapt, she often surprises us with how easily she can do so. 
I doubted myself a lot. It’s hard to ignore people telling you to let them cry it out, make them walk, force them to potty-train, or wean them before either one of you is ready. But I learned quickly that I could trust my child. She’s not making it up when she says she needs me, and she wasn’t “manipulating” me when she couldn’t sleep without being held as an infant. When I tried something that didn’t work for her, I learned that adapting to something that did (with a good amount of trial and error) was always the best solution. I didn’t have a lot of friends to reach out to commiserate with on tough days when I was trying to enforce a useless sleep schedule and it (literally) took me three hours to get my then one year old to sleep at night. But we got there. It got easier in stages as she became more verbal. It got easier once we realized that giving her space to deal with her emotions while remaining calm helped. We work, together, on taking deep breaths when she’s  upset, and on asking her if she wants to talk, or needs a hug. 

I don’t think I need to tell you that I love my daughter. That she’s the center of my universe. That she and I are pals in a way that I didn’t realize you could be with a toddler. But just in case you needed to know, I wouldn’t change a thing about her. There will come a time when I will not nurse her to sleep, when she will not want me to carry her, when I don’t wake up with the scent of her warm, toddler body filling my nose. And if she always wants to cuddle up to read a book or watch a movie together? I’m down with that. 

And kiddo, if someday you read this on whatever version of the Internet exists when you’re old enough to care about parenting advice… I love you “to the moon and to the back”. You weren’t an easy little one to parent, but you were totally awesome.