apples for poppy anne

I can't sugar-coat it all...

My heart aches for warmer days and an old house with far away neighbours.  Wide plank floors and a wooden screen door off the kitchen.  A big wrap around porch perfect for iced tea and late night chats.  Tall trees perfect for naps in hammocks and summer picnics.  A pond and an old wooden rowboat.

Pregnancy takes me to such a dark and melancholy place.  Instead of filling up with guilt and hating myself for feeling what I'm feeling, as I did in the first pregnancy, I am rolling with the punches and sinking into the warmth of it all.  Instead of wishing for this time to feel as miraculous as it actually is, I am tasting each and every aching morsel of it and just allowing everything to flow through me.  Hot tears fall while inadequacies bubble up and intermingle with belly laughs and a calm strength.

I would like to say that I have learned to love myself more since the last time, but I haven't.  My body is creating a human life complete with a spirit and all of its little teeth yet all I can do it look at how puffy my face looks and how dull my hair is.  I always manage to put myself off with the lie that I will learn to love myself later; when I am done with pregnancy; when I am thinner; when my hair grows out.  I would never lie to my husband or children the way I lie to myself nor would I deny them my love as I repeatedly do with myself.

Heather wrote about pregnancy as a long sea voyage we take to be united with the sweetest of souls and some of us just get more seasick than others and I like that way of looking at it.  It made me think of the words I wrote early in my last pregnancy: "...the juices and hormones slosh around as I lay shipwrecked on the bed the way nature intended perhaps for a woman to surrender fully to her body.  It brings her to her knees and reminds her that nature is in fact running the show..."

I am slowly realizing just how much I live and do for others while trying to fit it all into my own truth.  Perhaps it is the plague of an only child who never had a sibling's bad behaviour to distract people's attention from my own.  I began this blog to be a happy go lucky space for crafting and creating, but I can't deny the ugly stuff that still bubbles up and I can't help but put it into words.  And oddly enough, people respond just as much, if not more, to the truth and reality.  Everyday I learn how to be more real and honest despite the reactions I get and writing gives me that.  I can't write about perfect pantaloons and the gratitude without sometimes writing about the frustrations and the darkness.  I can't sugar-coat it all...it's just not who I am.

e.

P.S.  I so appreciated your encouragement with regards to the repeat c-section vs VBAC debate and would love to hear your detailed stories if you are willing and able to share.  Please email me at [email protected]

We're Pregnant!

We're pregnant.  Yup, we waste no time here in the house Ellenberger-March and this family love is about to get bigger {though I can't imagine more love bursting from this heart, I know it will amaze me}

There really is no poetic way of dropping news such as this after saying nearly nothing for weeks on end now.  I am about 6 or 7 weeks along and due sometime in September.  We have our first midwife appointment next week.  Some big decisions have to be made about the birthing experience.  For anyone who cares, here is the tale of Poppy's birth.  I had planned for a beautiful and natural birth in the hospital with our midwife and what I got couldn't be further from that though Poppy is a dream come true.

Originally posted on March 11th, 2009:

Forgive me.  I have been absent from the internet of late, but with good reason.  Poppy has taken over our lives and we couldn't be happier.  I figured I should take this time to write about her birth, our dance.  Labour, just like many things in life, went nothing like the original plan, but It find it impossible to have regrets when I look down at this sweet sleeping face topped with fluffy fresh hair.

I began having mild crampy contractions on Wednesday afternoon/evening.  They felt like intense menstrual cramps that I could talk and walk through for the most part.  We timed one or two and found they were 15 minutes apart.  They continued through the night without much change.  Mike decided to stay home as I was going for the "stretch and sweep" with the midwife at 11:30 on Thursday and figured that would intensify things.

The visit to the midwife's office was pretty routine.  She found that I was 2 cm dilated and proceeded to do the stretch and sweep.  She then took my blood pressure, which hadn't been an issue at all throughout the pregnancy.  110 to 120 over 70 to 80 throughout.  That day though, it was 134 over 95.  This was not something she took lightly and let me relax for ten minutes then retook it.  Still high.  She sent us home, told me to rest and relax and she would drop by the house at 3:30 to recheck it.  By the time we arrived home, the contractions were much more intense and about 5 minutes apart lasting 1 minute each.  When my blood pressure was checked again, we found it had risen even more.  We had to go to the hospital immediately and have an obstetrician check things out while monitoring the baby.  We grabbed our bags and in a matter of 25 minutes I was in my hospital gown hooked up to monitors.  The contractions continued to get stronger and were now about 2 to 3 minutes apart.

The obstetrician arrived fashionably late and, without small talk, proceeded to break my waters and discovered that the baby had taken her first poop in the womb and we would need to have a respiratory therapist at the birth to ensure she didn't aspirate fecal matter.  My blood pressure was continuing to climb and he told me that the only thing that would fix that was to have this baby as soon as possible.  To lower my blood pressure and risk of seizure he gave me a little blue pill and informed me that I would need an epidural.

After having my water broken, the contractions came crashing in on me and were coming about every minute.  I went from being in control and breathing through moderate contractions to writhing and cross eyed from the pain.  Just like that, I was out of my mind.  The epidural was a painless, welcome relief.  They continued to take my blood pressure every 30 minutes and I was comforted by the constant gallop of our baby's heart.  12 hours after being admitted, I was fully dilated and at 4 am  Friday morning I began to push.

I pushed, pooped, peed, and grunted for nearly 3 hours with very little progress.  She just wouldn't move and her heart rate went up into the 200's.  The nurse and midwife decided it was time to stop and call in the doctor again to either try forceps/vacuum or C-section.  As soon as they told me I couldn't push, I began to feel every contraction and felt frenzied with the pain and pressure.  I kept asking why I was still feeling it and why they weren't correcting it, but no one was listening or answering.  It was, after all, shift change time.

The doctor arrived and told me that due to the baby's hear rate and my blood pressure, a c-section was the safest option.  I didn't argue.  I was lost and out of control and had given up.  I felt frustrated with the lack of support I felt I received from my midwife.  I would open my eyes after pushing and everyone in the room just looked at me with expressionless faces.  I had to ask if I was pushing right.  I was, but no one told me so unless I asked.  Mike and Mom were the only ones encouraging me.  At one point it seemed like there were nurses in our room for their coffee break.  They sat chit-chatting with each other while I struggled.

The OR nurse, Marty, came in and introduced himself and he just happened to be a guy I went to school with.  He turned out to be the most positive and comforting professional I encountered.  He explained everything to me and to Mike and stopped what he was doing to hold my hand and talk me through the contractions I was still feeling.  I drank something sour that gave me instant hiccups.  I was rolled into the OR.  It was stark and bright and despite all of the people in the room, I felt scared and alone.  I remember wondering where the midwife was and caught a glimpse of her leaning against the wall.  Disconnected.

I was strapped to the table, exposed and shaved.  Not being able to move during the contractions was horrendous.  Finally I felt a cold liquid go into my back and the pain melted.  The blue sheet went up and Mike came in.  I felt every bit of pressure and some cold "zings".  Mike held my hand and refused to look over the blue sheet.  Then Marty told me there would be a lot of pressure and pulling as the baby came out.  I felt like I was going to be lifted right off the table.  One of the surgeons remarked "oh, its a girl" and then Marty announced  to us that it was a girl.  Mike and I cried and laughed and kissed, until I realized there was no cry.  Mike told me later that he was terrified as he watched  them pull long, thick strings from her mouth as she lay motionless and noiseless.  Finally her cry came and we cried again.  Marty came over and explained that she needed a little help with the oxygen to get started, but she was ok.

At this point the drugs had taken hold and I was totally stoned.  I remember a loud flat line beep you hear in movies and blanking out for a few moments.  Mike was calling my name, but I couldn't move or respond.  My tongue felt like lead and I couldn't even wiggle my big toe.

Poppy was taken to the nursery and I swear I told Mike to go with her, but he says I asked him to stay with me.  I don't remember him leaving.  I was then rolled to recovery where I slowly crept out of my stupor.  The nurses were rough while pulling bandages off and wiping away blood.  Every time I thought about Poppy, I fought back tears I needed to know she was ok and to hold her.  Other recovery patients rolled in and gurgled out of their own stupors.  After an endless hour I was rolled into my room to my baby and husband and began breastfeeding. 

And so began a new journey.

I was hooked up to IV pumping antibiotics pain meds into my veins and a catheter draining my bladder until Saturday morning when I begged the nurse to get clearance to unhook me.  I broke out in hives from the blood pressure cuff and adhesives used.  Every part of my body was swollen.  We didn't get discharged until Monday and was wakened every morning by a nurse taking my blood.  The nurses were all very kind and reassuring, but we were ready for home.

Pregnancy was not what I expected nor was labour, but motherhood and I feel like old friends.  I know nothing but warmth and contentment when I look at my wee little daughter.  Breastfeeding, though challenging, has come naturally for both of us and she has managed to pork up to 10 pounds 3 ounces as of one week ago when they only expected her to be back up to her birth weight of 8 pounds 12 ounces.   She hardly ever cries or fusses and always coos in her sleep.  She loves a bath and diaper change and we feel such pride for every bowel movement, burp and fart.  I have managed to magically lose 30 pounds and managed to squeeze into Mike's jeans today.  I look forward to wearing my own jeans again soon, but for now I am just  happy to wear denim without lycra.  

 I already feel time slipping by too quickly as days bleed into weeks and I wonder how I am going to find a way to stay home with her for good.

e.

And so that was our "dance".  I can't help but feel a little robbed of the empowerment and feel a hot jealousy when I hear about other women's beautiful and uncomplicated experiences.  So now I am faced with the decision of going with a planned c-section and the guilt that goes along with that or trying for a VBAC with the possibility of a repeat of my first experience at an even higher risk if it were to end in an emergency c-section.  No one gave me an explanation as to why Poppy wouldn't descend and why my blood pressure flew up in the last moments.  I don't feel at peace with either of my options, but know I will have to find peace at some point over the next 9 months.

Ultimately, we are so excited and I must admit that my ovaries ached each and every time I read SouleMama's blog as I dream so often of a bustling home of lively and happy sprites.  We spend many nights and car rides discussing names and have decided that life is far too short for common names.

Last night as I tried to get Poppy to sleep, the soft sweet scent of lilacs lingered around me.  In the dead of winter and with the earth covered in an unforgiving blanket of snow and ice I couldn't deny the comforting smell with no known source.  Despite the frustrations of a baby girl who only fights sleep at bedtime; despite my fears of inadequacy as the mother of two that I soon will be; despite the vague queasy feeling I get when I think of squash soup {the first food aversion in this pregnancy}; and despite the decisions that have to be made, I went to sleep with the scent of lilacs on the still night air and it was lovely.

e.

 

Better late than never...

I have a confession to make.

We have only just begun using cloth diapers.  When I say that, I mean mere days ago.  We inherited a large bag of various types of cloth diapers from a couple of Mike's lovely co-workers.  I had every intention of beginning to use them within the first month or two of babyhood.  After all, babies alone are enough to figure out without the many facets of cloth diapering thrown into the mix.  When the weather warmed up I washed, sorted, and hung the inherited diapers on the line, but I still remained confused as to how these ones worked and so continued on with the disposables.

Months have passed and I felt sick with every package of disposables we fired through.  We would sit in the aisles grimacing at the idea of throwing more money into a landfill.  I was fully aware that the savings in the long run were substantial, but most stores we visited suggested the start up cost would be around $900 dollars.  The diapers would pay for themselves and then some over the course of their lives, but it didn't change the fact that $15 to $20 every week was easier on our bank account in the short term.

Then one day, I was finally done feeling guilty with each diaper change and began seriously researching the world of cloth diapers.  I found some great sellers on Etsy and was comparing two sellers in particular.  I could get 24 AIO (all in one) one size {birth to potty training} diapers with 24 free reusable wipes for $240 plus shipping through this seller, and the same from this sellerfor $365 plus shipping.  I then decided to make my way over to Ebay where I found 24 AIO cloth diapers for $128 with free shipping. 

Sold.

This company is in China and the decision to purchase from this seller may have been less than ethical or even environmentally savvy.  That being said we don't always have the luxury of choosing handmade, local, and organic items as those often seem to be much more expensive choice and as a family trying to cut costs so that I may stay home, the decision was made to go the more economical route.  I am a big believer in supporting the tiny shops and the environmentally responsible, but when it comes down to this transaction, I saved well over $100 and am now creating much less waste for many years to come.  I think now that we are set up, I will be able to buy lovely and more local diapers in the future.

The transition to cloth has been interesting and we are still trying to find our groove and comfort levels.  The first day we had her in them we had an astonishing number of teething/prune induced poops and so, after the 12th poopy diaper, we felt a little overwhelmed. 

Yesterday, I  went to our local baby boutique and picked up some bamboo inserts {$4 each} to go inside the three covers I had purchased when I had no idea what I was doing and will try those soon too.  I would also like to visit our local Recycled Kids store to see if they have any second hand diapers.

So far cloth diapering  is not nearly as intimidating as one might think.  You have to change them more often and wash them when you need more, but we have enough to last us 2 to 3 days at least with 24 AIOs plus 3 covers with inserts.  So far, the hardest part for me is looking at the fresh white fleece being smeared with poop and hoping it comes out in the wash.  I am sure it will be easier when the novelty wears off.

I will keep you posted on our progress and I would love to gather links for future diaper buying if you care to share your suppliers and favorites. 

I always love hearing about your experiences!

e.

What I know for sure...

 

In less than two weeks, Poppy will be nine months old.  Nearly enough time has passed to make another baby, and the more I look at this little person, I realize just how different she is from the tiny lump we brought home; that she is in fact a "new baby".  Though pregnancy and labour were not at all what I had hoped for or envisioned, my heart aches a little to have those tiny sleepy days back.  And yet, I wouldn't trade these precious days of giggles and movement for anything. 

The upcoming milestone has brought me to a place of contemplation; contemplation of what has happened, what is to come, and what I would have done differently.  And so, I thought I would compile as many of my thoughts and lessons, as well as some of Poppy's milestones, into one blog post as possible.  We all have different values, priorities, and beliefs and the words below are what I know to be true for our own experiences only. 

Poppy and Her Milestones:

• On March 19th, Poppy gave her first real smile to Daddy.
• On June 25th, she gave mama her first giggle and rolled over on her own
• On July 10th, we found out she could sit up with out any help.
• On July 13th, she gobbled her first bit of organic rice cereal.
• On August 1st she stood up in her playpen.
• On September 27th, she made "mama" her first word and later in the evening made "Dada" her second word.
• On September 28th, she balanced on all fours, and has since mastered the art of crawling.
• She flirts with the notion of walking and carefully steadies herself on a chair or our hands, lets go and then vibrates with joy when she finds herself standing alone.
• She realized the joy of having daddy "chase" her as she crawls away squealing, giggling, and looking back often to make sure he is still following her.
• Just this Tuesday we awoke to find she had cut her first tooth without even an ounce of crankiness, fever, or drooling.
• People often comment to us in long lineups and waiting rooms how pleasant she is and ask if she is always this delightful to which we always beam and reply with a smiling yes.  And those eyes!  Not a stranger will glance at her without commenting on those brilliant blue inquisitive eyes.

Being a mother is my highest calling in this lifetime.

At the risk of sounding trite, I love everything about being a mama.  I love breastfeeding, attachment parenting, co-sleeping/bed sharing.  As someone who struggled most of her life to find a career that fit, I am happy to know that mama-hood is the job for me.  Though I have my moments of sheer frustration and exhaustion, I recover quickly and feel incomplete when I am away from my little family for any amount of time.  I have not once wished that I could escape or turn back time.  The transition has been a sweet one and teaches me everyday what I will and won't stand for {both as a mother and as a woman}.

I have discovered a deep love and reward for breastfeeding. 

I knew the endless benefits of breastfeeding, but the very thought of it made me squeamish.  I had no idea it could feel this natural and make me feel so connected and necessary even though I am a huge believer in following our body's lead and nature always knowing best.  Despite my irrational and unexplained nervousness about it, I knew without a doubt that I would commit myself to it for the minimum of a year because it would be healthiest, for my baby and myself.  This isn't to say it was always pretty or romantic what with engorged breasts, blocked ducts, bleeding, and toe curling pain, but it has been worth it and I am entirely committed to it. 

A dear friend said to me just the other week that there comes a time when you grow up and stop putting yourself first and that time is when you become a parent.  This isn't to say you are no longer of importance, but that when a child is involved you set aside immaturities and decide to communicate, and you do things that are uncomfortable because they are for the greater good.  It is what you sign up for.

We have learned that so many items labeled as baby "must haves" are highly overrated.

We tried our best to not buy into the commercial lists printed on registries and magazines, but through taking advice from well-meaning friends and acquaintances and a little bit of guesswork we ended up with a lot of items we could do without.  

The Overrated:

Cribs {night time nursing is so much easier when co-sleeping}
Strollers {though handy at times it is more often not so}
Baby Swings
Endless amounts of receiving blankets
Baby Tubs
Changing Pads
Plastic Toys {why bother when pots, pans, wooden spoons, remotes and phones are much more attractive and entertaining anyway}
Shoes
Baby Trainers and their books
Bathing suits {the birthday suit always fits}

The Essentials:

A good quality sling or carrier.  {Best.  Investment.  Ever.}
Sleepers
Cold weather clothing {hats, coats, socks, mitts, etc}
A bassinet {I found a beautiful sea grass bassinet for $10 at our local Value Village}
A camera
Dr. Sears'  collection of books
A highchair
Baby gates and/or a playpen
Bibs
Baby washcloths

Advice I would give if ever asked:

Put down the parenting and training books.  Follow your baby’s lead.  Honour the wise little spirits within them.  Babies are not burdened by social filters and know exactly what they want and need.  Pick them up when they reach for you.  Comfort them when they cry.  Help them sleep when they don't know how to stop moving long enough to do it themselves.  Teach them that they can trust you so that they can explore the wide world wholeheartedly with you safely at their back.  Love and listening does not spoil a child.

 

What I hope to give Poppy and our future children:

It is very important for me to stay home with Poppy (and any other babes we may have).  We really want to homeschool/unschool {I would love any links or reccomendations on these topics if you care to share...especially Canadian resources!}.  Mostly, I want her to listen to her gut and instincts.  So many things in my life could have been different if I had listened to my heart and done what I wanted rather than doing what others thought to be suitable.  I want to foster that trust of self as much as I can so that she/they may realize her own dreams and potential.  I think everything else falls into place if you have a strong sense of self.

 

e.

Bonjour

We have returned from a most lovely Quebec City.  We had a wonderful time eating croissants and wandering the cobblestone roads and narrow streets.  The Chateau glowed as though it were some magical castle upon a hill as we meandered the foggy boardwalk at dusk.  It wasn't hard to imagine we were in Paris and we couldn't help feeling slightly envious of the city's inhabitants.  Every street with its very own soundtrack of harps and song.  We ate breakfast beside open windows with the clip-clop of horse's hooves outside.  Even the simplest greetings sounded like happy french songs to our english ears.  Everyone we encountered spoke english and sadly never challenged us to speak french. 

I couldn't help but feel a little disappointed with myself for retaining barely an ounce of the french I took in school everyday for 10 years or more.  How lame.  So Mike and I made a pact that we would make it our goal to learn the language once and for all; a goal we have both hoped to one day fulfill.

It was a lovely trip, but my heart ached for home.  You see, we recently inherited enough furniture and items from Gramma's house to refurnish our living room and beyond.  A couch and two antique chairs, a craft cabinet spattered with paint.  A spinning wheel and huge amounts of un-spun wool.  Cameras, jars, books and blankets.  I find myself burying my face into the cushions and blankets trying to commit the scent to memory as I know it will soon fade.  Salty tears mix with a pain I never knew takes my breath away when I realize I will never smell it again.  So I sleep under her blankets, knit in her chair and cook with her pans and quietly hope that she will one day visit Poppy with a message of love.

I finally rid our kitchen of teflon and plastic cooking utensils and began using Gramma's cast iron frying pan.  My eyes welled up as I made our first dinner and the heat released the smell of Gramma's cooking and home into my own kitchen.  Like the rings of a tree tells the tree's story, cast iron holds a homemaker's tale in its seasoned layers.

I don't know if it is the season or the comfortable antique chairs calling me to sit for a spell, but I am nesting like never before.  I have mentioned before that this house has felt impermanent to me, but with the addition of Gramma's things it somehow feels more complete and welcoming now.  I feel energized and rooted here now.  I sit in her chair and reacquaint myself with knitting projects tossed aside in the young days of spring.

Yesterday Mike and I made 11 jars of spicy salsa from our very own tomatoes (barely making a dent in the abundance) and 4 jars of organic apple butter.  I now know the sweet satisfaction of snapping lids of the resting jars.  I think we shall buy a preserve cupboard at the Farmer's Market for our treasures.

The end of my paid maternity leave is looming and I fight the panicky feeling in the pit of my stomach when I think of it so today will be dedicated to Etsy shop construction craft show searching.  There is something exciting and freeing about challenging ourselves to a frugal and simple life though.  I can't deny the thrill I get when I make something with my own hands or change an overripe banana's destiny to that of warm banana bread.  It is as though my body holds onto some sort of cell memory that responds and swells when I busy my hands and heart with the fading arts of homemaking.

I am exactly where I am meant to be.  I am grateful and perfectly happy.  I will begin to weave while trusting the Universe to provide me with the thread I need.  I trust this sated warm feeling in the pit of my belly to be contentment {finally} in fulfilling a life purpose.

P.S. See more of our trip photos here!

e.

I have begun reading Feeding the Whole Family by Cynthia Lair and am loving the intuitive, back-to-basics advice within its smooth cover.

It is, however, bringing to light just how many unhealthy food habits we still carry around.  After everything I have read, all the things I know, the documentaries I have watched, and despite my father and step mom being generous organic farmers I still struggle with eating right; I am still at war with these clingy, unhealthy pounds.

During pregnancy, I ballooned and was 55 pounds heavier by the final day.  I had good intentions and promised myself I would eat whole foods, green foods, nutrient dense foods.  I promised dad to eat all organic meat and to let him know when our freezer needed re-stocking.  I vowed to walk everyday.  The first 6 weeks were fine.  We toasted almonds and made a delicious spinach salad every night.  I always envisioned myself to be a glowing goddess when pregnant, but when pregnancy reality hit, it hit hard.  I was shipwrecked and plagued with constant nausea.  I craved comfort and "reward" foods of childhood days; things like alphaghetti, and kraft dinner became sad dietary staples.  The scent of the toasted almonds and spinach made my stomach churn and head spin.  I forbade Mike to make it in my presence again.  Pregnancy played evil tricks on me and I spent most of that summer on the floor or in bed with a sour stomach eating popsicles, grapes, and apples.

The nausea stuck with me for most of my pregnant days and I continued to grow, sleep and eat while Mike ran and shrank (nearly 40 pounds) and medicated me with food.  All of the things I had feared and hoped against had found me.  The lack of exercise and nutrients led to bouts of crying and dull depression and the cycle continued.

Today, I have managed to lose 42 pounds fairly effortlessly due to breast feeding and a more varied diet without aversions or cravings.  Though I am still eating a far from ideal diet.

I, in no way, want to make this blog about weight or weight loss, but it is an inevitable part of my journey.  In order to live an authentic and healthful life, I yearn to find balance in all areas of my life.  A great deal of my self-hate stems from my sub-par care of self.  This isn't something that I want to pass onto Poppy.  I want her to be in tune with her body's signals and needs and follow her intuition.  I don't to restrict her as forbidden fruit is always the most attractive, but I want to empower her to to make the right decisions. Until this morning, as I read Feeding the Whole Family, I was living in some sort of dream world in which I feed Poppy organic and homemade foods while I eat things I would never dream of giving her.  The day will come that she realizes we are eating different things and an unnecessary war begins.

Don't get me wrong, I love to cook, I love to bake, I love fruits and veggies, and there are very few foods that I refuse to eat.  We eat mainly organic meat and more veggies and fruits than most.  We drink water and rarely have pop in the house.  We avoid artificial sweeteners at all costs.  I love quinoa, and brown rice and never turn down herbs and spices.  Yet, I still cling to this unhealthy love affair with food; a part emotional, part physical addiction.

This book and new way of viewing things may just be the stepping stone I need.  You see, I have been a terrible friend to myself as I constantly make promises and then break them days or hours later.  Perhaps by doing this for Poppy it will be given a new sense of urgency and importance from which we will both benefit.

My goals

• Eat strictly organically produced meat, eggs, and dairy
• Greatly reduce processed sugars, high fructose corn syrup in daily foods
• Eat more legumes and grains
• Make from scratch the daily meals and snacks
• Limit or eliminate completely, sugar, pop, and processed convenience foods
• Participate in walking, swimming, light weights, jogging, yoga, and or meditation at least 5 times per week

Of course life will take hold at certain times and convenience will win.  We will eat birthday cakes and indulge ourselves in a pop {organic or not} or two.  We will undoubtedly eat Tony's pizza on hot days and at some fast food joint along highway 401 during a long road trip.  But with a good foundation all will not be lost.

e.

P.S. If you have some yummy and healthy recipes you would like to share, please email them to me at [email protected]!

As you can see in the above photo, we have decided to give "solid" food a go with Poppy.  It was an instant hit as she quickly gobbled down the organic brown rice mush with a happy, full body tremble.  Now I would love some advice from those well seasoned mamas out there who have already made this transition from full time breast milk to the wide world of solids.

Next Monday she will be 5 months old, but she was giving me every indication that she was ready for something more substantial.  Though I was excited to start, I didn't want to rush the food thing; I know that there will be plenty of time for food and that these quiet moments of mama and her girl nursing are short and sweet in the grand scheme of it all.  She began feeding almost hourly and went from sleeping a solid 5 to 7 hours each night after cluster feeding {something she has done from the beginning} to cluster feeding and still waking after only 2 or 3 hours.  My gut was telling me she was ready for more.

Now most of the advice I have read is about babies who don't take to the solids right away and advise to start with a teaspoon and nurse her afterwords.  At her first meal, she ate a tablespoon in five minutes.  This morning she ate 2 tablespoons.  For now, we will feed her cereal in the morning and at night and wait a few days before introducing new foods.

So these are my questions:

How long do I do this for?  How do I know that she is getting enough breast milk?  How do I know when she wants/needs cereal or to nurse?  Is it too early to give her homemade veggies and fruits?  I really have no idea how to make sure there is a balance of cereal, fruits, veggies, meats, and boobie juice.  Do I just introduce a new food every few days until we are up to the recommended amounts listed below? 

In the book that I bought {Better Baby Food} it says for 6 to 9 months of age to:

Nurse on demand. 

2 to 4 tablespoons of iron fortified cereal twice daily.  

1 to 3 tablespoons mashed or strained meat, tofu, or legumes per day.

4 to 6 tablespoons mashed veggies per day.

6 to 7 tablespoons mashed fruits per day.

1 to 2 tablespoons yogurt, cottage cheese, etc per day {though I thought you weren't supposed to give cow's milk before 12 months}

Now I understand that she won't be eating all of this from day one, but this seems like a lot.  How many times per day will I likely be breastfeeding?  I have a feeling she will take to foods very quickly and only nurse for comfort or sleep, but is this enough?  Why am I having such a hard time sorting this out and finding so many contradicting information?  Can anyone recommend a good book or resource?  Soule Mama uses the book Feeding the Whole Family and a food mill {I purchased this one, but may return it as it seems flimsy}and swears that is all you will need.  I am looking for simple, homemade, and organic food and solutions as I seem to have a knack for complicating things.

Any advice, resources, anecdotes, schedules, tips, etc you can pass onto this confused mama would be greatly appreciated! 

Thanks in advance.

e.

P.S. See next post for It Begins with a Colour...

Poppy Mama Love

 

e&p

To My Dearest and Oldest of Souls Poppy Anne;

One year ago today we found out we were expecting you.  One year ago today, we sat in the upstairs hallway counting the seconds, smiling nervous smiles, while a pee stick sat waiting on the bathroom counter with its answer.  One year ago today, as the awkward kid named Allen with red hair and pants that were too short mowed our jungle lawn, daddy and I hugged, laughed and shrieked in disbelief that your life had already begun.  You were on your way and we were going to be your parents.

We spent many days and nights talking about what you might look like or who you may act like, but we never could have imagined the perfection that you are.  Is it even possible that you are more perfect than out hearts' desires?

Tomorrow you are going to be sixteen weeks old and we have been told you are an old soul {as if we didn't already know}.   Your eyes and demeanor are that of an old, calm soul.  You are teaching us things we haven't learned in our 29 and 31 years. 

You have dark hair that kinks and waves when it gets wet and a big bald spot on the back of your head that squeaks it is so hairless.  You love bath time with mommy and are always upset when daddy takes you out.  You are tolerant and content most days, though there are those when you need to be held a little more, assured one more time, and showed things from our height,so I stop what I am doing to honour that; knowing that your days of growing independence loom close. 

You love to eat, and gain weight like its your job.  You have been wearing 6 month outfits for about a month now.  You love to be held, but not scrunched.  You like to stand up and look out on your wild and wonderful world; drink it all in.  You love new places and spend many hours in quiet alertness; until hunger strikes at which time you break into a very dramatic and heart wrenching cry if we miss the early signs and signals.  Though you sometimes catch your thumb to suck on, you prefer your fingers, often two or three at a time.  Your eyes are still like big blueberries rimmed with long luscious lashes.  Daddy knows he is yours to wrap around your tiny little finger.  You fidget and grunt  when you're tired like your daddy.  You spend most of your day smiling and on the verge of a giggle; oh how we wait for that first giggle.

We are quite sure, though some may say we are biased, that you are the coolest, chillest baby there ever was and ever will be.  Daddy and I have a deep love for each other that we now share with you.  We vow to show you and act from that love everyday. 

You have awakened the mama bear inside of me and made me realize that all of the cliches are true; I would give my life to save yours; time does go too fast; and I would stop at nothing to ease your pain.  You have given me new strength and resolve to be everything I have been putting off; my every action since that fateful day exactly one year ago has been for you and will continue to be.

Thank you for choosing us and teaching us the way beautiful baby bird; our wise and wonderful Poppy Anne.  We are blessed.

Love Always,

mama bird & papa bird

P.S. MIZPAH ::God keep watch 'tween thee and me::

Poppy’s middle name is Anne.  She was named after my Dad’s mother Anna and Anne of Green Gables.   About three weeks after Poppy Anne’s birth my Gramma passed away.  Due to vascular dementia she had been fading from reach for about five years now; she wasn’t the Gramma I remembered.  Her physical presence was a comfort, though her decline was difficult to witness.  In the end she suffered a very sudden stroke and was almost instantly unresponsive to the outside world.  Just like that, without another waking word for this world, she slipped away from us.  The loss has been excruciating.  Amazingly, dad and Janet brought her to the hospital the day Poppy Anne was born and the generations gazed into each other’s eyes if only once.

Now the time has come to sell her home and divide her belongings.  She lived on a 50 acre lot which was severed from the original 300 acre farm.  This is the lot that my parents put their trailer; where I was born; where they began and ended their lives together.  When my dad remarried they brought in a house on a huge truck and laid it down where the trailer once stood.  I continued to spend summers and weekends there.  I remember trying to make friends with the chipmunks living in the wood pile.  When Janet and dad decided to move to another farm about an hour and a half away, Gramma and Grampa moved from the farmhouse to this house.  This space continued to play a solid role in my life as I visited often.

We were offered the opportunity of buying the house on 50 acres.  It would be a lovely spot to raise Poppy.  It has a beaver pond, forest, a workshop, a broken down chicken coop, a garden, raspberries, and lilacs.  Unfortunately it is an hour and a half from Mike’s work and we are in no position to buy a new house.  So I let go of the house and hold tight to the memories.

We arrived on Saturday.  The trees and vines are now unruly and the gardens unkempt.  I went to her room to nurse Poppy as soon as we arrived and was grateful for the time to take it all in.  Her hairbrushes lay on the counter with her jewelry in a perfect still life.  Cards and photos of landscapes and flowers scattered about; paintings that will never be painted.  Lying on the bed beside her wedding photo was a secondhand book I gave her one Christmas.  It was open to February 20th {Poppy’s birthday}.

I spent my entire childhood moving.  Changing schools, barely enough time to make new friends or find my role within the ridiculous hierarchy that exists in schools.  I seemed to be living out of suitcases every second weekend and summer vacations.  This house and space was the closest thing to a home base that I have ever had.  I was a lonely only child who was very aware of people’s reactions and feelings.  I spent many hours weeping in the hayloft with the kittens and puppies praying for companionship.

Gramma’s passing and letting go of this house has made me realize where many of my happy childhood memories came from.  I remember her baking and the yeasty sweetness of the house.  I remember shaking apples from trees and swimming in Grampa's homemade swimming pool that smelled like warm railroad ties.  I remember walks to the beaver pond and cross country skiing across the fields to the farmhouse.  I remember hours spent at the kitchen table playing with paints and fabrics.  I remember being allowed to stay up late while eating fruit dipped in yogurt.  I remember watching her card yarn and spin it on the spinning wheel.  I remember reading books about ghosts and natural remedies.  I remember dark chocolate.  I remember days at the beach with a picnic basket full of corn on the cob, potato salad, and chicken.  I remember mornings of hot oatmeal and crepes filled with homemade plum jam.  I remember watching painting shows and old movies.  I remember her fascination with Reader’s Digest.  I remember watching her paint.  I remember her love of birds and talking to the chickadees in a sing-song voice "heeeeeere pheeeeobeee".  I remember drying flowers and collecting poppy seeds from her garden.  I remember late Christmas Eves and Easter bean soup with buns and hand painted eggs.  I remember watching her weathered hands bake.  I remember sleepovers with my cousins.  I remember long games of monopoly and battleship.

These memories have made me reevaluate what counted as a child.  Perhaps it was different because I was an only child, but all I wanted was for someone to imagine and explore with.  All of my parents were in a position that required them to work full time and then some.  I was sent to day camps which, I am sure, was not cheap.  I know it was done with loving intentions, but it only exaggerated the fact that I was alone and different.  My best memories continue to be the ones spent with the creative matriarchs of my family.  Those artful days and holidays spent with Gramma and Aunt Cheryl sustained me.   Are we the last generation to know the traditional grandmother and mother? 

If any of you wonder where my deep convictions to stay home are rooted, this is your answer.  Don’t get me wrong, I know I was loved and everyone was doing the best they could with the situation at hand.  Divorce is never easy.  Ever.  I am not ungrateful, I am simply stating the facts of what this child remembers.  My childhood was lonely and scary for more reasons than I care to share despite everyone trying to smooth it out and make it ok.  I saw through the ripples and felt the conflict and worry.   I am grateful for every effort made and every person in my life; each with their own lesson.  Regrets and guilt are always pointless.  What we have is now.  I am sure Gramma made mistakes as a parent; I also know she suffered things no mother ever should and managed to carry on.  And I know I will make mistakes as a parent; it is a hazard of the job.  But, in a sense, I think we fix our own childhoods with our own children while grandparents find a second chance in the lives of their grandchildren.  

I realize now that it was Gramma who planted these deep roots of want; these images and ideals of an artful mama picking blackberries along the roadside and teaching her children the traditional and fading arts of nature and creation.  So in the light of memories and gratitude, and in rememberance of a well lived life, I vow to be a strong and loving presence in my children’s lives.  I vow to take Poppy’s lead.  I vow to take her seriously and see life and wonder through her eyes.  I vow to help her find her own rhythm.  I vow to get lost in drawing and make believe lands.  I vow to be patient.  I vow to take the time now.  I vow to be the tree she can always come home to.  

 
 {above photo by Diane Harrington-Kelly}

Farewell Gramma. 

You are loved.
Thank you for the lessons in kindness and grace.
May you be as free as the birds you loved so dearly. 
 
e.