February 2017 - pnw mountain mommy

As you may or may not know, for the purposes of this blog I have given both my son and husband a nickname in an effort to keep their lives semi private. I did this not because they asked, but because this is a blog from my point-of-view, and it seems respectful to allow them a little distance. But, let’s be real, I also did it because how cute are pet names? My husband, Big Radish, got his nickname due to his profession (chef) and the beautiful radish tattoo on his forearm (he has a lot of very nice tattoos, btw).

As I see the impending pinks and reds of Valentine’s Day approaching, I feel the need to say a little something about the fella I have chosen to spend my life with. Big Radish and I have been together for five years, and will have been married for two, come August. He is the epitome of what I need in a partner. The man is patient, has a sense of humor, knows how to calm me down with a rational mind which helps reel back my anxious-hypochondriac-worst-case-scenario mentality. He is a perfect counterpoint to my neurosis. He is also the kind of father who looks forward to coming home so much he can barely contain his excitement when he calls me from work to say he’s on his way. He lives for Little Bear and I, and if he could, he would get up every hour to feed our son if it meant he would be helping me out. Of course, as the one with the boobs, I save the interrupted sleep for myself.

I don’t mean for this to sound like bragging, except, it’s totally bragging. I find myself extra mushy because Big Radish is out of town for the next few days, effectively missing that oh-so-cheesy holiday. To be fair, we really don’t celebrate Valentine’s Day, as the whole thing seems a bit prepackaged and sappy (no offence, holiday-heeding lovebirds). However, it is not unheard of that we throw an extra ‘I love you’ or maybe an off-the-cuff nice dinner at home in observance. So, with him gone, I feel it a little more than perhaps I would have previously. Typically, both he and I would be working on Valentines anyhow, as for service industry folks the whole holiday is a bit of a cash cow. Though, let me tell you, it’s no walk in the park. I could go into a whoooooole thing about how trying to get the attention of people making googly eyes at one another is nearly impossible or How. Many. Fights. go down in public on this most gushy of days, but, I digress…

Big Radish is away on a boy’s trip with his best friend. They do this trip every year. The two of them meet in Denver and they spend a few days skiing and catching up. When I was still pregnant, Big Radish had inquired if it would be alright if he still went, and if I had any issue with the idea that he would skip the whole shebang. I told him of course he should go. We both agreed that one boys trip and one girls trip a year is completely reasonable. It is a way for us to reconnect to those people we love while simultaneously trusting our partner to take care of the baby. That sort of trust may not seem like a big deal, but it is.

This is the first time I’ve had to solo parent for an entire day and night. My mother-in-law has been kind enough to come down and keep me company for a couple days so it’s not terribly impressive on my end, BUT, last night was my first night that I was all by myself with Little Bear. It took a long time for me to finally get him down, and he was up every two hours, but you know what? I did it. I feel like a total bad ass wonder momma. When I told Big Radish about it I could tell he was proud but he also never had a doubt in his mind that I could handle it.

I had enough doubts for both of us.

But, I handled it. I didn’t just handle it, I really knocked it out of the park. I am capable of doing this. I am capable of doing this because I’m a good mom, even if I don’t know what I’m doing half the time. I’m a good mom because I have a partner who believes in me, supports me, and gives me the confidence to tackle these things without feeling like I’m flailing.

So, Dear Big Radish,

I love you. I miss you. I hope you’re tearing up those slopes and I hope you and your boy are having one too many beers and giggling (in a very manly way). I know you miss me, and you miss Little Bear, but we’re doing fine. We’re doing better than fine. I mean, he’s only peed on me twice and spit up down my shirt once, so…

Happy Valentine’s Day, you sexy piece of produce.

See? Alive! That’s right! Sooooo alive!

We did it! We kept a baby alive for three whole months! And not only that, he seems to be doing quite well. I’m not going to pretend like it was all a perfectly natural, no hiccup experience. Not to say it hasn’t become second nature, because it has. My ‘new normal’ is getting very used to interrupted sleep, greasy hair, a general sheen of spit up on myself, my house, my husband, and my dog. However, mild sloppiness aside, you guys, we kept my baby alive for three whole months!

When we brought him home I was quite open about the fact that I was not qualified to have a newborn. I am an only child who grew up without knowing any children younger than me. I didn’t hold my first baby until I was twenty-eight, and the whole time I was convinced I was going to drop/break/scar him for life. But here I was, after an almost forty-eight-hour labor, followed by an emergency C-section. They handed me a bundled up Little Bear, I slid into the wheelchair, and Big Radish rolled me to the car.

Little Bear leaves the hospital.

The subsequent month was challenging… to put it mildly. Sleep disruption turns me, apparently, into a monster. Big Radish had to put up with a lot of snarky, half-asleep comments and grumbling whimpers. To his credit, the man was and has been an absolute rock. Without him I don’t even know how I would have made it through the beginning stages of this crazy journey. Breastfeeding hurt so much. For the first few days I wasn’t producing enough, and for the first week and a half I couldn’t latch him properly. What ensued was a lot of silent crying as I spent forty-five minutes trying to get Little Bear onto a nipple and then once he was finished eating I’d have about an hour before I had to feed him again. I dreaded it. This was not what I was led to believe breastfeeding would be like. I got so irritated when people would tell me ‘I think he’s hungry’ or ‘looks like he could use some milk’! Because I knew it meant another agonizing hour trying to get him to latch and then trying to bear the pain of his firm little jaws snapping down to feed. Not to mention, I would leave to feed him in the nursery, effectively keeping myself isolated to figure it out in a haze of exhaustion, frustration, and a pervading sense of failure.

But, like everyone always says, it gets better with time. I also had an excellent one-husband-cheer-squad. Not to mention the benefit of a full month of help from my in-laws and parents. That being said, those first two weeks when people would say by the second month everything would be a lot easier, I thought there was, absolutely, no way I was going to make it that long. My nipples ached, I wasn’t sleeping, my hormones were insane and I dreaded feeding my child or picking a fight with the equally tired Big Radish. But, they were right. I met with a lactation consultant, my milk came in like gangbusters, I figured out how to latch him on the first try, my nipples toughened up, and my hubby praised me constantly for my relentless effort. Those first two weeks were the scariest two weeks of my life. I didn’t think I was cut out to be a mother, I was so afraid my husband and family thought so too. But I started getting the hang of things. Little Bear didn’t need as many feedings, he started sleeping longer, and we started feeling each other out.

Fast forward to today. Little Bear is three months old. You guys, I kept a baby alive for three whole months. Now? We have little routines, little moments that we share, little looks and coos and touches that speak to a growing sense of familiarity and fondness. I’ve created little games for his expanding mind, I read to him every day, and we dance around the house instead of doing the dishes. This has been the craziest quarter of a year I’ve ever had. And I don’t just mean in the sense of motherhood. I mean, I became a mother, I watched an election go horribly wrong, I started writing again, I became addicted to my morning cup of coffee, I allowed myself to be vulnerable, I cried, I raged, I leaned on my husband more than I ever had, I surrendered, and I became who I am now.

Who am I now? I’m a mom, a child co-creator, and an environmental educator to my kiddo and those kiddos I can reach through this medium. I worry, I laugh, I fear for the climate in this country and I mean that in both senses of the word. But here we are! Three months! Little Bear is a bundle of health and exploration, and I’m a bundle of coffee, the occasional beer, a good podcast, and a whole bunch of dance moves.

Here’s to the next three months!

We snuggle… a lot.

Archives for February 2017

Love Letter to a Radish

We Kept a Baby Alive for Three Whole Months!