It’s been said that to have a baby is to “decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.” O has only celebrated 4 birthdays, but I’ll be honest, they always hit me right in the feels.
Somewhere right around 8:54am on this day 4 years ago, I was surrounded by a team of doctors and nurses in an OR after they “crashed” my delivery. I was shaking so much that my teeth chattered, and crying so hard that the anesthesiologist took pity on me, removing and wiping off my glasses while I was otherwise strapped to the table. I was whispering on a loop — I think inaudibly — “please, please, please, please, please.” A million simultaneous wishes for one outcome: please let the baby be okay. I will give anything; please just let the baby be okay.
In what I think is a psychological defense mechanism, I now view this memory as if outside myself, and it culminates in O’s anguished cries mixing with my relieved sobs. The nurse holds the red, wailing infant out for me to see and tells me not to worry; his swelling from his dramatic exit will “go down in a few days.” I continue sobbing, “what swelling?? He’s *sob* so *sob* beautiful.”
Sometimes I feel alone telling this story. I scrounge for words or similes or expressions to describe the fear, and they are — without fail — always inadequate. But the sad, or remarkable, or horrific part is I’m not alone in these types of parenting moments.
We had another close call with O just a few months ago. I’m not ready to put it all in writing because I can’t get past the image of my then 3-year-old’s light-up Spiderman shoes peeking out from behind the paramedic as they lifted him into an ambulance on a stretcher. But the danger passed; he came home. Days later, however, I still found myself periodically locked in the bathroom in order to have an uninhibited ugly cry where my kids couldn’t see me.
I reached out to a friend who has a child that combated and defeated the real deal: pediatric cancer. I spilled my guts, sheepishly acknowledging how insensitive it felt comparing this 36-hour episode to the sustained trauma she and her daughter were/are living through, but I had to know: how did she get through a day without being physically nauseated at the memory of her child in peril? She sent me a thoughtful, honest reply, highly recommending a good “shower cry” and assuring me that over time, I would be able to accept that he’s okay. When I tearfully asked how I could cope with the consuming thoughts of things that might have happened, she said that “you have to try your very very best not to let your head go there. You (and me) are allowed to feel ‘lucky’ that the alternatives did not happen.” I single-mindedly focus on this sentiment even now, months later, when I have intrusive thoughts about that day.
On the day O was born, my insides were opened — both literally and figuratively. Not a single day has passed between November 18, 2017, and now when I haven’t been consciously grateful that he’s here.
To November 18th, to my sweet son, and to all of the parents who manage to simply put one foot in front of the other as their hearts go walking around outside their bodies. Cheers.
spent hours carving, but
according to our neighbor,
dave’s pumpkin’s* the best.
*see tiny face.
With Halloween around the corner, I thought I’d share 3 things that I find truly frightening.
- The news that Costco anticipates one of the next product shortages to be baby wipes.
- Walking my absent-minded, accident-prone, frenetic children through the wine section at the grocery.
- Finding an orphaned marker cap anywhere in our house.
*Shudder.*
A few things I’ve found and enjoyed on the web lately:
- Smithsonian Cheetah Cub Cam. The cubs are 6 days old. I’ve checked the cam 3x this morning so far. During those three times, the cheetah mom was always nursing. Two times, I was nursing. And one time I was standing at the counter, eating toast crusts my own cubs left behind. Solidarity, mama.
- This ad that depicts more of the reality of breastfeeding. Had to laugh (and wince a little) at this video.
- “Please stop hogging all the wolves.” Haha.
- Our favorite Halloween decoration — & our neighborhood goes big on seasonal decor so we’ve seen some stuff.
What’s this?? Two hacks in quick succession? Yes, lucky readers (all 3 of you), I’m feeling particularly helpful (& opinionated) at the moment.
Hack #3: All You’ll Really Need For Your Infant Is Whatever You Have On Hand
(aka “Baby Gear Can’t Save You, but You’ll Survive Anyhow”)
Imagine my surprise when — between my first child and my last — several new mom friends recommended “must have” items that straight up did not exist when I created my baby registry just 6 years ago. Could technology really move so fast as to substantially improve one’s ability to weather the “4th trimester” in the span of just 6 years?
Two such items I used and liked:
- The Haakaa: a silicone breast pump that exists solely to catch the “let down” on the breast opposite the one you’re using to feed Baby (amazing and depressing to see how much would go to waste otherwise).
- The Spectra breast pump: as comfortable as any pump can be, I imagine, but infinitely quieter than the model I started using in 2015. (Breast pumps now covered by insurance! Thanks, Obama.)
Every other “must have,” however, didn’t inspire me to purchase.
Case in point: the Snoo. This is a ~$1500 bassinet. It has a number of features designed to help soothe Baby back to sleep during the night. Do you know how much I would have paid for something that claimed to help my baby sleep when I was a first time mom? Any. All of it. All the money.
But this brings me to my hack: whatever you have on-hand for your infant is what you’ll get used to, and that’s all that you’ll need. Which is to say: the volume of things baby stores claim you should register for… is a total racket. I just did a quick check of the Buy Buy Baby suggested checklist and only marked 50% of these items as things I actually used/needed for any of my 4 children. No judgment of any one item… though a fair amount of confusion about why a baby food maker is a separate product from a kitchen’s existing blender, or why anyone wants to keep a diaper pail in their room vs just regularly taking the stinky diapers to the outside bin, or why Mom and Dad need separate diaper bags (because the only way to worsen the process of monitoring diaper bag contents would be to have to do it twice). Just saying, by the numbers and for my own kids, half of these items were absolutely non-essential and we never missed having them.
Using the Snoo as our case study, I’ve seen a number of online forums praising it, showcasing the app with long sleep stretches for baby as of the 6-8 week mark. To feel like reliable sleep in >90 minute increments is around the corner — it’s a glorious thing, I know. But I’m pretty sure that a baby can sleep through the night — at least metabolically speaking — once they’re > 12 lbs. I would venture to say many (most?) babies start giving longer sleep stretches right around 6 – 8 weeks. I’ll definitely vouch for my own kids, who have all been able to sleep reliably long stretches by the 8 week mark in their $75 pack ‘n play/bassinet combo. So while the Snoo may be a great piece of tech, I can’t help but feel like it’s preying on new parents by taking partial credit for a mix of Baby’s biological development and the fact that parents are more willing to let a baby practice self-soothing (read: fuss for longer before hauling one’s exhausted body out of bed… again…) 1.5+ months into the sleep deprivation gig.
Just to be clear: I have no issue with people shelling out for high quality products for their babies if means allow… smoother strollers, prettier bouncers, certainly smart bassinets. If we were having our first today, with 6 extra years of earning power than when we were first expecting, we might be inclined to do the same. And goodness knows we feel justified in the places we splurged now that we’ve gotten 4 kids worth of mileage out of these things. But I can almost feel the cliche “back in my day we didn’t have these newfangled things and our kids turned out fine!” phrases coming out of my mouth before I have to laugh that “back in my day” practices were as recently as O’s infancy, 3 years ago.
The truth is that the transition to parenthood is incredibly challenging. The gear associated with this stage, however, has very little to do with that fact, so it’s not worth sweating about being properly stocked as new parents inevitably (and unavoidably) figure out so much on the fly and establish a system as they go using what they have on-hand.
A moment of humility: we had to use our pack ‘n play up north recently and left it there, borrowing our friends’ swanky Halo bassinet to keep at home for a few weeks. This thing swivels, vibrates, plays music, makes toast (maybe; we’ve never actually turned it on). It’s beautiful and worked great until C got heavy enough and fidgety enough that he started shifting his body weight into “corners” of the peanut-shaped contraption. He’d wake up prematurely, not yet hungry but actively irritated to be cramped against the mesh lining. In case you haven’t already picked up on this, I consider waking up to a hungry infant a worthy cause to forgo sleep, but almost anything else is unacceptable. The swanky bassinet had to go.
C, 7 weeks old, slept much of the past week like this:
And just for the record, he clocked 9 hours last night.
Hack #2: Everything Is More Exciting With A Scenery Change
18 months after the pandemic began in earnest in Michigan and we are back to 2020 rituals in a lot of ways. O’s daycare class had a positive COVID case as of 6 days ago, so he’s home quarantining as a “close contact.” This means we are spending the holiday weekend keeping to ourselves and hoping we have a(nother) negative test before J and A would theoretically resume school/childcare on Tuesday.
All this to say, I am revisiting old tricks to fill the hours without… you know, interaction with the outside world. Enter this parenting hack: change out the scenery of normal events (& add snacks) to make them an exciting, half-day event in & of themselves.
3 example applications:
- Epic Walks. Grab a “snack pack” (a bag of assorted snacks that wouldn’t normally be found together – better still if you can have your kids assemble a pack themselves) & hit the road. Stroll, scoot, bike – just go, and set a meandering pace that incorporates a goal (mileage, a landmark, time before you turn back) or a game (I Spy, or Geocaching). Pro tip: make sure to bring a stroller in the event you need to lug your child’s bicycle back manually… see photo below.
- Picnic Meals. This does not have to be over-thought. Sure, a picnic can be Bento-box-style, Instagram-worthy meals on the side of a vista. OR it can be burgers enjoyed on your driveway, Lunchables consumed overlooking the neighborhood retention pond, or McDonald’s eaten from the comfort of your submarine — I’m sorry, your SUV’s trunk that turns into a submarine just for the duration of the meal.
*Drumroll for the fan favorite change of scenery:* - Drive Out Movies. This is, proudly, an event I invented after I realized the pandemic-friendly “drive in” movies started too late for my kids’ bedtimes. Our Drive Out Movie nights involve me downloading a movie to my phone, packing the boys bags of popcorn and treats, and watching the movie in the front seat of the car, parked in our own driveway. Could we watch the movie in our house on a much larger screen? Yes. Could we eat the snacks with much easier access to refills (& much less concern about crumbs) in our own living room? Yes. Could we be much more comfortably situated on a couch vs crammed with me in the driver’s seat and the two older boys sharing the passenger seat? Yes. But you better believe those Drive Out Movie nights are infinitely more memorable than regular movie nights due to novelty alone.
Chowing down and making bets on what color car would pass by next. 
We got more than a few comments from other trail walkers as we had both a tricycle and bicycle loaded on the stroller over O’s “rumble seat,” had J riding on D’s shoulders, and me carrying Scooch. 
It took >1 hour to walk .5 miles to the pond, and longer to get home. A great investment on a day otherwise in desperate need of not being cooped up at home again.
And finally, an update on parenting hack #1: still going strong.
You haven’t lived until you’ve changed a diaper while being swarmed by bees.
I regularly get comments about how the boys are “clones” of Dave. It’s not that I’m against that notion; after all, I like Dave well enough to marry him, so the idea that my sons take after him is definitely not a bad thing.
That said, I do feel as though I am grasping at straws sometimes to identify ways they are also like me. So far the list includes: O has my more adventurous dining palate, the 3 older boys have my blue eyes, and all 4 of us behave like small children with poor executive function when we’re frustrated by something inconsequential and inanimate.
However! We can add one more to the list today:
Around 6:15, J appeared next to my bed, and his proximity to my face woke me up in a quasi-startling fashion. Mind you: I have not slept a night through in many weeks now, so the idea of having my sleep interrupted by anyone other than the infant relying on me for sustenance is… pretty offensive. Fortunately for J, in my sleepy stupor, I was too tired to react other than to mutter some question about what he was doing.
J (softly): Mom, I just saw the most beautiful sunrise.
Me (shameless sucker for a sunrise): you did?
J: yeah, it was orange and yellow. It was so beautiful, Mom.
Normally this would be the moment where I’d jump out of bed and head outside to view it myself. But I repeat: it has been weeks of interrupted sleep. I did a quick mental calculation: I know the saying that “tomorrow is never promised” and therefore I should “seize the day” and behold the beauty of the sunrise. But if for some reason the apocalypse happens and there is, in fact, no sunrise tomorrow, the extra sleep in the wee hours of this morning will surely serve me better than a memorable vista.
Instead, I unlocked my phone and mumbled a request for J to take a picture for me.
He came back shortly afterwards with 2 shots of the sunrise: one “through the shades” and one “through the window.”
He may walk like his dad, talk like his dad, and certainly have a penchant for mental math like his dad, but that uncontainable excitement and appreciation for a sunrise hours before it’s polite to rouse anyone else in the house?? That is all me.
