... about this blog! I think daily about needing to follow up.
The truth is I am finding it hard to make time to sit down at my computer in peace. I have a couple other blogs for stories and photos about the kids, and I feel like I need to make sure I update those for family. This one has taken a backseat, which I hate! But I will be back soon.
Sunday, July 20, 2014
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
Realization #2: There Are Many Trials at the Teat
This is a long one-- so it'll be a two- parter.
There are lots of mom- wars out there--- let your kid cry it out, or tend to him?; use organic baby food, or go for the cheaper stuff?-- but perhaps none has stood the test of the battle as sturdily as the war of breast or bottle feeding.
When I was prego with Mabel, I didn't really know about the war at first. I knew I could boob- feed her, or I could, as my mother did for us, give her a bottle with formula. I did some preliminary research and was scared into submission. All I could gather from the many sites I slogged through was, "You better breastfeed this kid, or you'll eff her up for life." I decided I would therefore try it. But since I was still a little scared, I didn't even buy a pump, wanting to see first if I could or would commit.
In the hospital, the nurses were helpful in getting Mabel to my teat in the proper way. I remember being half- asleep, and they'd wheel her into the room in her little cart and prop her up, getting that perfect latch accomplished for me. She fed on schedule and was well- nourished, though I was having trouble doing the latches myself and was becoming sore. When trouble arose, I just rang that handy bell and in came a nurse who had the know- how. I remember one saying, "If this is too much, consider supplementing. Being a first- timer is really hard." I thought, Okay, but I think I should be able to get this down.
WRONG. Nervous to abandon my support system, I left the hospital terrified of being on my own with these "perfect latches." Mabel would cry and we'd go into the bedroom where I'd try to get her comfy on the Boppy pillow in the cross- cradle position she seemed to like. I'd tickle her mouth with the nipple, as I'd been advised, and look for the BIG gape. I knew I had to, in that millisecond, get her to latch down. Boom, her mouth would close down, and about 50 percent of the time, I'd be thinking, They said it should not be pain, just pressure. Is this pain or pressure? I don't know... Still, she seemed to be enjoying the experience so I would go with it, but most times, Mabel would come off a teat that looked like a dog's chew toy. Not my best work, but I'll get it next time. I was determined indeed.
It was probably about our third or fourth day home and I was obsessing over how much Mabel was getting at each feed. They said I should hear a swallow-- was that a swallow? They said there should not be a clicking-- was that a click, or a swallow? Why is she hungry every 30 minutes? My mom, a new mother of the late 1970s, was tireless in her pursuit of getting me to quit it and "Just fill her poor belly with some formula, for crying out loud!" But that damn guilt. What if she got Rubella because I didn't breastfeed?
And so we kept on. Now my nipples were cracked and sore and one was bloody. I was beginning to dread each feed. I was struggling with post- partum anxiety and had no appetite, so my milk supply was terrible. At this point, I decided I needed a pump. I went out to the baby store and cried the entire 20 minutes in the car-- I guess because I felt I was screwing up royally, and didn't get why all this seemed so easy for everyone else.
I'd sit in our oversized chair with the two milking devices attached to my teats, and it was truly the end of romance when J had to come over and push my boobs downward to get the milk to flow. Sometimes I would get 2 or 3 ounces-- if I was lucky. I tried hydrating more, and even bought Mother's Milk tea... but the situation was status- quo. No pun intended, I sucked at this.
It was a Friday and I was sleep- deprived and completely out of my head with every emotion I could ever feel zig- zagging around when I finally lost my marbles. I recall that my mom was there, and she and J launched a full- on "Give yourself a break" campaign. J said, "How about if we just give her a little formula?" I relented because I was that tired.
My mother bought Similac and fed Mabel a bottle while I slept. And then J fed her some more. All I can remember is that I slept and slept, and J said Mabel did too.
From there, we did combination feeding, but the more we supplemented, the less milk my body could produce. I was down to a few drops per pump or at- breast feeding. Mabel was starving and restless; I wasn't getting anything close to a "perfect latch" with her; I was still chapped and cracked; and all I wanted was for her to be healthy and happy. Shortly after, the pediatrician told us she needed to gain more weight, and that I looked "haggard and tired." (She was my pedi too, so she can talk to me like that without it being weird.) "The most important thing here is for Mabel to thrive," she reminded me, "and for you to be a present and healthy mom. You decide, but there's no sense in torturing yourself."
I pumped out the last little bits of breast milk I had and called it a day. In the immediate moment, I didn't feel guilt-- just relief. Mabel would gain weight. We would all sleep. My hormones would take a break and I'd feel better. And so it went for a month or so, when I got into some guilt- inducing reading that made me feel terrible about my choice.
In a fit of self- fury, I flew over to the GNC store at the mall up the street and bought more of the tea and two supplements for re- lactation. I was determined to make my boobs fill again. I pumped once an hour, painfully so, but wanted to jump back on the breastfeeding train more than anything, convinced that I had failed Mabel and she was about to develop every disease and allergy under the sun.
You can imagine how this newest endeavor went. And in time, I had to let it go. She was gaining weight beautifully, we were all getting sleep, and J was participating in feedings, which was probably the best part. People told me over and over that I shouldn't feel bad, but the guilt never really went away. And so when I got pregnant again, I swore I'd do better. I bought a 300 dollar pump this time and got myself ready for a whole new b- feeding experience.
To be continued...
There are lots of mom- wars out there--- let your kid cry it out, or tend to him?; use organic baby food, or go for the cheaper stuff?-- but perhaps none has stood the test of the battle as sturdily as the war of breast or bottle feeding.
When I was prego with Mabel, I didn't really know about the war at first. I knew I could boob- feed her, or I could, as my mother did for us, give her a bottle with formula. I did some preliminary research and was scared into submission. All I could gather from the many sites I slogged through was, "You better breastfeed this kid, or you'll eff her up for life." I decided I would therefore try it. But since I was still a little scared, I didn't even buy a pump, wanting to see first if I could or would commit.
In the hospital, the nurses were helpful in getting Mabel to my teat in the proper way. I remember being half- asleep, and they'd wheel her into the room in her little cart and prop her up, getting that perfect latch accomplished for me. She fed on schedule and was well- nourished, though I was having trouble doing the latches myself and was becoming sore. When trouble arose, I just rang that handy bell and in came a nurse who had the know- how. I remember one saying, "If this is too much, consider supplementing. Being a first- timer is really hard." I thought, Okay, but I think I should be able to get this down.
WRONG. Nervous to abandon my support system, I left the hospital terrified of being on my own with these "perfect latches." Mabel would cry and we'd go into the bedroom where I'd try to get her comfy on the Boppy pillow in the cross- cradle position she seemed to like. I'd tickle her mouth with the nipple, as I'd been advised, and look for the BIG gape. I knew I had to, in that millisecond, get her to latch down. Boom, her mouth would close down, and about 50 percent of the time, I'd be thinking, They said it should not be pain, just pressure. Is this pain or pressure? I don't know... Still, she seemed to be enjoying the experience so I would go with it, but most times, Mabel would come off a teat that looked like a dog's chew toy. Not my best work, but I'll get it next time. I was determined indeed.
It was probably about our third or fourth day home and I was obsessing over how much Mabel was getting at each feed. They said I should hear a swallow-- was that a swallow? They said there should not be a clicking-- was that a click, or a swallow? Why is she hungry every 30 minutes? My mom, a new mother of the late 1970s, was tireless in her pursuit of getting me to quit it and "Just fill her poor belly with some formula, for crying out loud!" But that damn guilt. What if she got Rubella because I didn't breastfeed?
And so we kept on. Now my nipples were cracked and sore and one was bloody. I was beginning to dread each feed. I was struggling with post- partum anxiety and had no appetite, so my milk supply was terrible. At this point, I decided I needed a pump. I went out to the baby store and cried the entire 20 minutes in the car-- I guess because I felt I was screwing up royally, and didn't get why all this seemed so easy for everyone else.
I'd sit in our oversized chair with the two milking devices attached to my teats, and it was truly the end of romance when J had to come over and push my boobs downward to get the milk to flow. Sometimes I would get 2 or 3 ounces-- if I was lucky. I tried hydrating more, and even bought Mother's Milk tea... but the situation was status- quo. No pun intended, I sucked at this.
It was a Friday and I was sleep- deprived and completely out of my head with every emotion I could ever feel zig- zagging around when I finally lost my marbles. I recall that my mom was there, and she and J launched a full- on "Give yourself a break" campaign. J said, "How about if we just give her a little formula?" I relented because I was that tired.
My mother bought Similac and fed Mabel a bottle while I slept. And then J fed her some more. All I can remember is that I slept and slept, and J said Mabel did too.
From there, we did combination feeding, but the more we supplemented, the less milk my body could produce. I was down to a few drops per pump or at- breast feeding. Mabel was starving and restless; I wasn't getting anything close to a "perfect latch" with her; I was still chapped and cracked; and all I wanted was for her to be healthy and happy. Shortly after, the pediatrician told us she needed to gain more weight, and that I looked "haggard and tired." (She was my pedi too, so she can talk to me like that without it being weird.) "The most important thing here is for Mabel to thrive," she reminded me, "and for you to be a present and healthy mom. You decide, but there's no sense in torturing yourself."
I pumped out the last little bits of breast milk I had and called it a day. In the immediate moment, I didn't feel guilt-- just relief. Mabel would gain weight. We would all sleep. My hormones would take a break and I'd feel better. And so it went for a month or so, when I got into some guilt- inducing reading that made me feel terrible about my choice.
In a fit of self- fury, I flew over to the GNC store at the mall up the street and bought more of the tea and two supplements for re- lactation. I was determined to make my boobs fill again. I pumped once an hour, painfully so, but wanted to jump back on the breastfeeding train more than anything, convinced that I had failed Mabel and she was about to develop every disease and allergy under the sun.
You can imagine how this newest endeavor went. And in time, I had to let it go. She was gaining weight beautifully, we were all getting sleep, and J was participating in feedings, which was probably the best part. People told me over and over that I shouldn't feel bad, but the guilt never really went away. And so when I got pregnant again, I swore I'd do better. I bought a 300 dollar pump this time and got myself ready for a whole new b- feeding experience.
To be continued...
Thursday, April 24, 2014
Exciting News for Rookie Mom and "Fans"
I put that word in quotes because I am not silly enough to think there are actual fans of this blog. Yet, my stats page shows that people do read it (still some of you in Cali and in Ireland even-- thank you!). So I thought you might like to know that I will no longer be boring you with snapshots in time of my kids. I have created a separate page for friends and fam to read that stuff, and for me to look back on.
Instead, I will just use this space to keep driveling on about the trials of motherhood, in all their messy glory!
When I started this page, I didn't have a narrowed enough vision for what I needed it to be. I discovered my purpose was two- fold---- write about my kids' doings and trudge through sometimes funny and sometimes deeply difficult shiz in the world of parenthood. Thus, two distinct platforms now.
I have my next newborn series piece coming soon....
Instead, I will just use this space to keep driveling on about the trials of motherhood, in all their messy glory!
When I started this page, I didn't have a narrowed enough vision for what I needed it to be. I discovered my purpose was two- fold---- write about my kids' doings and trudge through sometimes funny and sometimes deeply difficult shiz in the world of parenthood. Thus, two distinct platforms now.
I have my next newborn series piece coming soon....
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Realization #1: Newborns are Scary
When I first started blogging, I vowed that I always keep it real. I am going to write genuinely on the topic of newborns. Someday if Mabel or Dottie sees this, it's okay, because this is what I am feeling in this moment in time. And they should know I love them more than I ever thought possible.
But here's what I came to terms with this time around regarding newborns: they are frightening. And while they are lovable, they are not likeable. In fact, I think it's okay not to feel an amazing connection with your brand new baby straight off.
I remember a couple years ago at work one of my colleagues advised a pregnant teacher, "Newborn days are hard. It's okay not to be totally in love with the baby at first." A Baby- Boomer generation coworker balked, horrified. "That's awful to say!" she remarked. "How can you not love your new child?" My colleague answered, "I didn't say that. I didn't say it was okay not to love them. I said it was okay not to BE IN LOVE with them. There is a difference."
And I concur. In those early weeks, you have on your hands a teeny, needy being, whose only emotional expression is crying. She does not read your eyes or engage with you, let alone smile. She eats, sleeps, and makes you change her diaper (what feels like) every four seconds. Hell, she doesn't even know her own hands are attached. She can't express what is wrong when something is, and she is so, so, so delicate. Every bath is an anxiety- provoking affair in which you aim simply not to drop her. She can't do much, yet demands boat- loads. Having a newborn is, I will go ahead and say it, not that fun.
Let's also not forget that in these "precious" first weeks you are also jazzed up with some pretty intense hormones. You get these crazy- happy adrenaline rushes that quickly morph into periods of depression and fear. You're likely alone in the house, but can't get out to do much because the little one needs to eat so often. You don't want to resort to TV, but every time you open a book, your eyes get heavy due to the incredible fatigue that only a new mother knows. When your partner or spouse gets home, you want to just run out of the house and escape for a while, yet you are too anxious (due to said hormones) to leave the baby for a flipping second. And the next day it all just repeats.
If you're like me, you also are doing your damnedest to give this kid breast milk, though the odds are somewhat stacked against this pursuit. But more on that in a separate entry...
The first few weeks require a number of doctor appointments for baby weight checks. You show up with a pad of paper listing the many questions you came up with after reading too many dire stories online. Is the diaper rash a sign of an awful bacterial infection or virus? What's up with the red marks on her eyes? Or in my case, why is she still jaundiced? It is fading? We can't get a lot of natural sunlight in the house during this gloomy winter.
After some weeks pass, a few of the worries do too. But of course new ones develop. I remember when Mabel was a newborn worrying about "social smiling." All the online "experts" claimed 6 to 8 weeks was the range to see a social (in response to a face) smile. She had been smiling a lot, but we couldn't tell if they were reflexive, gas- induced, or social. Soon it was obvious that Mabel was social- smiling it up-- and had been for a while. "I won't be such a psycho about it next time," I vowed. Man, I suck at keeping those vows I make to myself. Because there I was with Dottie, sick with fear about the same issue. What if she doesn't smile soon? Resume addiction: going online to find out every possible outcome. Then begin worrying that she has a tumor on her optic nerve, which means she can't see me and hence won't smile. But all the while, it was the SAME pattern as with Mabel. Dottie WAS smiling-- I was just too doubtful to believe they were social smiles. And within two days time, she was smiling like mad. And on the earlier side of the range those experts give. Put me in a lonely house in a dark, dismal winter and I will worry about anything I can conjure. Anything at all.
Through all this, J and I had (and still have) a routine going where he would take Dottie til midnight then pass her over to me. Ostensibly, I was supposed to be upstairs sleeping during his shift. But most nights in the early days-- and even some nights now-- I would just lie there frozen in fear. It's a visceral, inexplicable fear you have when it comes to your offspring and something happening to them. The love you feel is so intense that you don't think you can handle it. When you hold them, you are relieved to be able to protect them. But when you are separated from them, you are stifled.
Still, though I was (and of course always will be) loving Dottie more than my body or mind could handle, I wasn't "in love" with the alien creature that demanded so much--- until she started to smile and express herself a bit. Until she could really look into my eyes and I into hers. Until she could sit contentedly for a while and just BE. Until I could start to predict her movements and reactions and needs. Until she really seemed like a baby and not this little frazzled and frenetic and fickle animal. I loved Dottie (and Mabel) from the second she came out into the world and I bawled my eyes out when I saw each of my kids for the first time. But it takes time to be buddies with a newborn. And I think that's ok.
I'm sure some moms handle the early newborn days better than I did. I felt like some days I was flying down the dip of the roller- coaster, waving my hands up in joy and elation. And other days, I was trudging at a snail's pace up the coaster's hill. I made myself shower and get up and do SOMETHING each and every day. But on some days, the littlest obligations were taxing.
I've gone through spurts of feeling bad about my adverse reaction to a child's newborn days. But I know that any discomfort, fear, or itching I felt was due only to the intense love and care I was feeling simultaneously. It's kind of like Spiderman. With power, comes responsibility. Sometimes I feel like, "How did I end up taking on this mothering thing? Holy shiz, is it scary." But the power of the connection I feel with both my girls is worth those lousy, trembling, nearly paralyzing days in the beginning.
Next up in my series will be along the lines of: I suck at breastfeeding. Stay tuned!
But here's what I came to terms with this time around regarding newborns: they are frightening. And while they are lovable, they are not likeable. In fact, I think it's okay not to feel an amazing connection with your brand new baby straight off.
I remember a couple years ago at work one of my colleagues advised a pregnant teacher, "Newborn days are hard. It's okay not to be totally in love with the baby at first." A Baby- Boomer generation coworker balked, horrified. "That's awful to say!" she remarked. "How can you not love your new child?" My colleague answered, "I didn't say that. I didn't say it was okay not to love them. I said it was okay not to BE IN LOVE with them. There is a difference."
And I concur. In those early weeks, you have on your hands a teeny, needy being, whose only emotional expression is crying. She does not read your eyes or engage with you, let alone smile. She eats, sleeps, and makes you change her diaper (what feels like) every four seconds. Hell, she doesn't even know her own hands are attached. She can't express what is wrong when something is, and she is so, so, so delicate. Every bath is an anxiety- provoking affair in which you aim simply not to drop her. She can't do much, yet demands boat- loads. Having a newborn is, I will go ahead and say it, not that fun.
Let's also not forget that in these "precious" first weeks you are also jazzed up with some pretty intense hormones. You get these crazy- happy adrenaline rushes that quickly morph into periods of depression and fear. You're likely alone in the house, but can't get out to do much because the little one needs to eat so often. You don't want to resort to TV, but every time you open a book, your eyes get heavy due to the incredible fatigue that only a new mother knows. When your partner or spouse gets home, you want to just run out of the house and escape for a while, yet you are too anxious (due to said hormones) to leave the baby for a flipping second. And the next day it all just repeats.
If you're like me, you also are doing your damnedest to give this kid breast milk, though the odds are somewhat stacked against this pursuit. But more on that in a separate entry...
The first few weeks require a number of doctor appointments for baby weight checks. You show up with a pad of paper listing the many questions you came up with after reading too many dire stories online. Is the diaper rash a sign of an awful bacterial infection or virus? What's up with the red marks on her eyes? Or in my case, why is she still jaundiced? It is fading? We can't get a lot of natural sunlight in the house during this gloomy winter.
After some weeks pass, a few of the worries do too. But of course new ones develop. I remember when Mabel was a newborn worrying about "social smiling." All the online "experts" claimed 6 to 8 weeks was the range to see a social (in response to a face) smile. She had been smiling a lot, but we couldn't tell if they were reflexive, gas- induced, or social. Soon it was obvious that Mabel was social- smiling it up-- and had been for a while. "I won't be such a psycho about it next time," I vowed. Man, I suck at keeping those vows I make to myself. Because there I was with Dottie, sick with fear about the same issue. What if she doesn't smile soon? Resume addiction: going online to find out every possible outcome. Then begin worrying that she has a tumor on her optic nerve, which means she can't see me and hence won't smile. But all the while, it was the SAME pattern as with Mabel. Dottie WAS smiling-- I was just too doubtful to believe they were social smiles. And within two days time, she was smiling like mad. And on the earlier side of the range those experts give. Put me in a lonely house in a dark, dismal winter and I will worry about anything I can conjure. Anything at all.
Through all this, J and I had (and still have) a routine going where he would take Dottie til midnight then pass her over to me. Ostensibly, I was supposed to be upstairs sleeping during his shift. But most nights in the early days-- and even some nights now-- I would just lie there frozen in fear. It's a visceral, inexplicable fear you have when it comes to your offspring and something happening to them. The love you feel is so intense that you don't think you can handle it. When you hold them, you are relieved to be able to protect them. But when you are separated from them, you are stifled.
Still, though I was (and of course always will be) loving Dottie more than my body or mind could handle, I wasn't "in love" with the alien creature that demanded so much--- until she started to smile and express herself a bit. Until she could really look into my eyes and I into hers. Until she could sit contentedly for a while and just BE. Until I could start to predict her movements and reactions and needs. Until she really seemed like a baby and not this little frazzled and frenetic and fickle animal. I loved Dottie (and Mabel) from the second she came out into the world and I bawled my eyes out when I saw each of my kids for the first time. But it takes time to be buddies with a newborn. And I think that's ok.
I'm sure some moms handle the early newborn days better than I did. I felt like some days I was flying down the dip of the roller- coaster, waving my hands up in joy and elation. And other days, I was trudging at a snail's pace up the coaster's hill. I made myself shower and get up and do SOMETHING each and every day. But on some days, the littlest obligations were taxing.
I've gone through spurts of feeling bad about my adverse reaction to a child's newborn days. But I know that any discomfort, fear, or itching I felt was due only to the intense love and care I was feeling simultaneously. It's kind of like Spiderman. With power, comes responsibility. Sometimes I feel like, "How did I end up taking on this mothering thing? Holy shiz, is it scary." But the power of the connection I feel with both my girls is worth those lousy, trembling, nearly paralyzing days in the beginning.
Next up in my series will be along the lines of: I suck at breastfeeding. Stay tuned!
Thursday, April 10, 2014
Return
I'm back from the great beyond... of childbirth. Guess I've sort of been on a maternity leave from blogging, which I didn't intend to do. But time has been awash. I had another baby nearly 11 weeks ago, and I can't recall much of the blur of the first few of them.
We are thrilled with our new addition, whom I will refer to in this blog as Dottie.
Mabel has taken a liking to Dottie, though it hasn't been as such from the get- go. At first, Mabel needed to assert her presence all the time, probably in fear of losing attention. Even now there are times when Mabel will fake- cry because she sees how we cater to Dottie when she fusses. But mostly, Mabel loves playing helper. She is great at re- inserting dropped pacifiers, throwing dirty diapers away, and rocking Dottie in her bouncer or car seat. We often must remind Mabel of the meaning of "gentle" but she's getting there.
The strangest phenomenon has been how grown- up Mabel now seems-- both physically and otherwise. Not only does she seems to have giantism when I change her diaper, but I often catch myself treating Mabel like an adult. I'll say things like, "Man, Dottie is really using those lungs today. Annoying, huh?" Mabel humors me with a "yes" but probably doesn't get it. I have to remind myself that Mabel is still a baby herself at 25 months old. Funny.
Mabel has been chatting up a storm, with too many words to count, and her favorites to say being "NO!" and "I'll do it!" and "My turn." She doesn't put up with any bull-- that's for sure. But, wow-- that mild- mannered little thing has become quite a stubborn beast at times. We still love her to pieces, but she's making me feel I should go buy some expensive and probably meaningless parenting books for bratty toddlers. The cutest thing she does is soothe Dottie. She will run over and say, "Dottie, no cry, Dottie!" and give her a huge, sweeping hug.
Dottie is pretty laid back and quite smiley, and only cries when she needs something, but she has a set of lungs indeed. In fact, she is using them right now. And since we have to go pick up Mabel, I shall depart.
For my next few entries, I am planning a series of "Things that happen after you give birth" pieces. Hoping to carve out time to really do them justice! It's good to be back.
We are thrilled with our new addition, whom I will refer to in this blog as Dottie.
Mabel has taken a liking to Dottie, though it hasn't been as such from the get- go. At first, Mabel needed to assert her presence all the time, probably in fear of losing attention. Even now there are times when Mabel will fake- cry because she sees how we cater to Dottie when she fusses. But mostly, Mabel loves playing helper. She is great at re- inserting dropped pacifiers, throwing dirty diapers away, and rocking Dottie in her bouncer or car seat. We often must remind Mabel of the meaning of "gentle" but she's getting there.
The strangest phenomenon has been how grown- up Mabel now seems-- both physically and otherwise. Not only does she seems to have giantism when I change her diaper, but I often catch myself treating Mabel like an adult. I'll say things like, "Man, Dottie is really using those lungs today. Annoying, huh?" Mabel humors me with a "yes" but probably doesn't get it. I have to remind myself that Mabel is still a baby herself at 25 months old. Funny.
Mabel has been chatting up a storm, with too many words to count, and her favorites to say being "NO!" and "I'll do it!" and "My turn." She doesn't put up with any bull-- that's for sure. But, wow-- that mild- mannered little thing has become quite a stubborn beast at times. We still love her to pieces, but she's making me feel I should go buy some expensive and probably meaningless parenting books for bratty toddlers. The cutest thing she does is soothe Dottie. She will run over and say, "Dottie, no cry, Dottie!" and give her a huge, sweeping hug.
Dottie is pretty laid back and quite smiley, and only cries when she needs something, but she has a set of lungs indeed. In fact, she is using them right now. And since we have to go pick up Mabel, I shall depart.
For my next few entries, I am planning a series of "Things that happen after you give birth" pieces. Hoping to carve out time to really do them justice! It's good to be back.
Monday, January 13, 2014
RSG
This morning when I went to drop Mabel off at day care there was a swarm of media trucks and vans parked outside a house just about a quarter of a mile from our house, not even. Ugh, I thought, definitely not good. It was still dark out, and the bright news camera lights were blinding. The shock and horror of the lights would be only a glimmer of the grisly and stomach- knotting event that called the lights forth.
As I drove to work, J called me and said he had just heard on the radio that two children had been found unresponsive in that home. They had been immediately sent to area hospitals. Maybe they will survive, I hoped. I was convinced the perpetrator had been carbon monoxide, and as I lamented the terribleness of the news, my brain went something like this: I know we have carbon monoxide detectors. Tonight we need to check them all. I wonder if the testers on them work accurately. I hope so. What if they didn't? I wonder what would be most likely to cause a carbon monoxide leak? I wonder how many people that happens to a year? Is the beeping loud enough? Who would feel the effects and die first in our house? I shuddered and reminded myself I can't make the event about me, and I can't do anything to change the awful news.
By the time I had gotten to work, every media outlet you can imagine had the updated story. The two young kids had gotten trapped and locked, and they likely suffocated. Why does this feel so much worse than carbon monoxide, I wondered. And then my brain went like this: Ugh, I wonder who found them. What does it look like when someone is unresponsive? The poor doctors who are working on them. And the poor parents. How will they ever forgive themselves for not doing something?
By the time the news came around a couple hours later that the kids did not survive, I was nearly throwing up my breakfast. I shed a few private tears-- it was just so incomprehensible, all of it. But at the same time, so possible-- so easy-- so accidental: how many times have other parents let their 10- year- olds play on their own? Probably a lot. And a long time might pass before you check in on them. I remember going outside at that age and trompsing around the neighborhood until dark-- with no supervision at all. These poor parents and siblings and grandparents and classmates and friends and teachers. It's all beyond devastating.
J texted me a few minutes later telling me his stomach was in knots. He asked if we had anything in the house that locks like that. I said no. We both vowed that we would never take our eyes off the kids. What a hefty promise that one makes in the wake of something such as this. You suddenly become obsessive- compulsive nutball parents who won't walk away from your kids ever, ever, ever-- not for a millisecond. It's all reaction to the tragedy. You empathize to a degree you didn't even know you could. You want to reach out and hug these parents whom you've never met, and you want to put your own kid in some kind of safety bubble.
I couldn't stop thinking about how I always do this: I empathize to a level most would probably say is unhealthy. I found this article online (http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/the-athletes-way/201310/the-neuroscience-empathy) about the part of the brain that feels empathy-- it's called the Right Supramarginal Gyrus. It keeps us from being too egocentric and forces us to consider what others are feeling and makes us compassionate. (One theory about sociopaths is that they don't have a fully- developed RSG, but I digress.)
Maybe I have some whacked- out, weird, overdone RSG, or maybe this story hits home more because it literally hit close to home. But I find I do this over- empathy thing a lot. I can't seem to dismiss myself from horrible thoughts nor from placing myself in the other people's proverbial shoes. It feels irresponsible to avoid the media reports because the victims and loved ones don't have the choice to avoid the tragedy. It's like I feel that to be a good human I need to see all the info and soak it in and feel it. But I do all this automatically. It just happens.
Coworkers were all horrified by the news this morning. And maybe they are just good at hiding it, but they seemed to be able to compartmentalize the sad story and go on. I sat stifled for much of the morning-- wondering what the siblings of the kids are doing right now; whether those media vultures would be on the lawn when I drive past today; whether the parents are able to breathe let alone form coherent sentences. How will they ever move on?
I don't think I am special or in ANY way a better person because of my tendency to use that RSG thing so much. I'm sure it's just a hard-wiring thing that goes concomitantly with anxiety. I wish sometimes that I could turn it off, actually. I have a friend who refuses to watch news about ghastly things happening to children-- she just can't go there. I wish I had the will power to turn it all off and say no because it's not as if my empathy can bring anyone back or change the results.
I guess the argument to empathy being a good thing is that it does make us check our smoke alarms and second- guess our parenting. But with fluke things like this one-- what gives? These are the moments that make me feel that the universe is cruel. And those days are so hard to navigate because you start to wonder what it's all for-- and how you can keep fighting the good fight in the midst of horror.
I haven't figured out the use of this kind of distant empathy-- when you don't know the people involved. I will say my heart breaks and aches for these children and their loved ones. For what it's worth to the universe, I am thinking about and feeling for these people. I wish I could put that RSG to good use and change the whole thing.
As I drove to work, J called me and said he had just heard on the radio that two children had been found unresponsive in that home. They had been immediately sent to area hospitals. Maybe they will survive, I hoped. I was convinced the perpetrator had been carbon monoxide, and as I lamented the terribleness of the news, my brain went something like this: I know we have carbon monoxide detectors. Tonight we need to check them all. I wonder if the testers on them work accurately. I hope so. What if they didn't? I wonder what would be most likely to cause a carbon monoxide leak? I wonder how many people that happens to a year? Is the beeping loud enough? Who would feel the effects and die first in our house? I shuddered and reminded myself I can't make the event about me, and I can't do anything to change the awful news.
By the time I had gotten to work, every media outlet you can imagine had the updated story. The two young kids had gotten trapped and locked, and they likely suffocated. Why does this feel so much worse than carbon monoxide, I wondered. And then my brain went like this: Ugh, I wonder who found them. What does it look like when someone is unresponsive? The poor doctors who are working on them. And the poor parents. How will they ever forgive themselves for not doing something?
By the time the news came around a couple hours later that the kids did not survive, I was nearly throwing up my breakfast. I shed a few private tears-- it was just so incomprehensible, all of it. But at the same time, so possible-- so easy-- so accidental: how many times have other parents let their 10- year- olds play on their own? Probably a lot. And a long time might pass before you check in on them. I remember going outside at that age and trompsing around the neighborhood until dark-- with no supervision at all. These poor parents and siblings and grandparents and classmates and friends and teachers. It's all beyond devastating.
J texted me a few minutes later telling me his stomach was in knots. He asked if we had anything in the house that locks like that. I said no. We both vowed that we would never take our eyes off the kids. What a hefty promise that one makes in the wake of something such as this. You suddenly become obsessive- compulsive nutball parents who won't walk away from your kids ever, ever, ever-- not for a millisecond. It's all reaction to the tragedy. You empathize to a degree you didn't even know you could. You want to reach out and hug these parents whom you've never met, and you want to put your own kid in some kind of safety bubble.
I couldn't stop thinking about how I always do this: I empathize to a level most would probably say is unhealthy. I found this article online (http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/the-athletes-way/201310/the-neuroscience-empathy) about the part of the brain that feels empathy-- it's called the Right Supramarginal Gyrus. It keeps us from being too egocentric and forces us to consider what others are feeling and makes us compassionate. (One theory about sociopaths is that they don't have a fully- developed RSG, but I digress.)
Maybe I have some whacked- out, weird, overdone RSG, or maybe this story hits home more because it literally hit close to home. But I find I do this over- empathy thing a lot. I can't seem to dismiss myself from horrible thoughts nor from placing myself in the other people's proverbial shoes. It feels irresponsible to avoid the media reports because the victims and loved ones don't have the choice to avoid the tragedy. It's like I feel that to be a good human I need to see all the info and soak it in and feel it. But I do all this automatically. It just happens.
Coworkers were all horrified by the news this morning. And maybe they are just good at hiding it, but they seemed to be able to compartmentalize the sad story and go on. I sat stifled for much of the morning-- wondering what the siblings of the kids are doing right now; whether those media vultures would be on the lawn when I drive past today; whether the parents are able to breathe let alone form coherent sentences. How will they ever move on?
I don't think I am special or in ANY way a better person because of my tendency to use that RSG thing so much. I'm sure it's just a hard-wiring thing that goes concomitantly with anxiety. I wish sometimes that I could turn it off, actually. I have a friend who refuses to watch news about ghastly things happening to children-- she just can't go there. I wish I had the will power to turn it all off and say no because it's not as if my empathy can bring anyone back or change the results.
I guess the argument to empathy being a good thing is that it does make us check our smoke alarms and second- guess our parenting. But with fluke things like this one-- what gives? These are the moments that make me feel that the universe is cruel. And those days are so hard to navigate because you start to wonder what it's all for-- and how you can keep fighting the good fight in the midst of horror.
I haven't figured out the use of this kind of distant empathy-- when you don't know the people involved. I will say my heart breaks and aches for these children and their loved ones. For what it's worth to the universe, I am thinking about and feeling for these people. I wish I could put that RSG to good use and change the whole thing.
Sunday, January 12, 2014
The Lull
Sorry for the lull. I don't have a good excuse. I keep thinking, yes, I should write. And I choose to grade papers or clean or play with the kid instead.
In short, I am 37 weeks prego and am looking forward to the end. Not in a dismal way-- in fact, the pregnancy has been mostly fine. I just get antsy around this point.
Mabel has FINALLY come around to the baby being in the belly. For a span of months, she would ignore us-- quite purposefully-- when we would mention the baby by showing her the ultrasound pictures, explaining the baby was in my belly, or showing her new items for the baby. She seemed to sense it meant it would be time for her to share attention, and she wasn't a fan. Just about a month ago, she started to actually CARE for the baby: giving willing kisses to said belly and saying "hi" to the bambino. She even tickles or gently gives it a high- 5. Progress indeed! And she will smile now and point and say "BABY!" at that ultrasound picture she used to loathe. Maybe it's just a natural instinct, or she decided to relent. Either way, we will take it.
Mabel is talking more and more now. She's repeating us lots, and has some favorite words. Overall, Mabel enjoys chatting these days. She's always quieter in other people's houses, but around us she is a chatterbox. She knows a few of her letters now-- can pick out the letter M from a stack and sings, "Mmm! Mmm!" and does the same with D and T and B. She can count to three-- though her favorite number is still 2. She always has 2 of anything whenever you ask her how many. At least it will make saying her next age very easy. :)
While Abby Cadabby used to be Mabel's favorite Sesame segment, she whines a little when it comes on now. She has switched to enjoying the "real life" parts of the show more: the ones where other toddlers and babies are showcased, and the ones in which the Sesame cast members interact. Alas, the days of the animated parts are sort of behind her. But she still loves the show-- and on the tired evenings when I need to sit down before J gets home, it's been a boon.
I will write more at another point-- off to clean the crayon marks from the table. She just colored a cupcake drawing but has not yet mastered the "color only on the pages" precept-- at least Crayola are washable.
In short, I am 37 weeks prego and am looking forward to the end. Not in a dismal way-- in fact, the pregnancy has been mostly fine. I just get antsy around this point.
Mabel has FINALLY come around to the baby being in the belly. For a span of months, she would ignore us-- quite purposefully-- when we would mention the baby by showing her the ultrasound pictures, explaining the baby was in my belly, or showing her new items for the baby. She seemed to sense it meant it would be time for her to share attention, and she wasn't a fan. Just about a month ago, she started to actually CARE for the baby: giving willing kisses to said belly and saying "hi" to the bambino. She even tickles or gently gives it a high- 5. Progress indeed! And she will smile now and point and say "BABY!" at that ultrasound picture she used to loathe. Maybe it's just a natural instinct, or she decided to relent. Either way, we will take it.
Mabel is talking more and more now. She's repeating us lots, and has some favorite words. Overall, Mabel enjoys chatting these days. She's always quieter in other people's houses, but around us she is a chatterbox. She knows a few of her letters now-- can pick out the letter M from a stack and sings, "Mmm! Mmm!" and does the same with D and T and B. She can count to three-- though her favorite number is still 2. She always has 2 of anything whenever you ask her how many. At least it will make saying her next age very easy. :)
While Abby Cadabby used to be Mabel's favorite Sesame segment, she whines a little when it comes on now. She has switched to enjoying the "real life" parts of the show more: the ones where other toddlers and babies are showcased, and the ones in which the Sesame cast members interact. Alas, the days of the animated parts are sort of behind her. But she still loves the show-- and on the tired evenings when I need to sit down before J gets home, it's been a boon.
I will write more at another point-- off to clean the crayon marks from the table. She just colored a cupcake drawing but has not yet mastered the "color only on the pages" precept-- at least Crayola are washable.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)