Becoming Sarah

At least the trying is fun.

2010-09-08T22:50:46Z

Donald and I want another baby.

It’s a fierce desire, this longing for another child. We look at our family of three at the dinner table and feel that someone is missing. We see our daughter totter about independently and want to rock an infant to sleep in our arms. We sneak into our room at night, watch Charlotte slumbering by the light of the moon, and whisper to one another that we need another.

So we try. We hope, we dream, we try. We wish, we anticipate, we try. We fantasize, we expect, we try. We fail. After thirteen months of breastfeeding, I am still effectively amenorrheic. That is, although I may spot from time to time, I am not ovulating. So we keep trying and we keep hoping, but we also keep failing.

If there is a downside to breastfeeding, it is this: the contraceptive powers of lactation are a force to be reckoned with.

Now, to be fair, we knew what we were getting ourselves into when we decided to breastfeed Charlotte on cue. Part of the reason that we started trying to conceive again so soon after her birth was because we knew that allowing her to dictate the vast majority of the terms of our breastfeeding relationship would likely render us infertile for quite some time.

But breastfeeding is something that we both believe in. We have studied it extensively, read every ethnopediatric book we could get our hands on, ordered hundreds of medical studies and anthropology articles and lactation textbooks sent to our local library, and concluded that breastfeeding on cue is still the best choice for our family right now. Maybe not for your family, maybe not for our next child at the same age, but for us, right now, this is what works.

So here we are. Reading and learning and wondering when a second child will join our family. Believing that it is more important to nurture our firstborn than it is to bring a second into the world. Coming to terms with the fact that our convictions may do more to determine our family’s ultimate size than our dreams. Realizing that sometimes, even when you’re all grown up, you don’t always get what you want.

I’ll tell you what: not getting what I wanted bothered me much less when all I wanted from life was a hot pink Barbie car and a lollipop.

Bathroom mural.

2010-09-08T22:26:30Z

A couple weeks ago, I met up with a friend at the El Dorado Nature Center. We walked, we talked, we did the normal set of things that two mothers with young children do when they get together. Like stop every few minutes to change a diaper, nibble baby chub, and stave off meltdowns by busting out fruit. Anyway, as soon as I arrived at the nature center, I saw this bathroom. And, okay, I know this is weird, but I saw it and I knew immediately that I wanted to take a photograph of it.

I may be the only one who ever does this, but sometimes I get very, very nervous about taking photographs in public. The point-and-shoot comes everywhere with me, but it doesn’t get much use because I don’t want to be that one camera freak that makes other people uncomfortable. I worry that I might offend someone who winds up in the background when I photograph my child swinging at the park, and I fret about whether or not people think I’m one of THOSE PEOPLE who takes seven hundred pictures everywhere I go. Which I totally am, but that’s beside the point. I DON’T WANT PEOPLE TO THINK I AM. They might think I’m nuts.

So I decided not to take a picture. And a couple hours passed, and I kept looking at the mural, and deciding not to take a picture. And a little more time passed, and I kept looking at the mural, and deciding not to take a picture.

When I finally did take the picture? It was totally no big deal. Why I get myself worked up about ridiculous little things like this I will never know.

Children’s Book Giveaway: Me, All Alone, at the End of the World.

2010-09-07T12:56:37Z

I was happy there all by myself, alone at the End of the World.

M.T. Anderson’s Me, All Alone, at the End of the World is a fascinating book about the joys of solitude. It has an underlying environmental message as well, and the illustrations by Kevin Hawkes are outstanding.

The book begins with a boy who lives alone with his mule at the End of the World. He fills his days with activities such as listening to the wind and looking for treasure. Then, one day a man named Mr. Shimmer comes along and builds an inn. At first, the boy enjoys the new-ness of the inn. He has fun playing with friends and exploring new activities. In the end, however, he misses the silence and the solitude he once enjoyed. So he leaves the End of the World and moves to the Top of the World where he finds happiness in simplicity once again.

In all honesty, Me, All Alone, at the End of the World is right up my alley. I love books that introduce children to the pleasures of self-sufficiency and the beauty of an untarnished wilderness. This book is poignant and creative and reminds me of the great depths of childhood imagination, without being too heavy on the message. So although it is aimed at older children, I still show Anderson’s book to Charlotte as often as I can. She does not have the patience to sit through an entire reading, so I paraphrase the story and talk about the illustrations with her instead.

Reading with Aunt R - what a perfect way to spend the holiday weekend!

Pros: This book serves as a foundation for many important conversations with children about topics such as solitude, the natural world, self-sufficiency, and capitalism. As well, Hawkes is a brilliant illustrator.

Cons: I do not feel that there are any cons, but a few people I know feel that it is a little heavy on the environmental message. Personally, positive environmental messages never bother me.

Borrow or Buy: Buy.

What to do: You can enter this giveaway by leaving a comment below or sending me an e-mail answering this question: what (if anything) do you enjoy about solitude? All you need is an e-mail address. The giveaway ends Sunday evening at 9 P.M. Pacific Time and the winners will be announced next Tuesday morning. You can leave one entry every day, for a total of up to six entries.

For extra entries: This is on the honor system, so please be honest. I will award you one extra entry if you vote for me at Top Mommy Blogs or at Top Baby Blogs. Each day you vote, I will award you two additional entries. I am hoping to maintain or move into a spot in the top ten on both sites so that we can slowly begin to reach more parents about the joys and importance of reading with children.

To purchase this book: You can buy Me, All Alone, at the End of the World through Amazon.com (that link uses my affiliate code) or locate a local retailer through Indie Bound.org.

An announcement: The winner of last week’s book series giveaway was Julie. Yay, Julie!

Carried close.

2010-09-07T12:54:37Z

As we really are.

2010-09-02T13:34:28Z

About two months ago, Charlotte came to me with a book in her hand. She handed it to me, then held open her arms for me to pluck her up on my lap. And then she began to flip the pages and listen as I read her a story.

It was the very first time that story-time in our home just CLICKED.

Happily reading one of her favorites (Alternative ABC’s) together before bed.

I receive a few e-mails a week from people who have questions about reading to their children. Their baby is trying to eat the books! Their toddler is ripping apart the pages! How do they stop their kid from flipping the pages at lightning speed? How do they convince them to sit still during reading time instead of running around like a loon?

They appeal to me, they tell me, because they’ve seen the photographs of us reading with Charlotte. And it looks like we know what we’re doing.

I tell them all the same thing: we don’t.

Some days, my daughter tries to eat the books. Some days, she rips out pages. Some days, she flips the pages at lightning speed and runs around like a loon while I read passages out loud from books I’m reading. Charlotte has heard just as many excerpts from Michael Crichton as she has from Mem Fox. Some days, she screams during story-time. Some days, she walks over a pile of books or bends back the spines. Or throws them off the shelf.

Most days, she wants me to read the same book fifteen times over. And then fifteen times over again. And maybe again while we’re at it.

Not so happily reading together maybe, um, ten seconds later.

The truth is that reading to your young child is like any other part of parenting: an evolution. There is no one-size-fits-all cure for the kid who loses interest after two pages, there is only patiently enduring your baby’s reading-related phases and keeping your fingers crossed that they will come out on the other end loving books. The key is to listen to them, watch their cues, follow their lead, and just keep trying. Keep visiting the library. Keep talking about books. KEEP READING.

If you do, one day you’ll look up to see your child climbing into your lap, eager to share a story together. And it will make your heart sing.

January 2nd.

2010-09-01T16:15:51Z

When I was deleting images last night, I came across this one and was stunned by how much has changed in the past eight months. WHO IS THAT BALD BABY?

Reason number 4,732,189 that children should come with instruction manuals.

2010-09-01T12:24:24Z

My daughter is beginning to throw temper tantrums. And, wow, between signing NO every time she sees the car-seat and wailing at the top of her lungs whenever life is minutely frustrating, the entire dynamic of parenting seems to have changed. A few weekends ago, I took her to the craft shop to pick up some fabric to make her a dress, and Charlotte threw the toddler death star of tantrums.

No, really. She did. She threw a tantrum so fantastically epic that we were asked to leave.

I’m sorry, let me repeat that for you. WE WERE ASKED TO LEAVE. Because of her tantrum. When my daughter has babies of her own who go all limp-noodle on her in the middle of a shop FOR NO REASON WHATSOEVER except that maybe Jupiter was in the wrong house or an ant dared to trek across the ground in front of them, she better call me up. I would love nothing more than to go out and grab some frozen yogurt and bond over tales of how appalling and humiliating and generally amusing flash tantrums can be.

But in the meantime, while I busy myself collecting good you-owe-me material for when I am old and need my daughter to change my Depends, patience is my go-to tantrum-fighting weapon.

Well, it would be patience and vodka. But we’re out. I WONDER HOW THAT HAPPENED.

Tantrums are, thus far, the most challenging aspect of parenthood for me. I want nothing more than to give in and make my child happy. But I also want Charlotte to know that although I love her dearly and will happily give of myself, my milk, my time, my arms, I will not satisfy her every whim. So while she wails, I wait. And while I wait, I wonder. Does she understand the alternatives I’m presenting her with? Have I done something to reinforce this behavior? Am I squashing her freedom of expression? Is there an explanation like exhaustion or hunger that I am overlooking?

As soon as my daughter finishes a tantrum, I always tell her the same thing: I love her. She never cares, of course. When the tantrum is over, she stands up with a smile and life goes on. But I tell her anyway. I tell her that I wish I knew how to better help her navigate through this phase of her life. I tell her that I love her silly and sad, happy and mad, frustrated and in tears, far away and very near.

And you know, even though the tantrums are presenting me with the first seeds of maternal self-doubt, even though I’m spending most of my time these days telling people that I’ll call them back later or trying to calm down a child who is screaming for no other reason than that is apparently what toddler lungs were made for, I think that pretty much sums things up for this age.

Charlotte took this photograph…

2010-08-31T19:19:26Z

...of Hank.

She took it by accident while she was banging it on the floor. Which is, as far as my child is concerned, what the point-and-shoot is for.

I am so proud.

Children’s Book Giveaway: Cleo’s Counting Book

2010-08-31T14:33:03Z

Donald loves numbers, which is probably how we wound up with no fewer than six counting books in our midst. I do not love numbers, but of all the counting books we read to Charlotte, I have to admit that I love Cleo’s Counting Book, by Caroline Mockford, the best.

There is, of course, not much to say about counting books. Cleo’s Counting Book stands alone in that after it counts up to ten, it counts back down to one again. All of our other counting books only count upward. And that’s pretty much the most exciting thing about it.

Except for the artwork, that is. Cleo’s Counting Book is beautifully illustrated. The colors are vibrant, which is something that Charlotte is drawn to. We spend as much time pointing out red and blue to her as we do counting frogs and bees. But more than that, the illustrations have a warm, creative, and comfortable feel to them.

Pros: The rhyme is simple and catchy, which is a great asset to a counting book. Furthermore, Mockford is clearly a very talented artist.

Cons: None.

Borrow or Buy: Although it’s lovely, for most people I would say this is a borrowing book. It’s greatest merit is that it counts in reverse, something you can easily teach without a board book.

What to do: You can enter this giveaway by leaving a comment below or sending me an e-mail answering this question: what math or counting books do you love? All you need is an e-mail address. The giveaway ends Sunday evening at 9 P.M. Pacific Time and the winners will be announced next Tuesday morning. You can leave one entry every day, for a total of up to six entries.

To purchase this book: You can buy Cleo’s Counting Book through Amazon.com (that link uses my affiliate code) or locate a local retailer through Indie Bound.org.

An announcement: The winner of last week’s book series giveaway was Sarah S. Congratulations, Sarah!

Tickles and giggles and happiness, oh my!

2010-08-31T14:32:56Z

I think that pretty much sums up what aunts are for!

Pint-size revolution.

2010-08-30T14:07:02Z

Dear Charlotte,

Several days ago, a woman nursing her baby at a local Cost Plus World Market was asked to leave. And so, over the weekend, you and I drove to that same shop and participated in a nurse-in.

Sweetheart? Before I go any further, I want you to understand that the decision your father and I made together to be a part of this nurse-in was not entirely about breastfeeding. It had everything to do with our assurance that babies have a right to eat and parents have a right to feed. Avid supporters of breastfeeding we may be, but the truth is that if a formula-feeding mother had been publicly harassed for shaking up a bottle, we would support her too. Nor was our participation in any way reflective of how we view Cost Plus World Market. People make mistakes and one uneducated employee does not a company policy make.

No, our ultimate decision came down to one simple point: your father and I want you to value peacefully and respectfully standing up and speaking out for yourself and for others.

For better or for worse, you are being raised in a home that highly esteems activism and education. We view every penny we spend as a vote and we actively boycott companies (plural) whose policies we disagree with. We highly prize voting and we spend weeks pouring over voter handbooks before showing up at the polling place to fulfill our civic duty. We regularly call our congressional representatives to voice our opinions. When we believe in something, really believe in it, we will fight for it. And we very sincerely believe in walking the talk.

What I mean by that last part is this: revolution is in action.

This is an idea that neither your father nor I grew up with. We grew up in households that instilled in us very strong convictions, but rarely (if ever) went beyond words. And we are devoted to changing the tide with you. You cannot educate and raise awareness if you are unwilling to live what you believe in. It is all well and good to spout off about forest conservancy, for example, but if you want to make a difference, sign up for a national park clean-up. Volunteer with a forest biodiversity charity. Chain yourself to a redwood tree and preach the evils of deforestation. Start a blog and open the doors for public discourse related to conservation efforts.

The options are endless, love bug.

Nursing at the nurse-in. Also, other peoples’ signs.

As you grow, you will find that your father and I will always support your respectful and peaceful efforts to incite change. We may not always identify with your causes, we may not always agree with your opinions, but we do believe in every individual’s capacity for making an enormous difference. As Voltaire, a man far wiser than myself, put it: we may not agree with what you have to say, but we will fight to the death for your right to say it. So stand up, my child, and speak out.

Charlotte, we participated in this nurse-in as much for you as we did to raise awareness about something we believe in.

I hope one day, you can see that. And I hope one day, you value that as much as we do.

Love,
Momma

Toddler.

2010-08-27T13:10:49Z

Reaching.

2010-08-26T14:50:57Z

Glimpse.

2010-08-26T14:37:12Z

It is morning and we are laying in bed, falling in love. Where’s Charlotte?, I ask as I throw a sheet over her body. She pulls it down, flashing a triumphant grin, and we laugh. Again, she signs, again.

Then we are changing her diaper, counting her toes, tickling her belly, pinching her cheeks. We are chasing one another in circles around the house, and I am picking her up to shower her with kisses. I love you so much, I tell her as I set her down. Then I pat her bottom as she toddles off. She looks back at me, smiling, anticipating. I’m going to get you!, I yell out, even though I’m already tired of this game.

Soon we are sharing breakfast. She is trying to use a spoon for the very first time, refusing to let me help her. But she is so proud of herself every time some food makes it into her mouth that I sit there, clapping and smiling and cheering her on. Afterwards, she is still hungry. More, she signs. Momma, more. I cut up two strawberries.

Next we are snuggling on the reading chair. I let her pick twelve books and we are reading them all, pointing out every animal and food and color and body part along the way. My throat is dry, but she is enthralled. I even read a few of the books twice.

Then we are building wood block towers and every time I announce LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I PRESENT TO YOU THE ONE, THE ONLY, BABY-ZILLA, she chuckles and knocks them down. Blocks, she signs, and I nod. That’s right, baby, I tell her. These are blocks.

Before I know it, we are preparing lunch. She is in a sling, snug against my body, head on my shoulder, watching as I slice a peach and spread sunflower butter on bread. I tear off little pieces of fresh spinach for her while I work. Afterwards, she hugs me and babbles while I wash dishes.

Soon, we are playing at the park. We are running back and forth between two trees, playing a rudimentary form of tag. She is laughing hysterically and another little baby is watching us intently. His mother waves at me. You two look like you’re having a fun time, she says. Mind if we join you? And, of course, we don’t mind at all.

It is afternoon and we are laying in bed, falling in love. I am running my fingers through her hair, and she is drinking my milk, gurgling happily as we both close our eyes. I love you, I whisper, oh, I love you so.

A little mid-day cuteness.

2010-08-25T19:03:20Z

An unforeseen side effect of super-cute baby chub? Dirty neck rolls. An unforeseen side effect of army crawling? Dirty onesies. An unforeseen side effect of crawling on all fours? Dirty knees. An unforeseen side effect of walking? Dirty feet. An unforeseen side effect of falling down in the dirt? The most adorable filthy bottom that I have ever seen.

I am beginning to think that children are dirt magnets.