An Open Letter to My Son

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Dear Baby Brown Bear,

Please, please, please be a positive change in this world. Let your legacy be one of peace, unity, and love.

Unfortunately I write this to you in the wake of the deadliest shooting in U.S. history, where 50 people were killed and more than 50 more were wounded at an LGBT nightclub. It was a horrifying and hateful act. One which was sadly not altogether unexpected.

We live in a heartbreaking time where adults (and even children) are massacred and nothing changes. People who have the greatest power to affect change sit by and send their empty “prayers” and condolences on social media while families are destroyed and futures are senselessly ended. As Loud is Ladylike said, this issue is especially hard to unravel or even begin to solve as it is a sickening blend of gun violence, LGBT hate crime, and terrorism.

We also live in a time where heinous acts of sexual assault occur regularly and, again, nothing happens. In fact, only 0.6% of rapists are incarcerated. Most instances of sexual assault aren’t even reported (only one out of three is). Just recently, a rapist was given a sentence of just six months instead of the requested six years because prison “would have a severe impact on him” (he was a Stanford athlete, don’t we know?!). His father said even that was too harsh because his crime was only “20 minutes of action.” Even more disgusting, we are supposed to consider this a victory because, hey, at least he was convicted at all.

All the while, we are quickly destroying our planet. Human ignorance, denial, greed, and apathy are all contributing factors to increased greenhouse gas emissions and climate change. Pollution is at an all-time high. It’s so bad that there is a garbage island floating in our fragile oceans. Animals and plant species are rapidly going extinct. Despite the growing evidence of dire consequences already occurring, behaviors are frighteningly slow to change. We collectively take and take and take from our precious home, and at a certain point we must face that there will be nothing left.

Needless to say, I am embarrassed by how badly we are failing your generation, Baby Bear. We have the means to make a real impact, and yet we are not using them. Yes, the discussions are happening and awareness is being raised. But that is not enough

By no means am I saying I am perfect. I try my best to think of my carbon footprint, but I can be wasteful. I try my best to treat others kindly, but I lose my patience or make quick and unfair judgments. I’m also absolutely overwhelmed when I think about the multitude of problems we face today and can’t help but succumb to hopelessness.

While I can honestly say I don’t know what the answers are, I do know that they are not to shut down, give up, or become afraid. I know that we must embrace each other for our similarities and our differences, now more than ever. I know that for every vile human being there are even more with love in their hearts, across religions, across sexual and gender identities, across political views, across the world. I know that we must each fight for Mother Earth so we can continue to exist as a species.

I know that change won’t happen with silence or inaction. 

I promise to try my best to instill in you a sense of appreciation, humility, respect, compassion, and integrity. Your grandparents taught me from a very young age to treat others as I would like them to treat me, and I hope to teach you the same. I hope you surround others with as much love as you are surrounded with yourself. I hope you will fight for those who cannot. I hope you will try to make each day better than the day before for the people, animals, and earth around you. It will not always be easy, but I hope to give you the courage you need to stand up for and do what is right.

Baby Bear, every single positive difference you make counts. Even small, nearly imperceptible change is change.

As long as I live, I will try to lead by example. While the atrocity that occurred today in Orlando makes me want to do nothing but cuddle you in my arms and keep you safe against me, I cannot. Instead, I must devote my life to bringing more love and peace into this world so that you do the same for your children one day. I must help you grow to be the good, kindhearted, and intelligent man I know you will be.

I love you with my whole heart, Baby Bear. You are my legacy.

Yours always,

Mama Bear

 

Postpartum Periods, And I’m Not Talking About the “Fourth Trimester”

Consider this your official warning. If you don’t want to hear about periods–and just to clarify if you didn’t get the hint in the title, I’m talking about menstruation here–you should probably stop reading this post.

It is partly a motherhood blog, after all, and if you learned anything from your elementary school “birds and the bees” conversation, you should know that a period is a part of the whole deal.

Dad, I’m giving you a fair warning.

Are they gone? Okay. Let’s get started.

Postpartum Periods: Revenge of the Menses

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At this point, I should probably dedicate my blog to The Shining. It’s so diverse in its relevancy!
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My first post-baby period came when Baby Brown Bear was eight months old. Even though I had been wondering when it would happen, even (stupidly) wanting it to come back, it was still a bit of a shock when it actually did. And at eight months, I recognize that I’m pretty lucky! Some moms get theirs back within weeks (and subsequently flip Mother Nature the biggest bird they can muster). As if you don’t have enough bleeding and trauma down there already. I mean, come on.

I have enough friends with babies that I knew that my period might be a little different or that it would suck having it again after nearly 18 months, but I just wasn’t prepared. Why is it that, you might ask? Well…

I’d Forgotten Some Things

Like buying supplies

When you don’t have a period for 17 months, it’s easy to lose track of buying things like tampons. When my period first started, and it came back roaring, I had to desperately rummage through all of our bathroom cabinets. After searching to the point of sweating, I finally discovered a lone, half-empty box of regular absorbency tampons and a handful of postpartum hospital pads. You know, the kind that are basically little pillow-sized adult diapers. I first tried the tampon, but let’s be real, it was like trying to plug a tailpipe with a toothpick. I suppose I’m lucky I had those diapers, because they really work. Pro tip: ask for a bunch of extras when you leave the hospital because you may need them when you forget to buy supplies several months down the road.

Like how hungry I get

Right after baby came, and while my hormonal body was adjusting to milk production, I was ravenous. I must have craved a burger and shake every two hours. That hunger eventually tapered off, though I still feel like I go from zero to 1,000 on the hunger scale if I wait too long between meals, and I returned to eating just slightly more than the average person. Well, lo and behold, when that first period came back, it’s like I morphed into a lumberjack coming home after chopping 65 logs. For a girl who genuinely loves vegetables, all I wanted was cake and chocolate and butterscotch and ice cream and salt and vinegar chips and pickles. And a burger for good measure.

Like how emotional I am

Another throwback to the hormonal shifts immediately following birth, I just wasn’t ready for the emotional roller coaster that comes with a period.

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I’m sure my husband would have preferred I be locked up in a glass case.
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My sister-in-law said she knows she’s about to be on her period when she feels rage. It’s an appropriate description, really, because I seem to turn from a lovable but slightly irritable woman into a violent, prehistoric sea monster awakened and empowered by nuclear radiation. Otherwise known as Godzilla.

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This totally would have been me if I still had a job. Instead I had to resort to yelling at the dog. Baby Bear’s first words are destined to be, “No, Kaiser!” At full volume, nonetheless.
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Like the gas

Like many other bodily issues, I had to wonder at first if this was a result of pregnancy or if it was just a period symptom I had long forgotten. When Google told me I must have a life threatening illness, I turned to friends who put my mind at ease and kindly reminded me that being a woman can suck.

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Some Things Have Straight Up Changed

Like the fact that I’m feeding a human being

Baby Bear continues to eat more and more solids, but his primary food source is still breast milk. That means he’s attached to me for a good portion of the day. It also means that my body knows how much milk he typically needs in that day. Well, little did I know that period hormones can decrease milk production. I started to feel like I was starving my baby because I couldn’t rebound fast enough each time he wanted to eat. It frustrated him and it scared me. Plus, the taste can apparently change a little bit, which is yet another thing I didn’t realize could happen. Not only did I fear I wasn’t making enough, but half the time he would refuse me by dramatically gagging anytime I got near him. Thanks, Baby Bear. As if I didn’t feel bad enough already.

Like the unpredictability in its duration

Period, period, how it blows. When it stops, nobody knows.

I think I’ve made my point on this one.

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Like the flow

Oh God, the flow. Having a baby turned my babbling brook of a period into a flood of damn near biblical proportions. Honestly it feels like I’m being punished for giving birth by having my body experience 17 months’ worth of periods all at once. Maybe time has helped me forget, but I seriously don’t remember ever being able to feel my period happen. On the positive side, I now know what I’d look like in a murder scene.

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Is It Just Me?

If that’s the case, then man that sucks. However I have a feeling some of you may know what I’m talking about here. I suppose we should all be grateful that our bodies are functioning as they are supposed to–and I really am OVER THE MOON that my body allowed me to carry, birth, and care for my baby–but I think it’s okay to bitch every now and again.

What am I missing? Were you taken aback when it came for you?

 

 

 

Mama Bear’s Labor & Delivery Resource Guide

Though Baby Bear is still only 10 months old, his first birthday is looming. Every time I see a pregnant woman, I feel like she and I are compatriots, both starting our motherhood journeys. Then I realize that baby months are like dog years and 10 months are practically a lifetime. I mentioned it in greater length already, but it really does feel like it’s just been a blink of an eye since he was born.

In starting to mentally prepare myself for what I know will be an emotional day (mostly for me, no doubt), I’ve been thinking a lot about my labor and delivery. Now that my hormones have regulated and I can reflect on those days with more clarity, I decided to put together a list of recommendations based on what helped me feel most prepared for the big day.

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Birth Wishes Disclaimer

I’d like to preface this guide by saying that this is a judge-free zone; this mama is supportive of whatever kind of birth is best for you. In fact, my motherhood mantra is “whatever works.”

Regardless of how you want to bring your baby into this world, I hope you feel supported and empowered. At the end of the day, what we all want is a healthy baby and a healthy mom.

That said, I do think it’s helpful to do a little research so you know what options are available to you, especially should any complications arise. If nothing else, this preparation helps you understand the various and acronym-heavy labor and delivery terminology. It also helps you and your partner think about what you value most in terms of your birth experience. Trust me, you won’t want to discuss your plans in throes of contractions.

I also think it’s helpful for you and your partner to document your birth wishes and discuss them with your provider and support team. The more educated and vocal you are about your wishes, the more prepared you will feel.

Understanding that I had to be flexible, it was my goal from the start to have a natural, un-medicated childbirth. While that is somewhat reflected below, I fully believe that the following suggestions are valuable to any expectant mom (and her partner).

Okay, disclaimer done. Let’s continue.

Labor & Delivery Prep Recommendations

Here are my suggestions for how you can achieve a positive birth experience.

1. Hire a doula

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A doula is a trained childbirth expert who provides emotional and physical support before, during, and after a baby’s arrival. I loved my midwives, as mentioned below, but I knew they probably wouldn’t be in the room with us the entire time. As first-time parents, both Papa Bear and I felt we could benefit from having someone with experience on hand throughout the entire labor to help guide me through contractions, advocate for us if we needed help understanding potential issues, and provide reinforcement for Papa Bear.

In addition to day-of support, our doula, Audrey, met with us during a few prenatal visits to discuss our birth wishes and go over exercises to help baby get into position, pain management techniques, breastfeeding, and what to expect with a newborn. These visits were also an opportunity for us to learn more about each other so we would feel more comfortable during labor (I knew she would see me naked, after all). She also visited us a few times after Baby Bear arrived to help with belly binding and breastfeeding.

Most importantly, Audrey was incredible during my labor. She played an integral role in helping me achieve a positive birth experience. Over the course of those 36 hours, Audrey traded back and hip press responsibilities with Papa Bear and took many turns pouring water over my belly in the tub. She also helped me find my voice when I was having complications delivering the placenta and everything turned into a fog. She was an incredible asset and I can’t recommend her enough.

If you choose to ignore every other item on this list, I hope you do yourself a favor and find a doula. DONA International is a great resource if you want to learn more about the benefits of birth doulas or would like to find one.

Chicago recommendation: Audrey (Thomas) Lava of Breathe Love Doula

2. Take a birth class

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There are a million varieties of birth classes available in any major city. At the suggestion of our midwives, Papa Bear and I attended a six-week course that focused on, among other topics, evidence-based practices, emotional health, and partner communication. We also took the recommended breastfeeding and bringing baby home follow-up classes.

The biggest benefit of a birth class is that it arms you with information about current protocol, including possible interventions, risks, and options, and helps you think about what you want out of your birth experience.

Another huge benefit is that it is great for your mental health. In a birth class, you are surrounded with other soon-to-be-parents who can relate to all the anxieties you feel about the huge change you are about to encounter. Plus, we ended up making two very good friends in the class, and that’s always a bonus!

Chicago recommendation: The Power of Birth class at Chicago Family Picnic

3. Use a midwifery group

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Now, there are many reasons you may want or need to see an OB for your delivery, and that’s totally cool. My previous provider, whom I loved, was an OB. Seeing as how he’s about 80 years old, though, he wasn’t in the business of delivering babies anymore so I had to seek someone new. Luckily for me, there is a highly rated midwifery group right down the street from my apartment. After taking their tour, it was an easy decision to make the switch.

The midwifery model of care takes a holistic approach to women’s health and really centers itself around a woman’s emotional, physical, and social well-being. Generally speaking, midwives handle low-risk pregnancies and are known to have fewer medical interventions (including Cesarean births). Not only were these qualities attractive to me in hopes of having a natural birth, but I was also drawn to the idea of being treated more as a partner instead of a patient throughout my pregnancy and postpartum periods.

I also loved that the midwifery group practiced the latest in evidence-based care. In fact, their standard protocol was almost a perfect match with my birth wishes. I never felt judged or worried after my prenatal appointments, even when I was gaining more weight than expected and was freaking myself out. It was a beautiful relationship, and one I would wish for any woman.

Chicago recommendation: Midwifery Group at Swedish Covenant Hospital

4. Read Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth

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Okay, here’s where we get a little crunchy. Ina May Gaskin is arguably the most famous midwife in the country and was a founder of The Farm Midwifery Center, which is basically an out-of-hospital birth commune (I told you it was going to be crunchy). She says childbirth is something women are built to do and is a proponent for treating birth as the spiritual experience it was meant to be. Now, a lot of what she says should be read with a grain of salt, but she emphasizes positivity and that’s why her book resonated with me so much.

I also recommend this book because more than half of it is just different women telling their (positive) birth stories. Pregnancy literature is saturated with horror stories about what might go wrong and how hard labor is. Everyone knows things could go wrong and that labor is hard. Those books made me feel discouraged and like I was facing a mountain. Ina May’s book made me feel excited about the labor and delivery. It made me focus on the connection I had with my baby and think about the beauty of labor. It made me feel strong, powerful, and, well, womanly. Every woman should feel so empowered before she gives birth.

Book recommendation: Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth by Ina May Gaskin

5. Be active & exercise

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This is a no-brainer, but it bears repeating. At the risk of sounding overly emotional, I enjoyed exercise more while pregnant than I ever have because I couldn’t help but think about the physical connection baby and I shared. Each breath I took was for both of us; each movement I made could be felt by both of us. Though I hadn’t been a yogi before pregnancy, I will say that prenatal yoga was an especially good way to focus on this relationship.

It was also helpful for me to view exercise as training for the most difficult physical challenge I would ever face. Once I was out of the exhausting first trimester, I hit the ground running (well, more elliptical riding and walking). Staying active throughout my pregnancy helped me feel ready for the physicality of labor and definitely contributed to my being able to keep going after such a long time.

Chicago recommendations: Women’s Workout World (gym), Bloom Yoga (yoga), North Shore Channel Trail (walking path)

6. Make a kickass playlist

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This is a small glimpse of my own labor playlist.

If your labor and delivery unit allows you to play music, I highly suggest grabbing a Bluetooth speaker, subscribing to Spotify (I have the Premium membership for $9.99/month), and putting together your own labor playlist.

Choose music that makes you feel inspired (“I Believe I Can Fly”), sentimental (“Can’t Help Falling In Love”), amused (“Beelzeboss (The Final Showdown)”), like an badass (“I’m Shipping Up to Boston”), happy (“Could You Be Loved”), relaxed (“Aloha Oe”), and like the powerful woman you are (“Run the World (Girls)”).

As you can see from the sample in the picture and my above recommendations, my playlist included quite a random collection from across nearly every category, from opera to disco to rap. Each song was carefully chosen to make me feel as pumped up as possible. For the most part, I had some kind of special memory tied to each song, which made for a nice little distraction during contractions. As labor progressed, I started paying less attention to the world around me (including the music), but one of my favorite labor memories was being in the birthing tub, having a very zen moment, and hearing the suddenly loud and…uh…vulgar words of “Down With the Sickness.” My nurse looked at me like I had two heads, but it made me laugh when I didn’t think it was possible. The only song I ended up telling Papa Bear I “just couldn’t listen to right now!” was “Tearin’ Up My Heart.” Sorry, *NSYNC. I was in a zone.

In Short

Feel free to take or leave the above recommendations; together they helped me feel excited and ready to welcome my baby, but everyone is different.

Again, the most important thing is that you feel supported and empowered throughout your pregnancy, labor, and delivery. You are birthing a human being into this world! No matter what, surround yourself with positivity. It’s a beautiful time in your life and should be celebrated as such.

Do you have any other suggestions? Please comment!

Hard is Hard

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Today I sat down and started writing a post about infertility, specifically what not to say to someone struggling with it.

Infertility is an emotionally loaded topic and one that is tough to unravel. Despite it being profoundly common–one in eight couples has difficulty conceiving or sustaining a pregnancy–infertility still carries a stigma. While it really sucked to have to deal with it myself, I like to share my experience to help break down the walls that make it so. Maybe I can help other infertile couples, or, almost more importantly, help their support networks feel better equipped to provide the kind of support the couple needs. 

But that is neither here nor there. As I was writing the post, something made me pause. When dealing with infertility, one of the most frustrating things people told me was that they “understood completely” what we were going through. As I was trying to describe why, it occurred to me that this frustration is not exclusive to infertility. This is something we all face in some way or another.

You know those memories that make you cringe when you recall them? Even years later, I feel nauseated when I think of some of the stupid, insensitive things I’ve said and done. I like to think I’m a good person, and that my friends and family know I would never try to make them feel bad. If we were purely logical beings, it wouldn’t be a problem because we wouldn’t take everything to heart. But we are human beings, and emotions are fortunately or unfortunately part of the package.

Humans are programmed to empathize. We thrive on forming connections to better understand, relate to, and support each other. But empathy is tricky. Unless we’ve experienced exactly what someone else is going through, we’d often be better off trying to show sympathy, and showing compassion for that person’s struggle instead of trying to relate to it our own.

In the case of infertility, I didn’t want people telling me that they understood because it took them “four whole months” to conceive. I also didn’t want people telling me that they understood but that we were lucky because it took them “much longer.” Either one seemed to downplay the pain I was feeling. I just wanted to wallow in a little self-pity and experience my struggle for what it was to me. I wanted someone to say they were there for me and that it sucked. That it must be hard for me. That self-pity may not have been healthy, but it was important that my emotions and feelings were validated for what they were.

Basically, I didn’t want my difficulty being compared on some kind of scale to what someone else had experienced.

Just by nature, when we empathize, we compare. We relate what we are hearing to what we know. Don’t get me wrong, we need empathy. Many of us have experienced similar things and it does feel good to talk about them. Therapeutic even. But here’s what I’ve come to realize:

Hard isn’t relative. Hard is hard.

Just because what we struggle with is different and may carry different consequences doesn’t mean one thing is easier than the other. Even when dealing with my own challenges, there is no need to belittle my current feelings because something I dealt with in the past was “harder.” It was hard then and it is hard now. This is true for anything: loss, illness, relationship struggles, weight gain, weight loss, trying to quit a bad habit, etc.; the list goes on and on. It doesn’t matter, and that’s the most eye-opening part of this realization for me.

Sometimes bad news is awkward to hear. We often don’t know what to say or how to respond, so we stammer out the first thing that pops into mind. We mean well, of course, but a lot of times whatever we say is just not helpful. In a lot of ways we’re automatically programmed to find common ground when instead we should accept that our problems aren’t relative to each other. They are problems and they are hard. Period.

The idea of giving ourselves space to feel what we feel is freeing. It’s important to know that when someone does compare your hard situation to one of theirs, they are most likely trying to be helpful. We’re all just trying to relate to each other, so there’s no point in harboring resentment. It doesn’t matter if what you are going through seems to you to be miles ahead of where they are; hard is hard.

Similarly, we should cut ourselves some slack when feeling guilty because we can’t relate to someone else’s challenge. It’s okay to sympathize and not quite understand. You don’t need to apologize for your life’s challenges or lack thereof. At some point, you’ve surely faced some kind of problem. It doesn’t matter to what degree we experience pain or sorrow; hard is hard. We don’t have to live the same lives to support and acknowledge each other.

Most of the time, no matter the struggle, we’d be better off just saying, “I’m so sorry you’re going through that. I am here for you.” Accepting and practicing this would probably make all of our relationships richer.

From now on, I pledge to do my best to put this revelation into practice. When my friends and family are struggling, I want to be there for them in a supportive way and will try not unintentionally diminish or undermine their feelings by comparing my struggles to theirs, even if I’m just trying to connect with them. Instead, I will try to be better at lending a sympathetic ear and acknowledging their struggle at face value, without figuring out how it fits in my own life’s spectrum of difficult experiences.

Let’s all embrace that life can be hard, no matter what “hard” means to you. We’re all just trying to figure out what it all means anyway. There’s no sense in making in making that harder.

 

How Motherhood Changed My Understanding of Time

Time is such a funny thing, isn’t it? The concept of time. It’s rather grand in theory and is the kind of thing that makes your brow furrow if you think about it too long. Time. Time. TIME. It completely loses its meaning.

What does time mean anyway? Well, until recently I never concerned myself too much with the passage of time other than to use it as a filler during small talk. “Wow, I can’t believe it’s already [insert month]. This year is going by so quickly!”

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Upon conception, though, time is measured very differently, carefully even. With the help of an app, I could easily tell you at any moment exactly how many weeks (and days) pregnant I was. I’m not sure about you, but until then I had never measured my life in terms of weeks minus the occasional vacation countdown. (Baby’s progress, meanwhile, was measured in comparisons to increasingly large fruits and vegetables. Thirty weeks? Baby is the size of a butternut squash. Kind of a strange custom, really, but a lot of things about pregnancy and motherhood are strange.)

All you think about when you’re pregnant is time. “How much time do I have to finish the nursery?” “When will baby be born?” “Will we ever have time to play board games again when baby comes?”

It should prepare you for what’s to come, but it doesn’t even come close.

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Will the time ever come where I can see my legs again?
Pictured: Me at 37 weeks

Time stopped the day Baby Bear was born. It stopped the moment he was born.

After a 36-hour labor (an amount of time I will never forget), I was practically delirious. Luckily Papa Bear was a little more with-it than I because otherwise I’m not sure I’d remember anything from that first day. At no point did I really know what was going on around me or what time it was. All I could do was flit in and out of sleep with this incredible baby on my chest. Our visitors brought us bounties of food (including a steak and a long-awaited Portillo’s hot dog; I never seem to forget food), I know I showered at some point (the best shower I’d ever had), and I waddled to pee under the watchful eye of a nurse a handful of times. Otherwise, everything is a blur. I was exhausted and so overcome with emotion that even when we decided on his name I was not entirely alert.

In the days after his birth, I felt awestruck and more nostalgic than I’d ever been. Which was a strange feeling given that I had this new baby in my arms. I looked back and reminisced about the entire birth experience. I felt sad that each new day took us further away from that glorious moment when we first laid eyes on each other. Glorious sounds a little flamboyant, but that’s the only word I can use to describe it. Though I felt like we were still in a daze and had a hard time remembering what day or time it was, I already wanted to slow down and make sure I was truly savoring everything.

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Please, never let go. (Okay, maybe let go, we’ll cut your nails, then come back.)
Pictured: Baby Brown Bear’s 6-day-old hand grasping my thumb

But then, miraculously, life continued on. Our whole lives were building to this moment and yet it passed like any other. Papa Bear and I adjusted to parenthood–this probably shouldn’t be in past tense–and have had to succumb to the now advanced pace of time.

When Baby Bear was three weeks old, he and I started attending a wonderful group for new moms (about which I will write more later). At the time, he was one of the youngest babies there. While it had taken so much effort and planning to arrive even somewhat on time, I sat there in bewilderment as the moms of older babies seemed to be so at ease with their babies and their new lives. They were relaxed and took all the things their babies did in stride while those same things still caused me so much anxiety. I admired these ‘older’ moms and hoped that some day I’d feel that way too.

I didn’t recognize it as it was happening, of course, but one day I looked around the room and realized that my eight-month-old was now one of the oldest babies there. As I tried to reassure these ‘younger’ harried and frazzled moms that life gets easier, I marveled at the fact that these babies were even born. How was it that the world didn’t stop turning when Baby Bear was born? Logically, of course, I knew this was ridiculous, but I couldn’t shake the sensation. My life monumentally changed; I no longer had a paying job, I wore yoga pants nearly constantly, I spent a lot more time with my dog, and, oh yeah, I had a baby to care for every second of my day. Was there a little tremor, at least, when he was born? Could other people feel it too?

Every single day seems to pass differently than it did before. It is simultaneously more and less structured. I no longer worry about catching the bus to catch the ‘L’ (good riddance, rush hour commute). Now, my life is measured by library times, nap times, bath times, and bed times. The weeks and months pass at an alarming speed, but that’s partly because of how much can change between each one. During one week, he peers up at me with his little toothless grin; the next, he is accidentally biting me because he hasn’t adjusted to his teeth yet.

As annoying as it can be, his life is being measured by what milestones he is hitting (or not hitting). Mine seems to be going in reverse of his. One day he will no longer fit in my arms. With each passing milestone, we are one step closer to him leaving for college. It might be a little bleak, but it’s true. Try as I might to savor each and every moment, I often catch myself scrolling through Facebook and then feeling overcome with guilt that I’m not just staring at his angelic sleeping face because it won’t always be there.

See, that’s the problem with parenthood that I wasn’t really prepared to handle: I have no idea how much time is left to enjoy each thing. It can be anything from something as innocuous as how long he’ll end up napping that day, to something more important, like how long he’ll want to keep nursing. I sometimes wish I knew. Not so I could feel better when I zone out, of course, but so I could just appreciate it even more. Mom guilt aside (that’s a whole other topic), I just want to be able to thoroughly enjoy each moment without thinking of and worrying about how fast it’s all going.

Every single parent we know has at one point told us to “enjoy it because it goes fast.” Of course I understood what they meant, but I really couldn’t wrap my head around it until it started happening to us, too. Last week, a friend said to me, “I can’t believe he’s almost one!” I stopped her, but then realized that his first birthday is only a couple of months away. It made me want to grab him, squeeze him, and never let him go.

Even now, as I type this, I have to fight the urge to let him sleep instead of waking him so I can snuggle his nine-month-old self. That’s another funny thing about parenthood: as excited as I am for him to go to sleep so I have some time to myself, I often find that I miss him only an hour or two later. In all of this blur of time, he’s become my best little buddy.

Anyway, I guess what I’m saying is that motherhood has completely morphed the way I view and experience time. It’s no longer just something to casually remark upon. It is now something to be truly cherished. Baby Bear, I never want to take you or anything you do for granted. You are my miracle.

Plus, all of this is just another reason not to worry about setting him down to fold that pile of laundry or scrub the tub. Because, really, given how fast these babies grow:

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Baby Bear’s Favorite Children’s Books

Years ago, I was a member of the Mad Hatters, the Junior League of Chicago’s volunteer performance troupe. We would read, sing, dance, and act out children’s books and poems at various libraries and locations across the city.

Being part of a children’s literacy program is something else; seeing kids smile and engage with books during the great screen age of our time is quite incredible, really. As a member of that group, I reconnected with several children’s books that I had either long forgotten or never paid much notice. It also made me look forward to the day when I could read, sing, dance, and act out children’s books with my own kid. I correctly anticipated that it would be one of my favorite parts of parenting.

Within days of bringing Baby Bear home, Papa Bear and I made reading to the babe a nightly routine. When he was that young, it was much more for our own benefit since he couldn’t be bothered to stay awake during story time. Now, at nearly nine months, he is much more interested in what we are reading. Well, he’s at least interested in trying to grab and chew the books we are reading. But it’s a start.

The Short List

Here are our favorite children’s books so far.

C is for Chicago 

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C is for Chicago written by Maria Kernahan and illustrated by Michael Schafbuch
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I have major hometown pride, and this book just fuels that fire. In fact, I love it so much that I will only read it to Baby Bear while he’s in his high chair because I don’t want him to tear the pages. (Note: I did see a board version available, but a smaller size would do this book an injustice.)

The illustrations are gorgeous. They are bold, bright, and really hold baby’s attention (which is no small feat). The rhymes for each letter are clever and do a wonderful job of showcasing some of my favorite things about this city. My favorite spread is, “H is for hot dogs on steamed poppy seed buns. With a garden full of toppings it’s hard to eat just one.” Imagine the artwork on that one or do one better and buy the book for yourself. I’m sure many of Chicago’s bookstores sell it, but I grabbed a copy (and a few for friends) at Enjoy, An Urban General Store.

We’re Going on a Bear Hunt

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We’re Going on a Bear Hunt by Michael Rosen and Helen Oxenbury
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A classic, this was one of my favorites when I was in Mad Hatters. When kids are older, you can invite them to act it out with you. It’s especially fun when you come to the ending and have to open the door, rush up the stairs, go back downstairs, etc., because kids are great at capturing that hurried excitement.

When they’re little, kids are drawn to repetition and changes in tone and volume during the ‘noise’ pages (e.g., “Splash splosh!”). Plus, the variation between black and white and colorful illustrations provides a visually appealing contrast for all readers.

Fire! ¡Fuego! Brave Bomberos

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Fire! ¡Fuego! Brave Bomberos written Susan Middleton Elya and illustrated by Dan Santat
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As someone who was at one time fluent in Spanish but now needs to practice a lot more than I do, I’d highly recommend this book. It creatively mixes English and Spanish to tell the story of four brave firefighters (bomberos) as they are called to extinguish a fire.

This is one of my favorite books to read aloud because each line just rolls right off the tongue. For example, “Firemen raise the ladder high. ‘I’ll go. I’ll go.’ ‘Let me try!’ ‘Hey, compadres, momentito! Let me save that poor gatito.'”

The art really complements the treatment of the text; each Spanish word is bolded and there are several callouts. As a bonus, there’s a glossary of Spanish terms at the back of the book. For non-Spanish speakers, the glossary reviews pronunciation too.

INDESTRUCTIBLES™ nursery rhyme book set

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Indestructibles™ illustrated by Jonas Sickler
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These are perhaps the best books a baby can have. According to their description, “INDESTRUCTIBLES are built for the way babies ‘read’: with their hands and mouths. INDESTRUCTIBLES wont’ rip or tear and are 100% washable. They’re made for baby to hold, grab, chew, pull, and bend.” From my experience, this all true. They are made from a nontoxic, paper-like material and they can seriously take a beating. In fact, I’ve often wondered as Baby Bear is playing with these if I’m teaching him that it’s okay to treat books like chew toys, but I’ve learned that he’ll chew a book regardless. At least these are meant to be chewed.

If you’re like me and you couldn’t remember the words to these nursery rhymes (I wish I were kidding), you’re in luck because all of the words are printed on the back. Each line corresponds to a different page with its own dazzling illustration. The colors are vibrant and the images almost seem textured as the illustrator made use of many different patterns. As if all of these things weren’t great enough, each book is extremely lightweight and makes for a perfect diaper bag toy.

The Butt Book

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The Butt Book written by Artie Bennett and illustrated by Mike Lester
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Baby Bear’s cousin has given us several great books so far, including the INDESTRUCTIBLE set above, but this is my personal favorite. Very cheeky (no pun intended), this book talks all about butts, a topic that I’m sure will be endlessly entertaining to Baby Bear as he grows older.

The book starts off, “Eyes and ears are much respected, but the butt has been neglected. We hope to change that here and now. Would the butt please take a bow?” How could that not make you giggle at least a little bit? That’s what’s so great about this book: it’s delightfully funny for adults and kids alike. It’s hard to choose, but perhaps my favorite line is, “Some names for butts have foreign flair: tuchas, keister, derriere!”

Appropriately, all of the illustrations show different kinds of butts, from a mummy butt to a rhino butt to a teddy bear’s butt. I never thought I’d so thoroughly enjoy a book about butts, but I do!

God Bless You & Good Night

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God Bless You & Good Night written by Hannah C. Hall and illustrated by Steve Whitlow
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This is the last book we read before bed every night. As I’m sure is the case with many parents and Goodnight Moon, both Papa Bear and I know each of the adorable ten stanzas by heart. The book is beautifully illustrated and shows a parent (hey, it could be a mommy or daddy) animal with its baby as they go through different parts of a bedtime routine. My favorite line to read to Baby Bear is, “You’re ready now to cuddle down. There’s one last thing to do. I’ll hold you near so you can hear me whisper, ‘I love you.'” I look forward to that little snuggle every single time.

As you may expect based on the title, there are a few God references in this book. For example, “Let’s settle down and settle in and close our eyes to pray. You’ve wrestled, raced, and run and chased. ‘God, thank You for this day.'” While I’m not a big fan of overtly religious text, these don’t faze me as it’s such a sweet book overall.

Goodnight Little One

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Goodnight Little One written Margaret Wise Brown and illustrated by Rebecca Elliott
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Another charming bedtime book, this one from the author of Goodnight Moon also follows different kinds of animals as they close their eyes to go to sleep. For example, “Little pig that squeals about, make no noises with your snout. No more squealing to the skies, little pig now close your eyes.”

The text is cute and the use of repetition is great for little readers, but the illustrations are by far my favorite part of this book. Each little animal looks so sleepy and cuddly, I can’t help but lull myself to sleep along with my babe.

Shop Local

You’ll notice that, with the exception of C is for Chicago, which sends you to a different local shop, each link sends you to the Book Cellar, my local bookstore. As I mentioned in my recent board game post, I am a firm believer in “shopping local” and supporting my community’s small businesses. If you don’t want to go into the store, the Book Cellar will ship directly to you. If you’d prefer to support your favorite local bookstore, I’m sure they can order these books for you if they’re not already in stock. Help the little guys out!

Your Favorites

I can’t recommend these seven books enough, but what are we missing? Comment and share your and/or your kid’s favorite books. We are always looking to grow our library.

Motherhood: A Land of Irrationality

Motherhood opens your mind to its own dark recesses, ones you never knew were there. Even within the first few minutes of having Baby Brown Bear, I started worrying. I worried that he was cold, that he wouldn’t be able to do the baby-led crawl to the breast, that he was pooping too much on me (the latter to which the answer is probably always a yes).

I used to think my grandma worried too much when she told me to be careful about the most ridiculous things. “Be careful when opening your plastic Easter eggs because they could slice your fingers!” Um, okay.

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The sharp edges of a plastic Easter egg.

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I also saw how much my mom worried, especially once I moved away from home. Granted, it was probably smart of her to be worried about my 18-year-old idiotic self. Still, it never seemed to end. And hasn’t to this day. “Yes, Mom, there are other people riding the ‘L’ with me at 4:00 p.m.”

Then I became a mother and I suddenly understood.

Even though my baby is not even a year old, I can only imagine how nervous I’ll be when he starts to become more independent. Driving? By HIMSELF?! Forget it.

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Is this what it feels like for parents when their kids start to drive?

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While my imagination has always been colorful, the most irrational fear I had before baby was one of snakes. Motherhood, on the other hand, has brought to light a whole host of things I never realized I needed to worry about. Though, to be fair, the thought of snakes anywhere near Baby Brown Bear is especially horrifying.

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Yes, I can only tolerate a cartoon snake because even pictures of real ones scare me.

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In the last eight months, at least three scary scenarios have popped into my head each day regarding the safety of my baby and/or me. While I think it’s important to be aware of our surroundings and mindful of the people nearest us, I do have the tendency to take things a little far and worry about the unlikeliest of issues.

On the more realistic end of what I’m talking about, I recall that on our first stroller walk after Baby Brown Bear was born, I yelled at Papa Bear to push the stroller with two hands. “You drive a car with two hands. Why on Earth wouldn’t you drive our baby’s stroller with two hands?” In my mind, the tire would hit a sidewalk crack at an angle, jolt uncontrollably, and roll into oncoming street traffic. Even though there are about six feet of grass between the sidewalk and the street.

But that’s pretty tame compared to what I really mean.

Top Three Irrational Fears Thus Far, or, Why My Brain Needs a Chill Pill

From what I can remember (and there’s a lot of baby-induced memory loss going on here), below are probably the top three most irrational, improbable situations I’ve envisioned since Baby Bear was born.

3. Strangers throwing acid on my baby.

I remember this one clearly. Baby Bear and I were walking with the stroller when he was about two months old. At the time, he was still in his car seat attachment, so he was facing me. As we walked past a laundromat, I saw two people on the sidewalk in front of us with their backs turned. Before I knew it, I pictured these people waiting until we walked by, then lunging forward and heaving hydrochloric acid into the stroller. Of course, I then tried to figure out how I would intercept the throw and block the acid with my own skin. Then this led me to think about how this would likely incapacitate me for long enough for the acid throwers to steal the baby. Would I be able to crawl and tackle them? Call 911? Would anyone on the street help me or would it be a Kitty Genovese situation? Dammit, I’ve always hated doing laundry and this is probably why.

laundromat

Getting stuck inside a washer is the least of my concerns.

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2. A ghost haunting Baby Bear’s bedroom at night.

Luckily for us, Baby Brown Bear is a pretty amazing sleeper (knock on wood this continues). His naps can be hit or miss, but his nighttime sleep is one for the books. That’s why, on the rare occasions when he wakes up screaming, I naturally wonder if he’s not being haunted by a malevolent ghost. What else would cause him to go from zero to 60 in the course of 10 seconds?

As soon as this thought initially occurred to me, I had to wake up my husband because I could be thinking it alone in the dark. Then I felt bad that I didn’t rush into the baby’s room because, if he really were being haunted by a ghost, shouldn’t I be the one to save him and send it away? In the time it took me to think through all these things, he stopped screaming. It must have been a friendly ghost who just scared him by showing up unexpectedly, I guess. Carry on, affable spirit.

the shining

This confession bear is, sadly, my own. I suppose I’m prone to middle-of-the-night irrationality. More on The Shining later.

[Source: My own pitiful, adult self]

1. A zombie apocalypse occurring while we are away from home. 

As Baby Bear and I were packing to leave for a trip to Denver without Papa Bear, I was suddenly seized with fear. What if, while we were gone, the zombie apocalypse broke out? I’ve already read too much about zombies thought about this kind of situation before, but not since I had the baby. Obviously there were several things to consider: 1. How would I communicate with my husband and family when the world’s communications systems stopped working?; 2. Would I be able to keep my six-month-old quiet or would he immediately attract all the zombies around us with his cries and babble?; 3. Would my husband be able to escape Chicago or would the city be too overrun when he realized he needed to leave? Assuming he wouldn’t be a sure goner, I had to plan. (Note: I never once doubted my own survival skills. This girl is prepared.)

Since the zombies in my mind are of the Max Brooks variety (i.e., sluggish and slowed down by cold), I threw together a rough strategy. Given that I had only one night before we left, it would have to suffice. When my husband came home that evening, I told him our plan: we’d reconvene in the countryside outside of Winnipeg since it was far enough north that the zombies would freeze in the winter and was situated roughly half way between Denver and Chicago. To which he responded, “Wait, what plan is this?”

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Lord, please let George R. R. Martin be wrong. My snow plans would be f***ed.

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I’d like to say that over time these bizarre thoughts will fade, but if I’m honest with myself, I know better. In fact, I’m sure they’ll just become even stranger and more irrational.

But you know what? If they help me over prepare, I’m all for it. After all, I’m signed up for the long haul no matter what.

What are some of your strangest and most irrational fears?