bearing blog


bear – ing n 1  the manner in which one comports oneself;  2  the act, power, or time of bringing forth offspring or fruit; 3 a machine part in which another part turns [a journal ~];  pl comprehension of one’s position, environment, or situation;   5  the act of moving while supporting the weight of something [the ~ of the cross].


  • Back in the game.

    I'm not sure it's the same game, though. 

     I made it to the gym tonight with the rest of my family.  The last time I was there was two weeks ago, vigorously stepping on the stairclimber, trying to turn the baby and maybe go into labor.  This plan, you may remember, succeeded (I gave birth eight hours later).  But not before I got a LOT of attention from other YMCA-goers.  A nine-months-pregnant woman sweating on a stairclimber, particularly one who's really throwing her weight into her hips for effective fetal rotation, is a conversation starter to say the least.   

    (All of the conversations went like this:

    "When are you due?"

    "Today."

    "!!!!")

    Anyway, that was two weeks ago.  Today we bundled everyone up right after dinner, got to the Y in time to get Milo in to his swim lesson, and got the other kids down to the child care.  

    I nursed Leo in the child care and then took him with me up to the track that runs around the top of the basketball gym — seventeen laps to the mile.  There I looped around and around in a brisker walk than I'd managed since he was born.  I had Best of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers on my iPod and Leo in my Maya Wrap, and it felt really good.  My back started to hurt after a while, probably due to atrophied baby-slinging muscles, but I was delighted to be moving again.   I watched Mark pass me and pass me and pass me again at a run, and wondered when I'd be running too.  I watched the older children down in the gym, including Oscar, playing badminton (or at least playing with badminton gear), and thought how strange it is that I already have a nine-year-old running around in a gymnasium with other kids his age.

    I can't do much more than walk now.  It's hard not to feel out of shape and grumpy.  When I was hugely pregnant I felt like a very fit, strong, and healthy pregnant woman, because — in fact — I was.  If I was a very fit and healthy pregnant woman two weeks ago, then logically I must be a very fit and healthy postpartum woman right now, however unfit and weak I may feel in the absolute.  I must try to keep that in mind (while at the same time not pushing myself so hard I get hurt).

    Before we left I had to nurse him some more, of course.  Then carry him to the pool to show him off to the lifeguards and swim instructors who'd been marveling at my girth for the last several months, and back down to the child care to show him off to the staffers who care for my other kids.  The rituals of reappearing from one's, er, confinement.  And then home for a snack.  And some ibuprofen. And a lot of rest.

    Coming up, a stab at Leo's birth story.   And Sunday, Leo's baptism.  I'll try to get the birth story out in parts over the weekend.


  • Rolls.

    No, it's not a recipe.  I followed a sitemeter referral link and was so enamored by this gorgeous fat baby photo that I had to link and share.


  • Working vacation.

    When I set up my school year back in early summer, I arranged it so I could take 3 weeks off around the baby's birth.  We didn't get much done the week leading up to Leo's early-Friday-morning birth, so I haven't decided whether to count that as a week off or not.  Last week was off, totally.  This week will be off, totally.  I guess I'll decide in a few days whether to grind back up to speed a week from now or to put it off one more week.   Mark has been hinting ominously about a possible business trip — he calls it a "standing invitation" — next week…

    But even though I'm not starting school back this week, some things are back to normal.  Today was the first morning I set an alarm, showered right away, made my own breakfast, woke the children.  MJ and Leo and I went to the preschool music class.  Thursday, we expect, we will have our first six-person Family Gym Night:  I will walk around the track with the baby.   Then this weekend we will be back to some socializing:  Leo's baptism is Sunday, and my house will be filled to capacity with food-bringing godparents and grandparents and the tribe.  

    Mark is still getting dinner on the table and managing children in the afternoon while I nap.  Today a couple of girls are coming over to play with the middle kids so that both of us can nap, unless Mark decides to spend it doing taxes or something like that.  I still need a lot of rest.

    I was thinking about making some lists for next year's school, though, when I go upstairs to lie down this afternoon.  Because I hate March, I have always taken an extra week off (besides for Easter) then — but mostly used that week for school planning, as it's not that I need a vacation as much as I need to work on something different for a few days.  Hmm, what'll we do for science, for music, for history?  I'll have a fifth grader and a first grader and a 4yo… 

    I'm also thinking in earnest about getting back into shape, even though it's a little too early for me to do very much.  It'll be just walking for a few weeks.  I have no idea when I can start trying to run.  I figure I can probably get in the pool at 6 weeks (Saturday, March 13!  Calendar marked already!).  Although my first peek at the scale a few days after Leo's birth upset me, I've watched the scale continue to drop slowly and steadily.  I've now lost 18 pounds of the 45 I gained.   

    Mark advised me to make a plan, some plan, and practice sticking to it.  "I know you," he said, "you'll feel better if you're doing something than if you're doing nothing."  So I am building two habits.  I am weighing myself daily again, and I am keeping a qualitative (no measurements or numbers allowed) food diary.  

    (You can see it here, in bloggy form, not that it's terribly interesting.  Bonus points to anyone who figures out why I picked that userid for my identity in the weight-loss-o-sphere.)

    Mark is right, by the way.  I do feel better.  I am a successful food diarist, if nothing else.  Small successes add up.

    Well.  We are extra tired today because of a trip to introduce Leo to his pediatrician, in which I learned how the rules have changed since my last baby was born.  Fever of 99.8 in a baby under 3 months  –> ER visit to rule out GBS infection, check.  400 IU per day of of Vitamin D, unless I supplement myself much more expensively, check.  Pertussis vaccine recommended now for parents of newborns, because around here Mom is the most likely vector for infecting newborns with pertussis, interesting, check.   We were reminded to sing to the baby, got complemented on the cloth diapers, sidestepped vaccine-related interrogation by politely asking for a copy of the recommended-these-days schedule to peruse at home, scheduled a hearing test for next month, and presented Leo's right heel to be stuck for the newborn screen (poor guy).

    Fortunately, our babysitting-tweens-in-training just arrived to play with our big kids for 3 hours.  Nap time!


  • Postpartum tips.

    What can you do in advance to make the postpartum period easier?

    Even though a lot of my readers have given birth more times than I have, I do still get a fair amount of traffic from search engines, and I was thinking that this post might be helpful for the pregnancy newbies out there in the world.  Let me preface this by saying that I've never given birth in a hospital, and never had any birth-related surgery — no Cesareans, obviously, and also no episiotomies or stitches.  So I can't help much with those specifics — maybe my readers can.

    That said, here are some things that I swear by.    Have them in your house before you give birth.  Depending on how long you "get" to stay in the hospital after birth, some of these things aren't applicable to mothers who'll be coming home from the hospital, but others are.

    1.  Install a handheld showerhead-on-a-hose in your shower.  I cannot stress this one enough.  It is not expensive or complicated, and it will make a real difference.  New mothers bleed, sometimes quite heavily, for several days after birth.  Often there are tears, episiotomy wounds, or stitches, and those areas must be kept clean for proper healing.   The easiest way to keep the perineum clean is to step into the shower several times a day — as in "every time you go to the toilet" — and quickly wash with plain warm water.  The shower is better than a bath because it is quicker, you won't have to sit your poor sore bottom in a hard tub, and it is easier to adjust the water temperature.  Also:  Perineal wounds sting when urine touches them.   They won't sting if you've got water running over them.  So go pee in the shower for a couple of days.

    2.  Consider skipping the maternity maxi-pads for several days, along with all underwear, unless you absolutely must appear, wearing pants, in front of company.  Instead, if you're not opposed to disposable paper things, have ready some disposable underpads.   "Depends" brand should be in your local drugstore, in the adult continence section.   Sometimes people call them "chux pads."   The size I like best is about the size of a large hand towel or a pillowcase.  Anyway, put them under you in bed, or sit on them in a chair and cover yourself with a blanket or wear a long skirt hiked up in back.  It's not glamorous, but it will keep you dryer and cleaner and allow air to get to your wounds, and it won't stick to them either.  If you don't like disposable stuff, old towels or cloth diapers will also do the trick. 

    Photo Dump 2006 111 Look, here I am 3 1/2 years ago after MJ's birth, sitting in the rocking chair on some towels.  I'm not ashamed.  

     

    3.   Tops and nightgowns and maybe a "sleep bra" that make it really, really easy to get at your breasts from both directions:  down from the neck or up from the bottom.   Yeah, if you're wearing a t-shirt you could just pull it up, but that's surprisingly difficult when the hem of the shirt is pinned between your body and the baby.  You're home, modesty and fashion aren't all that important; ease is.  Avoid buttons and snaps and look for fabric that can be simply pushed aside.  The "crossover" style for sleep bras and sleeveless nightgowns is pretty easy, and what I am wearing now (this site looks like the same kind of nightgown, though I've not bought their products).  An inexpensive and comfortable support option that I have used before is the Hanes Barely There Microfiber Crop Top which is stretchy enough to extract a breast from top or bottom but is still reasonably supportive, at least when it's new.   I think the best nursing opening, at least for ease of access, is found in tops made by the Swedish designer label Boob.  They are not cheap, but I want to show them to you so you know what I'm talking about when I say these are the easiest-access tops. 

    4.  Hand mirror.    It's nice to be able to see how you're healing up.  Like I said in an earlier post, it doesn't look as bad as you think it will look.

    5.  A generous supply of acetaminophen or ibuprofen and some rice bags or other heating pads:  those afterpains are a bitch, pardon my French. Rice bags are marvelous and it's good to have several in assorted shapes and sizes if you can manage it, but at minimum have two tube-sock bags, which don't have to be sewn, just knotted.  You heat them in the microwave until hot and they stay warm for a long time.  The weight of the rice keeps them in place, and as they cool you can squish them around to mix the rice up and bring the hotter rice out from the center.  You can also wedge them behind your back and give yourself a little heated lumbar support.   (Note:  a few handmade rice bags with instructions would be a great thing to give an expectant mom at a baby shower or blessingway.   Don't use fancy fabric, certainly no metallic thread, and remember that the eventual fate of all rice bags is either to get wet and mildew or to be eaten by mice.  Such is the circle of life.)

    6.  Cheap plastic dishtubs are very useful.  Scatter them around your house.  Put them by your chair to receive wet diapers so you don't have to get up.  Ditto by the bed at night.  During your postpartum bed rest, use it instead of a breakfast tray; a tub doesn't look as nice but provides valuable secondary containment for your cup of coffee or jar of water.  If you're doing the diaper-free/"elimination communication"/"natural infant hygiene"/"infant potty training" thing, a plastic dishtub makes a great infant potty, especially for boys, as it is a large target; put a cloth diaper or a paper towel in the bottom for quick and easy cleanup, or else just rinse it out when necessary.  (Don't use the same tub for your breakfast tray.)

    7.  Please have someone in your family (a 6-year-old is a good candidate) be in charge of keeping a quart of drinking water within your reach at all times.  Ice and a splash of juice would be a nice touch; anything to encourage you to drink more of it.   And stock up on one-handed snacks:  your favorite crackers, cubes of cheese or maybe string cheese, washed grapes or berries or perhaps clementines, hard-boiled eggs.  Pieces of dark chocolate.  Have a plate ready.  Have someone put a plate by your bed.  You should not have to get up to forage, and it's nice if you don't have to wake up your sweetie who also needs his sleep.

    8.  When friends or acquaintances offer help, especially when they offer in advance as your due date approaches, get their phone numbers.   There is more that can be done than just bringing meals.  In particular, I recommend asking, "Can I call you to come over and sit with me for a couple of hours in the first few days after the baby is born?"  A list of people who have said "yes" to this question is priceless.  Because this is what will enable your exhausted spouse to take a nap.  Or go for a run, or take a trip to the grocery store or hardware store, some time in the car alone with the radio on, a little psychic space.    Meanwhile, the person who has come to "sit with you" can fetch your water, attend to getting snacks for your children, grab a diaper for you from the changing table, that sort of thing, and generally make sure that you and the baby survive for two hours while your spouse is away or resting.  If your spouse can't take much time off work — some cannot take any — then please line up someone to help you more intensely.  The same if you are expecting multiples or a particularly difficult recovery (e.g. if you anticipate a high-risk cesarean or other surgery along with the birth).

    Note:  It's smart to identify someone who could help intensely even if you don't expect to need it.  When our first was born in a difficult labor that left both of us debilitated, my sister-in-law, who was on break from college at the time, flew in on short notice and basically — thank you Lori, we are eternally grateful — saved our lives.  If you lack available family members or friends, this service can be purchased — Google "postpartum doula."  

    * * *

    I've deliberately not gone into the large topics of Preparing For Successful Breastfeeding and Stocking Up On Meals, all of which are worthy of separate posts and also are available in many other resources on the web.  So, saving breastfeeding/meal stocking advice for another time, what tips do my readers have to share for getting through those first couple of weeks?  Especially for taking care of yourself and making sure you can recuperate?



  • Longing.

    I am at home with the baby in the sling, not a bad place to be.  The rest of my family is at the gym having Family Gym Night.  Milo has a swimming lesson, Mary Jane will be coloring pictures with Cindy-her-favorite-staffer-at-the-child-care, Oscar will be playing with the Wii Fit in the youth arcade, and Mark will be lifting weights.

    I am in a rocking chair with the baby in the sling.  I wish I was at the gym.  I have not left my house in a week. 

    "Maybe I could come with you?  Show off the baby?  Maybe walk around the track a couple of times with Leo in the sling?"

    Mark pointed out how exhausted I got the other day just from sitting and chatting with Hannah for three hours, how I stayed in bed till noon yesterday and today, how I am having no trouble getting two-hour naps in the middle of every afternoon.  "You need to rest.  You are trying to do too much too soon.  You already cleaned out your closet today.  Stay home.  Rest up.  Wait a few more days."

    So here I am, itching.  I keep thinking of things I ought to be doing.  I need to get up in the attic and find the christening gown.  I need to find some of my old "big clothes" to wear for the time being.  I need to put together a diaper bag.  Right?

    And while I'm stuck sitting down so darn much, okay, I accept that we need to take a couple of weeks off from teaching, but as long as I'm here in this chair, couldn't I get a head start on planning next school year?  Shop for nursing clothes?  Pay my library fines online?

    I admired my pregnant body, sleek and ripe, but postpartum is lumpy and misshapen.  I couldn't help it.  I weighed myself yesterday.   Shouldn't have done that yet, I think.  Dismay.  And still achy and stiff and slow from my recent exertions.    I fantasize about swimming.   I can't imagine running, ever again.  I think back to April, to a glimpse in a fitness-room mirror, myself on the treadmill, running — really running, sub-ten-minute miles.  Can I really do that?   Did I really do that?

    And what's wrong with me that I can't just enjoy these slow and lazy days while they last?




  • Postpartum.

    I have read a lot of birth stories.  One thing about them:  They all end before the interesting stuff is over.  Including much that a first-timer would find useful to know. 

    Recovery from childbirth advances (and occasionally retreats) on so many fronts at once.   That first hour is breathtakingly filled with sensations that can be as intense as childbirth itself, and some of them are far more distressing. 

    For example:  the attendants turn and handle the baby in the moments after birth, and this slackens and unslackens the umbilical cord ever so gently, and each time the sensations of the cord in my flesh have filled me with a horrifying physical fear that the cord will be accidentally yanked — that my uterus will invert like a sock. 

    And there's that sense of emptiness, that all pressure has left from the abdomen.  And the bruised and swollen flesh (it never looks as bad as it feels, thank goodness).  And that first time standing up, the way the floor has dropped out of your lung compartment, with no bulging uterus pushing up on the diaphragm – the ragged thin breaths and the weakness of the voice — that breathlessness is the sensation that sticks with me most.  And the uterus shrinks, and there is the last satisfying expulsion of the placenta, and cramping and bleeding and shrinking some more.   You are not really sure you'll be able to pee again, ever, until you do.  That's a milestone. 

    The baby is recovering too:  the eyes uncross, the skin splotches mysteriously with harmless newborn rash and mysteriously clears, the cord-stump withers away. 

    That first day and week we are still learning how to work together.   I am weakened and sore, and awkwardlky, slowly lift the little wriggling body,  Turning over in bed, knees together to support my bruised bottom, panting with effort because of my deflated torso, I try to support myself with one arm and scoop the squalling little person up with one hand under one clenchy armpit, the fingertips under the base of the skull.  The first attempt only rolls the baby over, infuriating him.  I roll him back and try again and manage to pin himagainst my belly  in a one-armed, splay fingered bear hug.  The cries are muffled and he turns his head back and forth, open-mouthed against my flesh, searching.  But now I have him firmly held, at least, and I can use my other arm to shove myself upright, and once upright to manage the diapers and grab a swig from my jar of water by the bed and then to deposit the baby on my other side and slowly lie down next to him and get him latched on.

    It gets easier as my abdominal strength returns, as I remember how I used to do it, as the baby learns what to expect from me and I from him.  He has learned that before I pick him up to hold him in position for him to pee, the first thing I do is remove his blankets; now he kicks his blankets off before he starts to fuss.  He has learned to pee when he is held in a certain position with hands firmly under his buttocks (Mark, whose arms are longer than mine, has gotten wet a few times when he casually transferred the baby into a one-armed football hold).  I have learned that when he comes off the breast and cries at it but won't latch back on, he needs to burp.   I have learned to recognize a way he breathes through his nose that means he's about to poop. 

    The cycle begins again:  I feel better, I get up; I sit in a chair too long, I talk too long with a visiting friend; I bleed, I hurt, I feel worse, I go back to bed and vow not to overdo it again next time.  I am thankful for paternity leave.  My husband is making pancakes and pizzas and quesadillas.  I am trying not to make too many suggestions.

    Everything tastes so wonderful right after having given birth.  Hot buttered toast is the best stuff in the whole world.  Scrambled eggs are heavenly, sturdy, strengthening.  A bowl of hearty soup, brimming with vegetables and beans and shreds of meat in flavorful broth, is amazing.   I can feel the food nourishing me. I eat a bite of collard greens and imagine I can feel the iron soaking into my blood.  Steaming, bitter black coffee jolts me into remembering my old self, the self that has coffee every morning while making breakfast for my family and checking my e-mail, and gives me a little ray of hope that it won't be too long before I can feel like me again:  not the old me but a new me, Mother of Four, me with Leo on my hip. 



  • I am so out of practice.

    Typing one handed that is.

    The first night wasn't too bad.  I'm very sore but I managed to nurse Leo on one side, falll asleep nursing, wake up when he fussed, shove him upright and drape him over my hip to burp (that maneuver came right back to me though I had forgotten it), and gingerly roll over to plop him on the other side to nurse again.  I didn't have to wake Mark except twice so he could hold Leo while I hobbled to the bathroom. 

    (If I could give one bit of advice to my ten-years-younger, pre-child self, it would be:  get over any idea that it's not "fair" for him to get more sleep than you.  With a new baby to care for, it is a whole lot more sensible to keep at least one person functioning adequatelyI am sure there is an extended metaphor there worthy of a whole blog post but I will leave it as an exercise for the reader.)

    So that first long night I slept pretty well, and so did Mark, even though eventuyally I did reach the point where I had to wake him up to beg for my breakfast.

    The second night the milk started to come in, and Leo started to pee,and things got a little complicated.  I just couldn't move very fast, and it seems he is the sort of baby who doesn't like to feel damp.  HELLO.  CAN I GET SOME SERVICE HERE.  He's sleeping naked on a pad of cloth diapers on the same disposable underpads that are under me.  When he peed he fussed noisily and kicked his blankets off, got chilly and wailed louder, I rolled about confusedly, an inverted turtle, groping around fordry things but finding all of them just a little damp.  How do I do this again?  Can't sit up, tailbone hurts.  Can't reach the fresh underpads.  Out of diapers already.  Sheet wet up by my head, how'd that happen?  Baby wants blanket, it's wet, can't reach dry ones, uhhhh…

    Then the baby's crying woke Mark, who had gotten all caught up on sleep the night before and so he could lift Leo up out of the puddle and smile and cuddle him till the crying stopped.  My head cleared and I remembered what I needed.  I know where it all is, Mark doesn't.  It's about time I tried walking a bit anyway.  I got to my feet, told Mark to stay put and keep Leo cozy, and shuffled down the hall to gather the nighttime supplies for baby pee, which I'd set aside weeks ago: a big piece of polar fleece (mental note:  need more), a stack of large (not newborn) cloth diapers, and the small, plastic, one-handled mixing bowl I use as a baby potty when I can  sit up some. 

    I shuffled back to the bedroom.  Mark scooted over and I leaned over the bed, cleared away the wet and bloodied things.  Decided the damp spot on the sheet was probably milk and not big enough to worry about.  With one-handed help from Mark I spread the polar fleece on the sheet, across the full width of the bed.  Put a disposable underpad on top of that (when I stop bleeding I'll replace that with soft absorbent wool), and finally a couple of large cloth diapers.  Mark swaddled Leo loosely in the flannel and nestled him next to me on the diaper pad as I crawled stiffly into bed.  Leo started and fussed a little — he reacts to every little movement and touch — but quickly quieted and latched on, and we slept.

    One more change in the night went more smoothly, and then it was morning.


  • A few more to tide you over

    till I can do a little cropping and pixellating on the birth photos.

    Leo birth pics 010 Leo birth pics 011

    Leo birth pics 031

    Leo birth pics 030 
    Leo birth pics 042