Life is a Banquet

Lunch Date

My daughter and I had lunch today. Just the two of us. The sky was blue with just enough breeze to remind one that it didn't break 80 today. The sun dappled everything we saw until we too became shiny, happy people. We started our morning with a walk with friends, ending with an *actual* walk of a few tottering steps on cement (be still my heart!). The rest of the time, she rode on my back, my little papoose. Still my tiny baby. She's like Caylis now. She knows it's Thursday, and she knows the turn for the park. Also like the dog, she has no concept of sharing---whatever the other baby has, she MUST have it too.

With no desire to head to Ye Pit of Filth, we got Chinese. The wonderful thing about the pre-verbal is that they always agree with your restaurant choice. If only the same could be said for husbands. She began with a pre-lunch appetizer in the car of a little nursing (best seat in the house--we had a view of the pond). She rode in on the sling, HEY! HEY! to everyone she saw, and contently ate steamed broccoli and green beans while I ate my lunch. She flirted shamelessly with a boys soccer team.

Then we headed to the Big Box of Evil. She rode in the cart, not on my back--a treat usually reserved for Daddy outings. My big girl. We uncovered a treasure trove of BARGAINS. She even makes her AR! Ar! Ar! Hey! noises when I slow down to browse a clearance rack. I've taught her well. She inspects each tag, even if some of her selections are a bit dubious (brown camo shorts? baby hiking boots? size 5x silky top? What is she trying to tell me?).  She is delighted by the smallest of things--a new sippy cup to hold, new walking shoes for the big girl, jars of baby food (one of which she merrily pitched overboard . . . Clean-up in Aisle 8).  We scored baby shoes for $3.50, a whole bunch of onesies and t-shirts for $1 each, $5 sunglasses, $2 and $3 shirts for Mama . . . and oh, yes, the items we came for.

Because she was so good, I let her pick out a new touch and feel book before we checked out. The cashier nicely scanned it while she was holding it, and she held it the whole way home, babbling to herself.

I have a daughter. We go to lunch. We go shopping. We come home, and we nap. We live in a absolutely stunning part of the country (well, not during the Monsoon season). This is as close to perfect as it gets. This is my dream right here.  I get so caught up in the little stresses of each day, that I'm blind to the perfection around me. This is it. One perfect day after another demanding that I chronicle it before I get lost in all the "shoulds"  and "coulds." 

Who did you have lunch with today?

First Step for Tavykind . . .

Several times a day I sit with arms outstretched. Come to Mama! But, she stubbornly sinks to the floor or crawls away. Minutes later, she's teetering between furniture or hefting herself up in the middle of the floor. She stands independently, triumphant in her feat, shaking her arms and proclaiming "Argh! Ar! Ar!" I call it her caveman dance. She's more interested in the physics of standing than the ease of pulling up. It is clear that her ultimate goal is to run about, a toy in each hand, ready to wreck havoc and destruction. She's never content with the status quo. Standing at the gate, fine and dandy. Now, I will CLIMB the gate. Or, I will twist about like trapeze artist until I can bring a large book up with me.

Let me help you. I can hand it to you. Together we can do it.

She grunts and sighs defeatedly when we hand her the item she seeks or extract her from a tricky position. That was not the point at all.  Just now she crawled into the base of her walker. Delightful. She crawled with it, turtle style for a bit. Slipped and slid and banged all body parts to heck, but she neither noticed nor cared.

Careful. Careful. Careful.

I stumbled with her a few times when she was smaller. Every mother's nightmare. Mothers and MIL were consulted. Doctors called. Now, she slides off the couch with alarming frequency. Climbing the couch is her absolute favorite activity, and falling appears to be a key component of the game. She has no interest in lessons in how to get down safely. I do it, Mama, I do it. She stands on her riding toys, ready to swan dive. She pratfalls out of her caveman dance.

Walk with me. Let me guide you. Put your hand in mine.

She practices walking all day and all night. At night, I find her walking around the crib. She walks around the edges of the living room, pausing to investigate each item of furniture, always on the lookout for contraband. She'll push her push toys on HER schedule, thank you, very much, assistance and direction not needed. She eschews the push toys in favor of the walker and the stroller which drag her along behind them. Dr. Sears says that cruising babies love to walk with their parents. He never met Tavy.

I'm right here, beside you always.

She wails when I leave the room or walk out of eyesight.  She is abandoned, poor orphan child left to fend herself in the wild. I return, and she ignores me for 30 minutes while she empties the clean diaper bin. She clutches frantically at my clothing, then nurses for 30 seconds. I take her into a dark, quiet room to nurse laying down, and she's still practicing her floor routine. She tries to nurse on her hands and knees, with one foot extended, while kicking, and while trying to stand. And just when I want to holler, "Enough!" She morphs into a greedy little goat before collapsing into a sleeping heap all cuddled up against me, and I can't possibly get enough.

I leave her with Daddy, and I might as well be leaving her with Hannibal himself. Daddy tries to hand her back, and she clings to him. Mama who? Only Daddy will do. She twists in our arms, desperate to get back to the floor. Who is this child? Minutes later, she offers a full-body cuddle, a display of such affection that has us going, "Wow!  We made her!" all over again. She offers us items only to snatch them back. Mild disapproval is the surest way to get her to play with something, and major disapproval will cement the item in her heart and mind forever.

Come back, Tavy, Come back.

It's my mantra. Come back. She crawls away while diapering, crawls off as soon as she hits the floor, looking for unchartered territory (or the dog's water, whichever comes first). We stand her between us, giving her a safe place to try, and she goes in search of carpet lint. She took her first solo voyage yesterday, predictably AWAY from Mama. She tottered across the living room, four big steps. Clanna and Grampy watched on the web cam. She fell with a giant splat, but did not even turn back to me. She was on a mission, and you don't cry for your Mama in the middle of a sneak and peak.

You would think that all this moving would lead to a bone tired baby who sleeps and sleeps, but sleep is for the weak. She's 10 months old, and the world is her oyster. No sense in sleeping when walking is just a few more bellows away.

Peach Flavored Water

I've just had an ephaniny. You know all those flavored waters? Well, the idea had to come from SOMEWHERE. And, lo and behold, it wasn't the fine folks at your local bottling plant coming up with new ways to sell tap water. No, I'm pretty sure that flavored water must stem from pioneer women, canning and looking at the vats of water that they used for blanching and refreshing (dip in boiling water then plunge in ice water), and being loathe to throw out all that fresh water. In our modern age, we really do take water for granted. So, Great-Great Granny is staring at all that water and decides to take a taste. Eureka! Far from ick, it tastes divine. They save it and serve it to the kiddies. The original kool-aid is born.

We picked 12 lbs of peaches, and I tapped my inner pioneer woman (RRRRROAR!!!) to blanch and skin them, chop them, and place in freezer bags. This is a big leap for me, seeing as, despite coming from hearty farm-wife stock, my last attempt at saving food for winter involved placing whole fresh green beans and tomatoes in bags, no blanching, no preparing, and pitching said bags come spring when freezer burn rendered all inedible, even by Freak's generous standards.

Last weekend, we picked 10 lbs of blueberries. Now, I'm sure that we'll end up buying additional frozen fruit come January, but it feels AWESOME to know that we'll be eating a little fresh and local come winter.

Thank GOD for u-pick though, as my thumb remains black and shriveled. Maybe someday, I'll actually have a garden instead of a hospice program where plants arrive, but never leave.

Get out there and pick, and then ice down that water and think of your pioneer ancestress slaving over a potbellied stove!

Lipgloss, Tissues, Mints . . . Poise Pads?

When Mom Central offered the chance to be on the Poise blog tour, I got so excited because I've wanted to blog about this issue for YEARS and YEARS and never had the courage. Yes, I know, I know, I shared with you the intimate details of birthing an eight pound human, but I just couldn't mention my bladder. I'm still slightly queasy at the thought. Relatives look away, but I'm inspired by this amazing video to share my story. Like Linda, I think we need to talk about this aspect of women's health, and women need to be freed from the shame over bladder related health ailments. If more people would talk about these issues, more women could get help promptly, instead of suffering for years, as I did.

I've been at war with my bladder most of my life. In fact, I can't remember a time when restroom tour guide wasn't among my skills. It didn't start impacting my quality of life until college though. It would be another 8 years before I learned that the big trigger was the college diet--lots of flour, soda, spicy food, citrus, sugar, with a side of untreated depression. I never mentioned my little problem to anyone. I turned down social things where I'd be too far from a restroom, and I wondered what the heck was wrong with me that I couldn't seem to master a skill that most people learn as toddlers and never revisit. I googled every odd ache and pain, but it would be years before it occurred to me to ask WebMD about my bladder issues. And even more years before I learned the medical cause.

I couldn't talk about this with any of my friends, and it kept me from letting some people close. Anyone who spent any amount of time with me, probably noted how often I visited the restroom, and my social anexiety over distorted speculations about their judgments mounted. It impacted a few job situations, and in one memorable instance, I gave myself a raging infection, severe dehydration, and serious intestinal distress before quitting a job that required clocking out for each bathroom break and limited them to every 4 hours. Even though an Urgent Care doctor recommended immediate quitting, I still couldn't bring myself to mention the true extent of my bladder issues. I'm still ashamed how many job interviews were negatively impacted by the gotta-go now bug that stung at the least opportune times.

It became a huge white elephant in my social life, and eventually in my romantic relationships. It's no fun being with a girlfriend for when the urgent need to find a restroom  infringes on most outings.  It was a major contributing factor in the ending of a long-term relationship, but that turned out to be blessing in disguise. My quality of life during law school was so compromised that I finally did research into the condition, and as that relationship waned, finally got the courage to mention it to a doctor.

And then, in a moment of rare candor, I mentioned it to a beloved Aunt, and I learned a secret that most women in my family already new: Poise Pads. Even though I still didn't have a medical answer, suddenly I had a tool to not be a slave to my bladder. Trips weren't an issue when I had the Poise back-up. I could confidently navigate meetings and social situations. The mere existence of the Poise pads under my sink gave me reassurance and courage. I no longer had to go it alone.

It took another year before I finally found an answer: I suffered from interstitial cystisitis (which often accompanies PCOS and other reproductive health issues). And there was medication, dietary changes, and exercise regimens to help. The heavens opened up. I discovered my dietary triggers and eliminated them. I discovered that I was one of the people for whom antidepressants made a huge difference. The day finally came where I was rarely a bladder slave. By this time, I had the marvelous Freak in life who accepted my needs, and helped me deal with them.

Pregnancy caused a major flare-up, but I dealt with it. After Tavy was born, I discovered that Poise Pads also made excellent post-partum pads. Like many women, I also discovered a new enemy--the sneeze and the belly laugh. But I could deal because I knew the root of my problem was medical, not "all in my head."

I haven't needed Poise Pads in a very long time, but I'm so happy that they exist for women like me. I got help, and now, whole weeks go by where I don't have to do a mad dash for the nearest porcelain god. If you suffer from urge incontinence, or if childbearing has left you with a few unpleasant hangers-on, please talk to you doctor. If your doctor makes light of your symptoms, find a new one. Help is out there. Mention your problem to your loved ones. Plenty of things should stay private, but this isn't one of them.

Thanks to Poise for including me on their tour! 

Where my organic food budget goes

Mah Spoon Is Broke
Originally uploaded by wavybrains.

The same baby who requires her diaper changed the instant she is even a teaspoon worth of wet has no problem coating herself from head to toe in wet goo.

I'm not usually one to blog about bodily functions (other than ovarian in nature) but can I just say that 10 lbs of blueberry picking with a baby who can help herself to as many blueberries as she wants from her backpack results in BLUE diapers. She luuuuurves her some blueberries, but I'm not sure the blueberries love her.

Tonight, she chowed down on my cherries, and I'm just waiting for the red diapers. Someone remind me of the cherries when I'm freaking about the red diapers = horrid illness.

I'm thinking that exclusive breastfeeding till potty training is an excellent idea. (Kidding).

I wear my baby

Shop Lifter
Originally uploaded by wavybrains.

Aaack! I was on a decent roll with getting some writing in, and was planning on posting about that. And was on a good roll of cooking only at home and not doing sugar, but aaaack.

I spent a good chunk of the weekend at a local fair working the baby wearing booth. And it was worth every minute. I'm realizing how much of my parenting philosophy and identity as a mother stems from baby wearing.

I am absolutely passionate about baby wearing. I'd love to see more parents from all socio-economic classes baby wearing safely and comfortably. Bjorn = evil :) It's a bit bittersweet as we approach ten months and she's not the tiny pouch baby any longer. Thank god for my Calyx and wraps because I want to extend this period as long as I can.

More coherent posting next week.

Ding Dong! It's the Crazy Lady!

I share this story, just to show that whatever party faux pas you have made, never fear, Wavy has one better. Consider this my public service to you all. The shower on Saturday for my lovely friend (looking far lovelier than any 9 month pregnant lady has a right to) was in a part of town that I've never been to, one of those newer subdivisions where the houses are all very close to each other and very identical. Pay attention because that's important. I overshot the house and had to park a few houses down. Also important.

The party was filled with strawberries, and I was coasting on a chocolate-covered strawberry high when I realized that my cell phone was in the car. Uh oh. Missed call.

Because I try not to be a complete cell phone scoundrel, I quickly called Freak on my walk back to the house. Cue really gross Tavy story of which I will spare the internets. I ended the call right on the front porch, and entered the party house.

It was the wrong house.

The. Wrong. House.

THE WRONG HOUSE.

Two kids were playing in the living room, and frankly that's all I registered before I backed out of the house and RAN.

Yes. That's right. I couldn't even bring myself to make any sort of explanation. In fact, I was close to tears when I realized what I did.

I tried to chalk it up to the hazards of suburbia, but that didn't make it any easier to explain to my lovely hostess why her neighbor's children were probably right that minute explaining to their mother how a crazy lady just wandered in without knocking. Neighborhood watch meet Wavy.

So, please, share any similar tales you may have. Please.

Here we go Loopty Lou

Here we go Loopty Lou
Originally uploaded by wavybrains.

Teething sucks seven ways to Sunday. Currently in my freezer: two toys, four binkies, a banana, and there's a 5lb bag of carrots in the freezer, and a dryer load of washcloths and bibs.

Apparently teeth 9 and 10 have decided to extract the maximum amount of agony in the least possible amount of sleep.

Does she really NEED 10 teeth? She's been teething pretty much non-stop since DECEMBER.

Enough with the teeth already. Give me my charming girl back.

And just so this isn't a complete whine, I managed to make a dinner last night with 3 separate vegetable dishes: Burgers with swiss chard, broiled zucchini and cheese, and cucumbers with cilantro and lemon. Go me.

Buttermilk Blackberry Ice Cream

I'm off to farmers market in a bit, and then I've got a baby shower for a special friend this afternoon (Yes! There was knitting involved, so you know she's loved :)), but I have to share that this twice a week Farmer's market plan rocks. I think I'm eating better than years right now. The scale doesn't neccessarily agree, but I feel amazing.

Tavy shares my love of ice cream, as even a tiny taste of the real stuff has her going "Ummm. Ummm. Ummm," and opening up like a baby raptor. I've resolved to make more home versions for this reason, emphasizing fruit and wholesome dairy without sugar. Kinda like frozen baby food.

Last night's recipe was so incredibly easy, that I must share it. Recipe below for those interested. If not, Happy Saturday!

Have Mama, Will Travel

Going Our Way?
Originally uploaded by wavybrains.

Around the 5 month mark, I was feeling pretty isolated. I had this gorgeous baby, but she hated the car seat to the point that we limited all excursions to the essentials. She nursed every 45 minutes, and neither of us was good about being discreet about it in public. Plus, I had this weird feeling of not being a "real mom."

I know. I know. You think enough late night diaper changes would qualify me as the Mama, but I still felt like a big sister or baby sitter in public. I didn't really feel like I belonged with other mothers, and I was afraid that motherhood would end up being like lawyer-hood where I never got over that feeling of being a pretender.

But, thank the goddess, I kept with it. The first few playgroups we tried weren't us. But, we kept trying. She tolerated the car ride to the library, then to more playgroups, then all of a sudden, the car was a non-issue. We had our first drive to a nearby town, then a second, and low and behold, there I was flying solo. A real bonfide, baby toting, Mama, with other Mama friends--IN REAL LIFE no less.

Today, it was hotter than hades, and still, my first thought upon waking was, "It's walk day!" Every Thursday, a group of us meet to walk in a local park. It's made Thursday my favorite day of the week, and it's made me feel like I belong.

On Monday, we went to baby wearing group, which is one of my monthly highlights, and I realized it was our fourth month there. What a difference four months makes! Back then, I was still struggling to find our place in the strange Queendom of Moms. But, I found a home there, and shortly after that, things started falling in place for us.

And now, four months later, I can truly say that other mothers rock. I'm not doing this for her--she's just as happy eating grass on her own as she is sharing the crop with others--I'm doing it for me. I've met so many amazing women in just a few months, and I've discovered that there is no other bond like motherhood to join women together.

Well. Chocolate and shopping are good too, but babies--babies are the best social lubricator ever.

I don't think any of my Thursday girls read my blog, but nonetheless, thank you for making my week!