In four weeks Laurel will be one year old. As I did with her brother, during each of these four weeks I plan to post something related to her homebirth, leading up to her actual birth story. This is installment number one; here are links to installments two, three , four, and five.
I haven't written much about Laurel's birth yet, or at least nothing that stands alone. A few weeks after she was born I wrote a comparison between the births of my two children, and last month I wrote a comparison between birth and appendicitis. Poor second child, seen only in the shadow of comparison to others, not allowed to stand in her own radiant light! So my challenge will be to write about Laurel's birth on its own terms.
You may recall that one year ago this blog was full of posts about my anxieties about childbirth. I had already had an amazingly positive experience giving birth to Isaac, but instead of feeling reassured by it, I was worried that the new birth would be completely different. I had been a great success at coping with slow and gradual labor, but I was afraid I wouldn't be able to apply my old skills to the upcoming birth, especially if it was fast and furious.
It turns out that my fears were absolutely on the mark.
And maybe that was a lesson for me. My second birth was different than my first birth; my second child is different than my first child. Starting from the very first contraction I got a dramatic reminder, almost a physical manifestation, of the uniqueness of Laurel. The second isn't a copy of the first, and I can't apply the same set of strategies to both.
Actually, I am having a hard time with this lesson. I did try to apply the same set of strategies during labor, and I am continually surprised at the differences between my children. Is this lack of perspective due to the arrogance of being the eldest child?
But speaking of insightful second children, my younger sister Erica was the only one who got it right: last Christmas she said to me, after a conversation about my fear of intense labor, "Well, we might just have to put on Metallica and ride it out."
Two weeks later Laurel was born, and Erica missed the birth entirely. If she had been here, maybe she could have reminded me of this conversation and told me to forgo my useless relaxation techniques and ineffective visualizations. She could have grabbed me by the shoulders and told me to stand up and get moving.
But the birth was so fast that by the time Erica got to the house, Laurel was already two hours old.
- - - - -
Did you know that Erica also missed Isaac's birth? It's true! Well, she was at my house for the labor, where she was very helpful, but during the rush at the hospital she got lost in the shuffle and didn't make it into the delivery room.
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
Presents
Dear friends and family,
If you were planning to get Christmas presents for my kids and you were hoping for guidance, then here I am to help! If you weren't planning to get them anything, or if you already know what you want to get, then you don't need any help from me and you can ignore this post!
Here are links to the Amazon wish lists for Isaac and Laurel. Please feel free to modify (or ignore) my suggestions, to shop somewhere besides Amazon, or to shop second-hand. We love hand-me-downs and used stuff! We also love books and Lego/Duplo.
This is the first year I've had to think about Christmas and birthday presents simultaneously, since Laurel's birthday is two weeks after Christmas. It's actually not too difficult to shop for a date after Christmas, especially for a procrastinator like me. My birthday is three weeks before Christmas, so I guess my parents always had to start their shopping early.
Finally, the good news is that since we aren't teaching the kids that Santa Claus brings the presents, you'll get full credit for any gifts given.
Love,
Nicole
If you were planning to get Christmas presents for my kids and you were hoping for guidance, then here I am to help! If you weren't planning to get them anything, or if you already know what you want to get, then you don't need any help from me and you can ignore this post!
Here are links to the Amazon wish lists for Isaac and Laurel. Please feel free to modify (or ignore) my suggestions, to shop somewhere besides Amazon, or to shop second-hand. We love hand-me-downs and used stuff! We also love books and Lego/Duplo.
This is the first year I've had to think about Christmas and birthday presents simultaneously, since Laurel's birthday is two weeks after Christmas. It's actually not too difficult to shop for a date after Christmas, especially for a procrastinator like me. My birthday is three weeks before Christmas, so I guess my parents always had to start their shopping early.
Finally, the good news is that since we aren't teaching the kids that Santa Claus brings the presents, you'll get full credit for any gifts given.
Love,
Nicole
Eleven months
So she doesn't really crawl yet, but is there anything new with Laurel now that she is eleven months old?
Oh yes, there have been many developments! She's making up for all the months when she just sat there peacefully and held stuff in her hands.
Laurel got her first tooth at nine months, you may recall, and another one about three weeks after that. (Those were the two bottom front teeth.) But now she is getting four teeth on the top. Three of them have broken the surface simultaneously. Isn't that taking it a bit too quickly? This is emblematic of her development this month, actually.
She started scooting on her bottom at ten months, so slowly and gradually that I could still leave her briefly unattended and expect to find her in about the same place when I returned. But now not only is she beginning to scoot more confidently and quickly, she is doing it to explore instead of simply to reach the items I had purposefully left on the floor close to her. Now she wants to see what else is available. Her big favorites? Anything she is strictly forbidden to have: books, paper, pens, electrical outlets, chargers, cords.
How does she know these items are forbidden? Because she understands the word "no." When she hears me say it, she looks at me over her shoulder, cackles mischievously, and speeds up! It's funny to watch her scoot frantically toward the forbidden object, especially because she makes zero progress when she hurries; she's like a cartoon dog trying to get traction on ice. It's funny for now, I should clarify. Unlike Isaac, Laurel doesn't seem worried by my rebuke, only inspired to greater deeds of disobedience, and I wonder if this is a signifier of her temperament.
But I'm so excited to finally be figuring out the words she understands! So far I've got "no" and "uh-uh" and "That's not for you." Her vocabulary is worrisome! Well, she has known her name for many months, and she also turns toward me when I say "look!" My assumption is that she understands many more words, but it's hard to know exactly what the words are because she isn't that eager to communicate. Unlike Isaac at this age, when I quiz Laurel she doesn't bother to respond; for example, she doesn't point out items she recognizes in books. When I ask, "Where's Isaac?" she doesn't look at him; but on the other hand, sometimes when I'm talking about him when he isn't home, she looks around for him in puzzlement.
Laurel has never been a big talker; her brief flirtation with saying "Mama" at seven months didn't last. But she's begun babbling a lot now, including "mama," although it's still perhaps not directed at me. And she's just begun to jabber. Tonight at dinner she turned to Craig, uttered several distinct sentences of utter nonsense complete with vehement hand gestures, and then paused for his response.
Best development of all? She has rediscovered her thumb. With its help, the child once again sleeps through the night.
Oh yes, there have been many developments! She's making up for all the months when she just sat there peacefully and held stuff in her hands.
Laurel got her first tooth at nine months, you may recall, and another one about three weeks after that. (Those were the two bottom front teeth.) But now she is getting four teeth on the top. Three of them have broken the surface simultaneously. Isn't that taking it a bit too quickly? This is emblematic of her development this month, actually.
She started scooting on her bottom at ten months, so slowly and gradually that I could still leave her briefly unattended and expect to find her in about the same place when I returned. But now not only is she beginning to scoot more confidently and quickly, she is doing it to explore instead of simply to reach the items I had purposefully left on the floor close to her. Now she wants to see what else is available. Her big favorites? Anything she is strictly forbidden to have: books, paper, pens, electrical outlets, chargers, cords.
How does she know these items are forbidden? Because she understands the word "no." When she hears me say it, she looks at me over her shoulder, cackles mischievously, and speeds up! It's funny to watch her scoot frantically toward the forbidden object, especially because she makes zero progress when she hurries; she's like a cartoon dog trying to get traction on ice. It's funny for now, I should clarify. Unlike Isaac, Laurel doesn't seem worried by my rebuke, only inspired to greater deeds of disobedience, and I wonder if this is a signifier of her temperament.
But I'm so excited to finally be figuring out the words she understands! So far I've got "no" and "uh-uh" and "That's not for you." Her vocabulary is worrisome! Well, she has known her name for many months, and she also turns toward me when I say "look!" My assumption is that she understands many more words, but it's hard to know exactly what the words are because she isn't that eager to communicate. Unlike Isaac at this age, when I quiz Laurel she doesn't bother to respond; for example, she doesn't point out items she recognizes in books. When I ask, "Where's Isaac?" she doesn't look at him; but on the other hand, sometimes when I'm talking about him when he isn't home, she looks around for him in puzzlement.
Laurel has never been a big talker; her brief flirtation with saying "Mama" at seven months didn't last. But she's begun babbling a lot now, including "mama," although it's still perhaps not directed at me. And she's just begun to jabber. Tonight at dinner she turned to Craig, uttered several distinct sentences of utter nonsense complete with vehement hand gestures, and then paused for his response.
Best development of all? She has rediscovered her thumb. With its help, the child once again sleeps through the night.
Birth day minus three
I'm celebrating the final weeks before Laurel's first birthday with a series of weekly posts about her birth, leading up to her actual birth story. You are reading week two of this series; here are links to weeks one, three, four, and five.
This is a photograph (a pretty bad one; sorry) of a painting I made in the class I took this past semester, an introductory painting class through the extended education program at the California College of the Arts. This assignment was a composition combining three of our "obsessions": specifically, we were to choose a place, a feeling, and a thing that were often on our minds.
I chose ancient Egypt, intensity, and birth.
After Laurel was born I read about Heqet, one of the many ancient Egyptian goddesses of childbirth. Heqet was associated with the final stages of birth and was known as "She who hastens the birth." She took the form of a frog, a symbol the ancient Egyptians associated with fertility, birth, and rebirth. Another such symbol was the lotus flower; both frog and flower accompanied the annual flooding of the Nile, which brought new life to the desert.
You may have gathered from my other posts that the very last thing I needed was to have Laurel's birth hastened! In fact, if I had known about Heqet at the time, I might have told her to go jump in the Nile.
All joking aside, Laurel's birth was terrifyingly swift and overwhelmingly intense. Medically, moving through active labor and delivery in less than three hours is known as precipitous labor, and it only happens in 2% of births. I had my first real contraction at 1:15 a.m., and Laurel was born at 3:40 a.m. That's just two hours and 25 minutes, folks.
But since labor is painful, isn't a fast labor better, so you can just get it over with? While this might be true to a certain point, it isn't when taken to the extreme. But I think many people do believe that faster is better -- although perhaps these people haven't had a precipitous birth themselves! After the birth, in fact, I overheard my own mother describing the birth as "quick and easy." Easy? She should have known better, having witnessed the whole thing!
For many months after the birth, I was in emotional shock, half-traumatized by the experience. Sometimes I felt that I had failed, that I should have handled the birth more gracefully. I especially felt bad for being unable to bear the intensity, for being out of control. But when I was researching precipitous labor just now, I found that these feelings of shock and regret are considered side effects of precipitous labor! A bullet-pointed list of complications includes "Mother's loss of ability to cope with labor" and "Emotional stress" right alongside tearing, hemorrhage, and brain damage to the baby from the speed of its passage through the birth canal. Well, there you have it!
The articles discussing precipitous labor discuss its incredible physical pain as well as its overwhelming emotional demands. They say the laboring mother may feel like a deer caught in the headlights, unable to process one contraction before the next one hits; meanwhile the contractions ramp up swiftly, each stronger, longer, and more intense than the last, giving no time to adapt. They say that chemical pain relief (not that I had any) and natural coping measures "can be challenged by the intensity of precipitous labors."
Thank you! I wish I had read that 11 months ago. It is incredibly validating.
Still, I was very lucky. The midwife made it to my house in time to catch the baby (I'll tell you the whole birth story in a few weeks), and Laurel was born absolutely and completely healthy. And with the midwife's help, the actual delivery was slowed down; Laurel was born so gently and slowly that I had no real tearing, just a minor surface abrasion which didn't even require stitches.
- - - - -
So in this painting, Heqet is an ambivalent figure. The knife she holds is intended to protect the laboring mother from evil spirits, but it doesn't look entirely benign. Energy flows from her, at first regular and even, like the current in a river, but becoming more intense and distorted, like a tremendous waterfall -- or like burning lava.
The baby's expression, on the other hand, is peaceful. It looks at Heqet with mild curiosity as it emerges from the lotus, which sprouts from a green and growing river, full of plants and fish.
The black river flows off the canvas, rushing away; the green river abides.
- - - - -
What causes precipitous labor? In my case, probably a well-positioned small baby combined with mushy unresisting ligaments.
This is a photograph (a pretty bad one; sorry) of a painting I made in the class I took this past semester, an introductory painting class through the extended education program at the California College of the Arts. This assignment was a composition combining three of our "obsessions": specifically, we were to choose a place, a feeling, and a thing that were often on our minds.
I chose ancient Egypt, intensity, and birth.
After Laurel was born I read about Heqet, one of the many ancient Egyptian goddesses of childbirth. Heqet was associated with the final stages of birth and was known as "She who hastens the birth." She took the form of a frog, a symbol the ancient Egyptians associated with fertility, birth, and rebirth. Another such symbol was the lotus flower; both frog and flower accompanied the annual flooding of the Nile, which brought new life to the desert.
You may have gathered from my other posts that the very last thing I needed was to have Laurel's birth hastened! In fact, if I had known about Heqet at the time, I might have told her to go jump in the Nile.
All joking aside, Laurel's birth was terrifyingly swift and overwhelmingly intense. Medically, moving through active labor and delivery in less than three hours is known as precipitous labor, and it only happens in 2% of births. I had my first real contraction at 1:15 a.m., and Laurel was born at 3:40 a.m. That's just two hours and 25 minutes, folks.
But since labor is painful, isn't a fast labor better, so you can just get it over with? While this might be true to a certain point, it isn't when taken to the extreme. But I think many people do believe that faster is better -- although perhaps these people haven't had a precipitous birth themselves! After the birth, in fact, I overheard my own mother describing the birth as "quick and easy." Easy? She should have known better, having witnessed the whole thing!
For many months after the birth, I was in emotional shock, half-traumatized by the experience. Sometimes I felt that I had failed, that I should have handled the birth more gracefully. I especially felt bad for being unable to bear the intensity, for being out of control. But when I was researching precipitous labor just now, I found that these feelings of shock and regret are considered side effects of precipitous labor! A bullet-pointed list of complications includes "Mother's loss of ability to cope with labor" and "Emotional stress" right alongside tearing, hemorrhage, and brain damage to the baby from the speed of its passage through the birth canal. Well, there you have it!
The articles discussing precipitous labor discuss its incredible physical pain as well as its overwhelming emotional demands. They say the laboring mother may feel like a deer caught in the headlights, unable to process one contraction before the next one hits; meanwhile the contractions ramp up swiftly, each stronger, longer, and more intense than the last, giving no time to adapt. They say that chemical pain relief (not that I had any) and natural coping measures "can be challenged by the intensity of precipitous labors."
Thank you! I wish I had read that 11 months ago. It is incredibly validating.
Still, I was very lucky. The midwife made it to my house in time to catch the baby (I'll tell you the whole birth story in a few weeks), and Laurel was born absolutely and completely healthy. And with the midwife's help, the actual delivery was slowed down; Laurel was born so gently and slowly that I had no real tearing, just a minor surface abrasion which didn't even require stitches.
- - - - -
So in this painting, Heqet is an ambivalent figure. The knife she holds is intended to protect the laboring mother from evil spirits, but it doesn't look entirely benign. Energy flows from her, at first regular and even, like the current in a river, but becoming more intense and distorted, like a tremendous waterfall -- or like burning lava.
The baby's expression, on the other hand, is peaceful. It looks at Heqet with mild curiosity as it emerges from the lotus, which sprouts from a green and growing river, full of plants and fish.
The black river flows off the canvas, rushing away; the green river abides.
- - - - -
What causes precipitous labor? In my case, probably a well-positioned small baby combined with mushy unresisting ligaments.
Monday, September 29, 2014
New pictures
Happy Christmas Eve Eve! It's nearly the end of December, and I finally got caught up on our photos from the last few months. Whew!So you can head over to the sidebar to see the completed album of our pictures from September through November. I added 29 new ones! They include Halloween, Thanksgiving, and lots of hanging out in pajamas.
Also the visiting of relatives. The picture that accompanies this post was taken at my paternal grandmother's house, where both children were bemused by an animatronic Christmas decoration. (The snowman sings "Jingle Bells" and the dog wearing reindeer antlers barks along.)
Merry Christmas!
In this post I commemorate four years of my family's Christmas card photos -- and four years of my blogging! I began a blog in December of 2005 mostly as a way to direct friends and family to the online photo album we had begun for our then three-month-old son. For my first seven months of blogging I posted an average of a mere five posts a month; then something clicked into place and I began to post more frequently. I love it.
In these four years I have written 706 posts, an average of 176 per year -- I average one post every other day. At this rate I'll make it to a thousand posts by the summer of 2011. Are you with me?
My dear readers, thank you so much for your time, and for joining me and my family here at our virtual home. I wish you a very merry Christmas, and a happy new year!
2009
Isaac ~ 4 years; Laurel ~ 11 months
2008
Isaac ~ 3 years; Laurel ~ 33 weeks gestation
2007
Isaac ~ 2 years
2006
Isaac ~ 15 months
In these four years I have written 706 posts, an average of 176 per year -- I average one post every other day. At this rate I'll make it to a thousand posts by the summer of 2011. Are you with me?
My dear readers, thank you so much for your time, and for joining me and my family here at our virtual home. I wish you a very merry Christmas, and a happy new year!
2009
Isaac ~ 4 years; Laurel ~ 11 months
2008
Isaac ~ 3 years; Laurel ~ 33 weeks gestation
2007
Isaac ~ 2 years
2006
Isaac ~ 15 months
Holiday flashback episode
It was Laurel's first Christmas! And Isaac's fifth Christmas! Two years ago he had a hard time even getting his presents open, but now he's getting to be an old hand at it.Laurel, with her appetite for paper, made a relatively adept present unwrapper, although she did get distracted by things like gift tags, bows, and toy packaging.
Here they are, laughing on Christmas night beneath their Opa and Oma's tree.
We celebrated a more traditional Christmas this year. Unlike last year, when we stayed home because I was so pregnant, this year we made our traditional 100-mile trip to my parents' house. And we attended the traditional Christmas Eve dinner with my mother's side of the family, complete with more than 40 relatives, a huge amount of prime rib, and enthusiastic caroling around the piano. The kids both had fun; this year Isaac even seemed to enjoy my uncles' teasing.
On Christmas Day we had a family brunch at my parents' house, including my maternal grandmother, and in the afternoon we went to my paternal grandmother's house.
Did the kids like their presents? I think so. Isaac said many times how much he loved various items, and Laurel stuck all of hers in her mouth.
- - - - -
Sadly, it's been a few years since we were able to fly to South Carolina to visit Craig's parents for Christmas. Before Isaac was born, Craig and I used to fly there every year on Christmas Day. But we have only gone once at Christmastime since Isaac was born! We went in December 2006 when Isaac was 15 months old, but flying cross-country with children during the holidays is expensive and grueling. Also, that trip ended up being sort of a bummer because Isaac was very sick while we were there. (We visited in March and October of 2008 instead, and had a lot of fun.)
This year we celebrated Craig's family traditions by baking sugar cookies using his mother's recipe. Isaac helped me every step of the way; he especially enjoyed decorating the cookies with frosting and sprinkles, with which he was rather generous. Then we packaged up the cookies and Isaac gave them as presents!
Paleontologist
Isaac already liked to pretend to be a paleontologist, so this video has been a particular hit with him. He has watched it over and over.
For Christmas, Isaac gave Craig a kids' CD/DVD called Here Comes Science by the band They Might be Giants. (I think it's good for kids to practice giving presents, and since Craig is a scientist, Isaac thought the album seemed like a perfect present for him.)
For Christmas, Isaac gave Craig a kids' CD/DVD called Here Comes Science by the band They Might be Giants. (I think it's good for kids to practice giving presents, and since Craig is a scientist, Isaac thought the album seemed like a perfect present for him.)
New pictures
In keeping with this year's three-month photo cycle, I've started a new album for December through February, and I've added the pictures from December.Subjects include my fortieth birthday, snow, selecting our Christmas tree, Laurel's 11-month birthday, and Christmas. Lots and lots of Christmas, including this shot, which was taken on Christmas Eve after Isaac was allowed to open one present early.
The red Lego vehicle he is holding is a bulldozer named Muck from the TV show "Bob the Builder," and Isaac's enthusiastic reaction repaid the trouble of my purchasing it through the U.K. version of eBay.
Sunday, September 28, 2014
Happy New Year!
Tonight at dinner I asked Isaac if he had any New Year's resolutions. Then I had to explain the concept of New Year's resolutions.
It's actually a tricky topic, because resolutions so often involve sacrifice, shame, and self-denial. The whole concept of "new year, new you!" seems so promising and yet so sad. So I skipped the personal improvement angle, because it seemed ludicrous to suggest that a child resolve to improve himself. A child doesn't need to become a better or different person. And maybe adults don't either!
I told Isaac that New Year's resolutions help motivate someone who wants to learn something new. He was unimpressed. But then, learning new things is what childhood is all about, no special date or resolution needed!
Two years ago he resolved to learn to drive, which didn't work out for him. (He doesn't remember having said it, of course.) This year he claimed not to have any resolutions, but when we suggested he might learn to read in 2010, he seemed excited.
It's actually a tricky topic, because resolutions so often involve sacrifice, shame, and self-denial. The whole concept of "new year, new you!" seems so promising and yet so sad. So I skipped the personal improvement angle, because it seemed ludicrous to suggest that a child resolve to improve himself. A child doesn't need to become a better or different person. And maybe adults don't either!
I told Isaac that New Year's resolutions help motivate someone who wants to learn something new. He was unimpressed. But then, learning new things is what childhood is all about, no special date or resolution needed!
Two years ago he resolved to learn to drive, which didn't work out for him. (He doesn't remember having said it, of course.) This year he claimed not to have any resolutions, but when we suggested he might learn to read in 2010, he seemed excited.
Birth day minus one
Laurel turns one year old next week! I've been celebrating the final weeks before her first birthday with a series of posts about her birth, leading up to her actual birth story. You are reading the third installment of this series; here are links to installments one, two, four, and five.
Laurel was born with her umbilical cord wrapped around her neck.
I didn't know it at the time, however, as I was too busy giving birth to her. (I'll post the actual birth story next week.) Only after Laurel was safely in my arms did the midwife tell me about the cord. I didn't care at the time, however, as I was too busy being (1) profoundly shocked that the baby had arrived so quickly and (2) profoundly relieved that I was no longer in labor.
It wasn't until later that I began to process what the midwife had said. As soon as Laurel's head had emerged, the midwife checked for the presence of the cord and discovered it was wrapped around her neck. She tried to lift the cord over Laurel's head, but couldn't because the cord was too tight or too short. So she instructed me to stop pushing, and she quickly clamped and cut the cord internally prior to my delivering the rest of Laurel's body.
For nearly a year I considered the tightly wrapped cord an unusual complication, perhaps a potentially serious one. I briefly mentioned it in my blog post comparing Laurel's birth with Isaac's, but I didn't examine it more closely. It was sort of scary.
But after doing a little research, it turns out I didn't need to worry. The umbilical cord is wrapped around the baby's neck in at least 20% of births. Twenty percent! (That's for a 360-degree wrap; the cord goes around the neck more than one time in 5% of births.)
It is called a nuchal cord, the word "nuchal" having to do with the nape of the neck. It is associated with chemically induced and augmented labor, which I didn't have with my natural homebirth. It can lead to prolonged pushing in labor, which I didn't have with my precipitous labor. Sometimes it can cause fetal heart rate abnormalities, which my midwife didn't detect.
But basically, a nuchal cord is unlikely to cause complications and no intervention is recommended. In fact, modern midwifery theory suggests that a tight nuchal cord shouldn't even be cut prior to delivery -- they just let the baby somersault out through the loop in the cord, thereby letting the baby benefit from the extra oxygen provided by the uncut cord.
- - - - -
Some studies find that a tight nuchal cord is associated with lower birth weights. I'll never know, but I wonder if it might be one reason baby #1 weighed eight pounds, eight ounces while baby #2 weighed seven pounds, two ounces.
Laurel was born with her umbilical cord wrapped around her neck.
I didn't know it at the time, however, as I was too busy giving birth to her. (I'll post the actual birth story next week.) Only after Laurel was safely in my arms did the midwife tell me about the cord. I didn't care at the time, however, as I was too busy being (1) profoundly shocked that the baby had arrived so quickly and (2) profoundly relieved that I was no longer in labor.
It wasn't until later that I began to process what the midwife had said. As soon as Laurel's head had emerged, the midwife checked for the presence of the cord and discovered it was wrapped around her neck. She tried to lift the cord over Laurel's head, but couldn't because the cord was too tight or too short. So she instructed me to stop pushing, and she quickly clamped and cut the cord internally prior to my delivering the rest of Laurel's body.
For nearly a year I considered the tightly wrapped cord an unusual complication, perhaps a potentially serious one. I briefly mentioned it in my blog post comparing Laurel's birth with Isaac's, but I didn't examine it more closely. It was sort of scary.
But after doing a little research, it turns out I didn't need to worry. The umbilical cord is wrapped around the baby's neck in at least 20% of births. Twenty percent! (That's for a 360-degree wrap; the cord goes around the neck more than one time in 5% of births.)
It is called a nuchal cord, the word "nuchal" having to do with the nape of the neck. It is associated with chemically induced and augmented labor, which I didn't have with my natural homebirth. It can lead to prolonged pushing in labor, which I didn't have with my precipitous labor. Sometimes it can cause fetal heart rate abnormalities, which my midwife didn't detect.
But basically, a nuchal cord is unlikely to cause complications and no intervention is recommended. In fact, modern midwifery theory suggests that a tight nuchal cord shouldn't even be cut prior to delivery -- they just let the baby somersault out through the loop in the cord, thereby letting the baby benefit from the extra oxygen provided by the uncut cord.
- - - - -
Some studies find that a tight nuchal cord is associated with lower birth weights. I'll never know, but I wonder if it might be one reason baby #1 weighed eight pounds, eight ounces while baby #2 weighed seven pounds, two ounces.
Library Day
You may recall that I am, by education and profession, a librarian. I was a children's librarian in a public library for over ten years, and after Isaac was born I worked one day a week at the same library. However, this sweet deal fell apart mere minutes after I told my boss I was pregnant with Laurel. Literally, mere minutes -- I asked my boss if I could take three months off after the birth, and her eyes lit up as she saw the possibility of saving money by eliminating my position completely. She ended up suggesting another money-saving plan, one where I would take four months off and also reduce my hours, but in the end I was laid off completely.
I did return to work four months after Laurel's birth, but only long enough to make sure everyone else had been trained to do my job acceptably. So I haven't worked since August. When I did work, I would bring home a huge bag of children's books every week, much to Isaac's delight. After leaving such an excellent library behind I am reluctant to use our local library, which is inferior in almost every way. Well, we've been going at least once a month, but recently we've just been checking out DVDs for Isaac!
Just a few days ago I realized, however, that the amount of time I spend reading to Isaac has dramatically decreased over the last year. Man, did that realization make me feel guilty! Someone still reads to him every night, but sometimes we have time for only one or two books before he has to go to bed, and he never asks for books at other times of the day. Perhaps he is uninspired by his options? We have hundreds of children's books of our own, but Isaac has always enjoyed novelty in his reading. Now is the time, also, when he should be experiencing autonomy in making his reading selections, and with his eclectic tastes in nonfiction he really needs an entire library to choose from. Currently he claims he doesn't like chapter books, but maybe we just haven't found the right one.
And isn't he going to learn to read pretty soon? Right after he finishes learning the alphabet, I mean?
Isaac and I have been active together, playing and pretending a lot more than ever before, but I am sure Laurel is the main reason that I read so much less to him. However, just in the past month Laurel herself has become a true pleasure to read to! Previously one had to be prepared to wrest the book from her slavering jaws, because although she enjoyed looking at books, she was equally fond of chewing on them. But tonight I read to her for 15 minutes and she didn't try to eat a single page. Plus she laughs, turns the pages, turns the pages back to examine the interesting parts, and knows which books are her favorites.
She has always been a fan of photographs of babies, and right now she loves "You and Me, Baby" (by Reiser/Gentieu), which features photos of babies with their parents. We don't own a whole lot of books like this, since they weren't Isaac's favorites, so she could use a trip to the library as well!
For both kids, now is not a good time for me to drop the ball, reading-wise, and therefore I am just going to have to come to terms with my dissatisfaction with the regressive local library. So I have instituted a weekly Library Day. I am planning for us to go on Fridays, right after I pick Isaac up from preschool. We start this week!
- - - - -
Note for my gift-giving immediate family: I added some books Laurel might enjoy to her Amazon wish list tonight, by the way.
I did return to work four months after Laurel's birth, but only long enough to make sure everyone else had been trained to do my job acceptably. So I haven't worked since August. When I did work, I would bring home a huge bag of children's books every week, much to Isaac's delight. After leaving such an excellent library behind I am reluctant to use our local library, which is inferior in almost every way. Well, we've been going at least once a month, but recently we've just been checking out DVDs for Isaac!
Just a few days ago I realized, however, that the amount of time I spend reading to Isaac has dramatically decreased over the last year. Man, did that realization make me feel guilty! Someone still reads to him every night, but sometimes we have time for only one or two books before he has to go to bed, and he never asks for books at other times of the day. Perhaps he is uninspired by his options? We have hundreds of children's books of our own, but Isaac has always enjoyed novelty in his reading. Now is the time, also, when he should be experiencing autonomy in making his reading selections, and with his eclectic tastes in nonfiction he really needs an entire library to choose from. Currently he claims he doesn't like chapter books, but maybe we just haven't found the right one.
And isn't he going to learn to read pretty soon? Right after he finishes learning the alphabet, I mean?
Isaac and I have been active together, playing and pretending a lot more than ever before, but I am sure Laurel is the main reason that I read so much less to him. However, just in the past month Laurel herself has become a true pleasure to read to! Previously one had to be prepared to wrest the book from her slavering jaws, because although she enjoyed looking at books, she was equally fond of chewing on them. But tonight I read to her for 15 minutes and she didn't try to eat a single page. Plus she laughs, turns the pages, turns the pages back to examine the interesting parts, and knows which books are her favorites.
She has always been a fan of photographs of babies, and right now she loves "You and Me, Baby" (by Reiser/Gentieu), which features photos of babies with their parents. We don't own a whole lot of books like this, since they weren't Isaac's favorites, so she could use a trip to the library as well!
For both kids, now is not a good time for me to drop the ball, reading-wise, and therefore I am just going to have to come to terms with my dissatisfaction with the regressive local library. So I have instituted a weekly Library Day. I am planning for us to go on Fridays, right after I pick Isaac up from preschool. We start this week!
- - - - -
Note for my gift-giving immediate family: I added some books Laurel might enjoy to her Amazon wish list tonight, by the way.
Baby-proofing
We're baby-proofing!
Some parts were easy, especially because we remembered doing them for the first child. Actually, we never got around to removing the safety latches from the dangerous drawers and cabinets! But we lowered Laurel's crib mattress right before Christmas, the first time we noticed she was capable of pulling herself up on the rail. (She doesn't do it often, but she has done it.) We put up the baby gates in two key doorways, at this point mostly to prevent Laurel from scooting out of the family room to examine the diaper pail. Luckily Isaac can operate both gates, or their inconvenience would outweigh their safety value.
But now with the second child we have the possessions of the first child to baby-proof. Isaac used to have his array of art and office supplies stored on a low bookshelf in the family room, but this week I had to move them to my bedroom. Now he has a "studio" next to my easel, which is also in my bedroom. This isn't as convenient for his spontaneous creative work, but maybe it means he can keep himself occupied while I paint.
Isaac's toys have also been baby-proofed. Some toys, like the marble run, have been banished to his room. For small toys that are stored in the living room, I had previously bought latching bins at the Container Store, and Isaac has been indoctrinated into returning the items to these bins. But he has a number of large, delicate, and expensive toy vehicles, which we used to store at ground level. So Craig just built another row of bookshelves in our living room, and now Isaac has several toy storage shelves that are completely unreachable by Laurel -- until she learns to climb on a chair, but hopefully that will be in the distant future!
Actually, Isaac himself seldom tried to stand on a chair to reach a forbidden item; now that I think back, perhaps he never did. He wasn't much of an adventurer. We baby-proofed the house for him, of course, but we didn't strip the place bare. We left many of our possessions, including our books and records, on low shelves where he could reach them, and he mostly left them alone. I mean, he wasn't some sort of preternaturally obedient baby, and in the course of investigation he did some damage, but he never wrecked anything completely and he never hurt himself. He was curious, but easy-going and fundamentally cautious. Kind of like now!
What about Laurel? Is she going to need a lot of baby-proofing? It's hard to say. We might find out soon, though, because her mobility is increasing! She has pulled up several times completely by herself, once on the living room couch and once on the family room coffee table. Once she is standing (or leaning!) she still needs someone to help her, though, because she has terrible balance and can't remember to keep holding on. She has figured out how to move from her belly to a sitting position, which is a relief -- she no longer fusses to be rescued. And she is finally beginning to legitimately crawl! Well, she at least gets her knees beneath her, with her back parallel to the floor, although she has only made a tentative shuffle or two. Mostly she still gets around by scooting or creeping on her bottom.
My biggest baby-proofing challenge right now is dust jackets. They are one of Laurel's favorite things. She likes to sit by the bookcase in the kitchen and rip off tiny pieces of the brittle dust jackets on the vintage cookbooks. Then she eats them. If she hears me call out to her while she is doing this, she gives a guilty start, laughs, and stuffs the paper in her mouth even more quickly.
- - - - -
It was just two months ago that the pediatrician was concerned about Laurel's near-total lack of mobility. It was just one month ago that she could only shove herself backward on her belly when she tried to crawl. When you're not even a year old, a month is a long time! That's one of the remarkable things about living with small children -- the passage of time is so slow for them, and sometimes they manage to share that perspective.
Some parts were easy, especially because we remembered doing them for the first child. Actually, we never got around to removing the safety latches from the dangerous drawers and cabinets! But we lowered Laurel's crib mattress right before Christmas, the first time we noticed she was capable of pulling herself up on the rail. (She doesn't do it often, but she has done it.) We put up the baby gates in two key doorways, at this point mostly to prevent Laurel from scooting out of the family room to examine the diaper pail. Luckily Isaac can operate both gates, or their inconvenience would outweigh their safety value.
But now with the second child we have the possessions of the first child to baby-proof. Isaac used to have his array of art and office supplies stored on a low bookshelf in the family room, but this week I had to move them to my bedroom. Now he has a "studio" next to my easel, which is also in my bedroom. This isn't as convenient for his spontaneous creative work, but maybe it means he can keep himself occupied while I paint.
Isaac's toys have also been baby-proofed. Some toys, like the marble run, have been banished to his room. For small toys that are stored in the living room, I had previously bought latching bins at the Container Store, and Isaac has been indoctrinated into returning the items to these bins. But he has a number of large, delicate, and expensive toy vehicles, which we used to store at ground level. So Craig just built another row of bookshelves in our living room, and now Isaac has several toy storage shelves that are completely unreachable by Laurel -- until she learns to climb on a chair, but hopefully that will be in the distant future!
Actually, Isaac himself seldom tried to stand on a chair to reach a forbidden item; now that I think back, perhaps he never did. He wasn't much of an adventurer. We baby-proofed the house for him, of course, but we didn't strip the place bare. We left many of our possessions, including our books and records, on low shelves where he could reach them, and he mostly left them alone. I mean, he wasn't some sort of preternaturally obedient baby, and in the course of investigation he did some damage, but he never wrecked anything completely and he never hurt himself. He was curious, but easy-going and fundamentally cautious. Kind of like now!
What about Laurel? Is she going to need a lot of baby-proofing? It's hard to say. We might find out soon, though, because her mobility is increasing! She has pulled up several times completely by herself, once on the living room couch and once on the family room coffee table. Once she is standing (or leaning!) she still needs someone to help her, though, because she has terrible balance and can't remember to keep holding on. She has figured out how to move from her belly to a sitting position, which is a relief -- she no longer fusses to be rescued. And she is finally beginning to legitimately crawl! Well, she at least gets her knees beneath her, with her back parallel to the floor, although she has only made a tentative shuffle or two. Mostly she still gets around by scooting or creeping on her bottom.
My biggest baby-proofing challenge right now is dust jackets. They are one of Laurel's favorite things. She likes to sit by the bookcase in the kitchen and rip off tiny pieces of the brittle dust jackets on the vintage cookbooks. Then she eats them. If she hears me call out to her while she is doing this, she gives a guilty start, laughs, and stuffs the paper in her mouth even more quickly.
- - - - -
It was just two months ago that the pediatrician was concerned about Laurel's near-total lack of mobility. It was just one month ago that she could only shove herself backward on her belly when she tried to crawl. When you're not even a year old, a month is a long time! That's one of the remarkable things about living with small children -- the passage of time is so slow for them, and sometimes they manage to share that perspective.
Birth day, almost
Laurel turns one year old tomorrow! I've been celebrating the final weeks before her first birthday with a series of posts about her birth. You are reading the fourth installment of this series, the first half of her actual birth story, and here are links to installments one, two, and three. (And if you're looking for the conclusion to the birth story, here it is: installment five.)
Laurel's official due date was January 17, 2009, but I just knew she would be born before her 40 weeks of gestation had passed. Her brother had come slightly early, and I figured she would do the same. In fact, I was pretty sure she would be born at 38 weeks and five days, which was January 8. And I was right.
Some people have asked how I knew, and I have to say that I have absolutely no idea. I'm not a New Agey or Earth-Mothery person, and I'm not comfortable attributing my knowledge to anything like a premonition or woman's intuition.
I actually chose Thursday, January 8 partly as a wish, because it was the first day I didn't have anything scheduled! On Monday the auto insurance adjuster came to our house to investigate the rodents in our car; on Tuesday Isaac had a playdate; and on Wednesday we had a photo shoot with a "maternity photographer" in the morning and Craig worked at Isaac's preschool in the afternoon. So Thursday was a good day to have a baby!
I'm joking, but my gut feeling about the 8th was strong enough that I went to some effort beforehand to ensure the photography and the school workday would be completed on the 7th, because I wanted to have a completely clear calendar starting on the 8th.
Actually, our house cleaners did come the morning of the 8th, but the baby (not named yet!) was already five or six hours old by then.
- - - - -
And now we'll begin the birth story!
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
For several weeks I had been having Braxton Hicks contractions (I had none when I was pregnant with Isaac!), and starting around 6:30 p.m. they even caused a prickling sensation in my lower abdomen -- not "pain," exactly, but not unlike pain. Around 7:00 p.m. I timed the mild contractions for a while, and they didn't seem like a big deal: they were happening every five to ten minutes and lasting for 45 seconds to a minute. Just in case, I called the midwife, Beah. She said she thought we'd have a baby in the next few days, and told me to eat a good dinner and go right to bed.
I called my parents to tell them this, because they were planning to come to my house for the birth. My mother was going to be part of my birth team, while my father was going to watch three-year-old Isaac. My parents live two hours away, and if for some reason they couldn't make it in time, we had a whole list of friends and neighbors on standby.
My parents were excited, but unimpressed. They said, "Well, call us before you go to bed, and of course call us when you feel like something is happening."
I said, "I am. This is that phone call." Despite the midwife's opinion to the contrary, despite the lackluster contractions, I felt like something was about to happen.
My parents still didn't sound convinced, and they asked me to call them back later with an update. But then at 8:00 p.m. they called and said they were already in the car on their way to my house! Their feeling was that maybe they'd appreciate not having to make the drive when I really did go into labor the next day, or the day after that.
Around 8:00 p.m. Craig began putting Isaac to bed, and I straightened up around the house a little bit. A few of the contractions were strong enough that I paused for a moment and leaned on something, but they still didn't really hurt. But I was certain by now that I was in pre-labor, if not actual labor, and I was glad that my parents were on their way so someone would be there for Isaac.
At 9:00 p.m. I went to bed, although I didn't really sleep. The contractions slowed way down, perhaps to every 20 or 30 minutes.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
At 1:15 a.m. I had a strong, painful contraction, so powerful that it propelled me out of bed, onto my feet, and across the room. It was like I had tried to run away from it.
My first thought was, "I don't want another one like that." I was shocked and scared. For some reason I put on my sweatpants and sandals. I went to the bathroom, where I had another equally strong contraction and an equally overwhelmed reaction to it. Then my water broke -- not a lot of fluid, but enough for me to see it was clear and pink-tinged.
I woke up Craig. Then, even though my labor had just begun, I called the midwife. I was scared and confused and having a hard time figuring things out. When she asked how far apart the contractions were, I said I thought every eight minutes. But how could that be? Did it take me eight minutes to get dressed and walk to the bathroom? And had there really only been two contractions so far? And why were they so overwhelmingly strong?
While I was trying to speak to the midwife on the phone I had a third contraction, maybe four or five minutes after the last. This contraction was only half the strength of the others, though, and not difficult to relax and breathe through -- unlike the first two.
Based on this, the midwife said she thought it was still early in my labor, but that she would send her assistant over and they would assess the situation. She also said to call her back immediately if anything changed. I still felt scared and uncertain, especially since this labor seemed so different from my first one; I wanted her to come to my house right away, but I didn't say anything. I figured I'd just wait for the assistant.
- - - - -
Tune in next time for the conclusion!
Laurel's official due date was January 17, 2009, but I just knew she would be born before her 40 weeks of gestation had passed. Her brother had come slightly early, and I figured she would do the same. In fact, I was pretty sure she would be born at 38 weeks and five days, which was January 8. And I was right.
Some people have asked how I knew, and I have to say that I have absolutely no idea. I'm not a New Agey or Earth-Mothery person, and I'm not comfortable attributing my knowledge to anything like a premonition or woman's intuition.
I actually chose Thursday, January 8 partly as a wish, because it was the first day I didn't have anything scheduled! On Monday the auto insurance adjuster came to our house to investigate the rodents in our car; on Tuesday Isaac had a playdate; and on Wednesday we had a photo shoot with a "maternity photographer" in the morning and Craig worked at Isaac's preschool in the afternoon. So Thursday was a good day to have a baby!
I'm joking, but my gut feeling about the 8th was strong enough that I went to some effort beforehand to ensure the photography and the school workday would be completed on the 7th, because I wanted to have a completely clear calendar starting on the 8th.
Actually, our house cleaners did come the morning of the 8th, but the baby (not named yet!) was already five or six hours old by then.
- - - - -
And now we'll begin the birth story!
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
For several weeks I had been having Braxton Hicks contractions (I had none when I was pregnant with Isaac!), and starting around 6:30 p.m. they even caused a prickling sensation in my lower abdomen -- not "pain," exactly, but not unlike pain. Around 7:00 p.m. I timed the mild contractions for a while, and they didn't seem like a big deal: they were happening every five to ten minutes and lasting for 45 seconds to a minute. Just in case, I called the midwife, Beah. She said she thought we'd have a baby in the next few days, and told me to eat a good dinner and go right to bed.
I called my parents to tell them this, because they were planning to come to my house for the birth. My mother was going to be part of my birth team, while my father was going to watch three-year-old Isaac. My parents live two hours away, and if for some reason they couldn't make it in time, we had a whole list of friends and neighbors on standby.
My parents were excited, but unimpressed. They said, "Well, call us before you go to bed, and of course call us when you feel like something is happening."
I said, "I am. This is that phone call." Despite the midwife's opinion to the contrary, despite the lackluster contractions, I felt like something was about to happen.
My parents still didn't sound convinced, and they asked me to call them back later with an update. But then at 8:00 p.m. they called and said they were already in the car on their way to my house! Their feeling was that maybe they'd appreciate not having to make the drive when I really did go into labor the next day, or the day after that.
Around 8:00 p.m. Craig began putting Isaac to bed, and I straightened up around the house a little bit. A few of the contractions were strong enough that I paused for a moment and leaned on something, but they still didn't really hurt. But I was certain by now that I was in pre-labor, if not actual labor, and I was glad that my parents were on their way so someone would be there for Isaac.
At 9:00 p.m. I went to bed, although I didn't really sleep. The contractions slowed way down, perhaps to every 20 or 30 minutes.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
At 1:15 a.m. I had a strong, painful contraction, so powerful that it propelled me out of bed, onto my feet, and across the room. It was like I had tried to run away from it.
My first thought was, "I don't want another one like that." I was shocked and scared. For some reason I put on my sweatpants and sandals. I went to the bathroom, where I had another equally strong contraction and an equally overwhelmed reaction to it. Then my water broke -- not a lot of fluid, but enough for me to see it was clear and pink-tinged.
I woke up Craig. Then, even though my labor had just begun, I called the midwife. I was scared and confused and having a hard time figuring things out. When she asked how far apart the contractions were, I said I thought every eight minutes. But how could that be? Did it take me eight minutes to get dressed and walk to the bathroom? And had there really only been two contractions so far? And why were they so overwhelmingly strong?
While I was trying to speak to the midwife on the phone I had a third contraction, maybe four or five minutes after the last. This contraction was only half the strength of the others, though, and not difficult to relax and breathe through -- unlike the first two.
Based on this, the midwife said she thought it was still early in my labor, but that she would send her assistant over and they would assess the situation. She also said to call her back immediately if anything changed. I still felt scared and uncertain, especially since this labor seemed so different from my first one; I wanted her to come to my house right away, but I didn't say anything. I figured I'd just wait for the assistant.
- - - - -
Tune in next time for the conclusion!
Saturday, September 27, 2014
Happy birthday, Laurel!
Happy first birthday to Laurel!We celebrated small. She already had presents and cupcakes at her playgroup party on Wednesday, and she'll have more presents and cupcakes at her family party on Sunday. So tonight she had an oatmeal cookie and a single present, unwrapped! No candle, but we did sing.
The big plastic toy in this rather chaotic photograph was tonight's present (thank you, Craigslist). It's a combination walk-behind, ride-on, doll-strolling scooter. Laurel is not quite ready to walk or ride, though, which is why you can see my foot supporting her bottom! (You can also see Isaac's hands trying to balance a wooden train on the seat of the scooter. He was pretty excited about the scooter himself!)
Laurel may not be ready to use the scooter by herself, but she loved clutching the handle and seeing her new doll, Rose, looking back at her. (Rose was a Christmas present from my parents.) And she loved being pushed around the room on the scooter with the help of Isaac (and me). Her feet don't quite touch the floor!
More birthday
Laurel had her official first birthday party today. (It was her third and final celebration of the week.) She had a whole cupcake to herself this time, vanilla with chocolate frosting. She spent most of her time just poking her finger into the frosting, and while she eventually put her finger in her mouth, she never picked up the whole cupcake and crammed it into her mouth. Since she hasn't had teeth for very long, we aren't in the habit of giving her big food items, so maybe she didn't understand what she was supposed to do? She was happiest when we broke off smallish pieces of cupcake for her, and she crammed those into her mouth with cries of enthusiasm.
I know she liked it, because when we finished up the last three cupcakes tonight, hours after the party had ended, she immediately recognized what they were and raised a ruckus until I shared mine with her.
Toward the end of the party Isaac started to get a little wild, ripping up wrapping paper and throwing it all around. When he began smashing a cardboard box with a mallet, I suggested he go outside and smash a pumpkin instead; we had one left over from Halloween that we hadn't carved. Then I thought he would enjoy driving nails into it first. He did.
I know she liked it, because when we finished up the last three cupcakes tonight, hours after the party had ended, she immediately recognized what they were and raised a ruckus until I shared mine with her.
Toward the end of the party Isaac started to get a little wild, ripping up wrapping paper and throwing it all around. When he began smashing a cardboard box with a mallet, I suggested he go outside and smash a pumpkin instead; we had one left over from Halloween that we hadn't carved. Then I thought he would enjoy driving nails into it first. He did.
Laurel's cupcake aftermath
Isaac hammering nails into a pumpkin
Fear of failure
Today I went back through the "drafts" section of my blog, which contains posts I started writing but never completed or published. I was looking for a particular post I had begun in March of 2009, nearly a year ago, when I was beginning to notice Isaac curtailing his activities based on his fear that he wouldn't succeed at them.
In my draft post I noted that I had heard Isaac say, in several situations, "If I try to [blank], I'll just do it wrong." Unfortunately he has continued to make similar statements.
Back in 2009, when he was three, what kinds of things did Isaac say he couldn't do? Well, "draw a house" was one, along with pretending to read a book he knew by memory. He also said, "I'm not a very good singer." (He's wrong.)
What does he say he can't do in 2010, now that he is four? He still won't even attempt representational art, because he says it won't be accurate. Today, for instance, he told me he wouldn't draw a map of our house, because it wouldn't "be any good." He also said he couldn't draw a very good triangle. (He's right.)
Sometimes he claims he can't do something that he does know how to do, such as recently when he said he was no good at climbing trees. Has he forgotten that he knows? Is he looking for reassurance or praise? Is he making excuses in advance for future errors? I know he hates to be caught making a mistake; sometimes when he makes a mistake he says things like, "Can we pretend this never happened?" or "Don't tell Daddy."
Both Craig and I suffer somewhat from what Craig calls "I don't do nuthin' that I cain't do good" syndrome, which I suppose is common among overachievers. Now that we are parents we try to model willingness to try new things, as well as forgiveness of our own errors, but I wonder how much of Isaac's other hesitations have been due to his fear of failure. Soccer? Dancing? Learning numbers?
Did we pass along this regrettable attitude to our son? Is it genetics? Is it shoddy parenting? At any rate, I'm revisiting the research on the damaging effects of certain types of praise, and I'm re-reading "Unconditional Parenting" (as well as the first chapter in the new book "Nurtureshock"). For instance, I know I've fallen back into the bad habit of simply calling Isaac smart rather than specifically praising his efforts. The research shows that when kids who are told they are "smart" inevitably fail, they conclude they are no longer smart; to preserve their image, they try mightily to avoid failure -- and they do this by avoiding challenges.
I also found this article called How to Make Your Kid into a Perfectionist, which includes a link to another called Let Your Kids Fail.
- - - - -
On a more amusing note, here are some additional Isaac quotes I found in the March 2009 draft post:
* Is this a beautiful picture? Do you absolutely love it?
* Why am I so beautiful?
* Do you like my nice butt?
In my draft post I noted that I had heard Isaac say, in several situations, "If I try to [blank], I'll just do it wrong." Unfortunately he has continued to make similar statements.
Back in 2009, when he was three, what kinds of things did Isaac say he couldn't do? Well, "draw a house" was one, along with pretending to read a book he knew by memory. He also said, "I'm not a very good singer." (He's wrong.)
What does he say he can't do in 2010, now that he is four? He still won't even attempt representational art, because he says it won't be accurate. Today, for instance, he told me he wouldn't draw a map of our house, because it wouldn't "be any good." He also said he couldn't draw a very good triangle. (He's right.)
Sometimes he claims he can't do something that he does know how to do, such as recently when he said he was no good at climbing trees. Has he forgotten that he knows? Is he looking for reassurance or praise? Is he making excuses in advance for future errors? I know he hates to be caught making a mistake; sometimes when he makes a mistake he says things like, "Can we pretend this never happened?" or "Don't tell Daddy."
Both Craig and I suffer somewhat from what Craig calls "I don't do nuthin' that I cain't do good" syndrome, which I suppose is common among overachievers. Now that we are parents we try to model willingness to try new things, as well as forgiveness of our own errors, but I wonder how much of Isaac's other hesitations have been due to his fear of failure. Soccer? Dancing? Learning numbers?
Did we pass along this regrettable attitude to our son? Is it genetics? Is it shoddy parenting? At any rate, I'm revisiting the research on the damaging effects of certain types of praise, and I'm re-reading "Unconditional Parenting" (as well as the first chapter in the new book "Nurtureshock"). For instance, I know I've fallen back into the bad habit of simply calling Isaac smart rather than specifically praising his efforts. The research shows that when kids who are told they are "smart" inevitably fail, they conclude they are no longer smart; to preserve their image, they try mightily to avoid failure -- and they do this by avoiding challenges.
I also found this article called How to Make Your Kid into a Perfectionist, which includes a link to another called Let Your Kids Fail.
- - - - -
On a more amusing note, here are some additional Isaac quotes I found in the March 2009 draft post:
* Is this a beautiful picture? Do you absolutely love it?
* Why am I so beautiful?
* Do you like my nice butt?
One milestone per child, part two
On Monday, Laurel attended her first organized activity: a Music Together class. (That's the same kind of music class Isaac took when he was two and a half.)
On Tuesday, Isaac had his first dental check-up. (He went to the dentist once before, at 18 months, when he tripped and chipped his front tooth.)
Results? Music class: okay! Teeth: okay!
- - - - -
Here's the first One Milestone Per Child post, from last year.
On Tuesday, Isaac had his first dental check-up. (He went to the dentist once before, at 18 months, when he tripped and chipped his front tooth.)
Results? Music class: okay! Teeth: okay!
- - - - -
Here's the first One Milestone Per Child post, from last year.
Check-up round-up
Laurel had her one-year check-up yesterday! We are grateful to report that she is healthy and doing well.
As far as her growth, she continues to be tall and is increasingly slim. She grew one inch in the last two months, bringing her up to 30 inches; for height she remained in the 75th percentile for girls her age. She gained slightly less than one pound in the same time period, and now weighs 18 pounds and six ounces; for weight she dropped from the 25th to the 20th percentile.
The doctor noticed the drop, of course, and he did ask if she was "a very picky eater." She has only just begun to express food preferences, so although she now throws broccoli onto the floor, I can't blame the steady eight-month-long decrease (at four months of age she was in the 60th percentile for weight) on picky eating.
She is, however, a slooooooow eater. She's even slower than me, and that's saying something! Feeding her dinner can take longer than 30 minutes; we often stop because we get tired of doing it. First Isaac leaves the dinner table, then Craig; then I finish eating, but Laurel is still accepting every third bite of food I offer. (Sometimes she is too busy watching her brother run around the room to concentrate on eating!) The doctor wasn't worried. His advice was to make sure she isn't filling up on carbohydrate snacks and juice, and to give her lots of dairy fat. Since she is breast-feeding and has never had juice, I don't think that's a problem.
The other issue was her lack of mobility, which you may recall concerned the doctor at Laurel's 10-month check-up. Remember the doctor told us he would recommend an occupational therapist if she had not begun crawling by one year? Well, Laurel has improved a lot in the last two months, and although she isn't crawling yet, the doctor held off on the therapist based on our assurances of her steady progress. She still scoots along on her bottom, but as I mentioned two weeks ago, she has become strong enough to get up on her hands and knees and make a sort of crawling movement, although it quickly reverts into scooting or creeping.
The doctor wanted to be sure she doesn't have a physical disability, a hidden weakness that is preventing mobility, but we didn't think so. She pulls herself up constantly, and although she falls a lot and is very unsteady, it is clear that upright is her preferred position. She enjoys teetering around while holding onto our hands, and I find myself wondering if she might actually walk before she crawls.
The doctor also asked about Laurel's language development. Does she seem to understand what we are saying? I know she understands words, although as I mentioned before, I'm not sure how many because she isn't that eager to communicate. But she gets very excited when I mention things she loves, like cheese, book, or cracker, and she recognizes all of our names as well as the names of her dolls. (Did I tell you she loves dolls and pictures of people's faces, much as Isaac loved trucks?)
Does she speak any words yet? Not really. She says "Mama," but I don't know if she always means me. Sometimes she says "Nay-nay-nay" when she means no, and she also shakes her head. But the closest thing to a real word is "Uh-oh," which she says when she drops something.
Anything else notable from the check-up? Well, she cried the entire time. She must have an excellent memory, because as soon as she got a good look at the exam room, especially the crinkly paper on the table, she started screaming.
As far as her growth, she continues to be tall and is increasingly slim. She grew one inch in the last two months, bringing her up to 30 inches; for height she remained in the 75th percentile for girls her age. She gained slightly less than one pound in the same time period, and now weighs 18 pounds and six ounces; for weight she dropped from the 25th to the 20th percentile.
The doctor noticed the drop, of course, and he did ask if she was "a very picky eater." She has only just begun to express food preferences, so although she now throws broccoli onto the floor, I can't blame the steady eight-month-long decrease (at four months of age she was in the 60th percentile for weight) on picky eating.
She is, however, a slooooooow eater. She's even slower than me, and that's saying something! Feeding her dinner can take longer than 30 minutes; we often stop because we get tired of doing it. First Isaac leaves the dinner table, then Craig; then I finish eating, but Laurel is still accepting every third bite of food I offer. (Sometimes she is too busy watching her brother run around the room to concentrate on eating!) The doctor wasn't worried. His advice was to make sure she isn't filling up on carbohydrate snacks and juice, and to give her lots of dairy fat. Since she is breast-feeding and has never had juice, I don't think that's a problem.
The other issue was her lack of mobility, which you may recall concerned the doctor at Laurel's 10-month check-up. Remember the doctor told us he would recommend an occupational therapist if she had not begun crawling by one year? Well, Laurel has improved a lot in the last two months, and although she isn't crawling yet, the doctor held off on the therapist based on our assurances of her steady progress. She still scoots along on her bottom, but as I mentioned two weeks ago, she has become strong enough to get up on her hands and knees and make a sort of crawling movement, although it quickly reverts into scooting or creeping.
The doctor wanted to be sure she doesn't have a physical disability, a hidden weakness that is preventing mobility, but we didn't think so. She pulls herself up constantly, and although she falls a lot and is very unsteady, it is clear that upright is her preferred position. She enjoys teetering around while holding onto our hands, and I find myself wondering if she might actually walk before she crawls.
The doctor also asked about Laurel's language development. Does she seem to understand what we are saying? I know she understands words, although as I mentioned before, I'm not sure how many because she isn't that eager to communicate. But she gets very excited when I mention things she loves, like cheese, book, or cracker, and she recognizes all of our names as well as the names of her dolls. (Did I tell you she loves dolls and pictures of people's faces, much as Isaac loved trucks?)
Does she speak any words yet? Not really. She says "Mama," but I don't know if she always means me. Sometimes she says "Nay-nay-nay" when she means no, and she also shakes her head. But the closest thing to a real word is "Uh-oh," which she says when she drops something.
Anything else notable from the check-up? Well, she cried the entire time. She must have an excellent memory, because as soon as she got a good look at the exam room, especially the crinkly paper on the table, she started screaming.
Friday, September 26, 2014
Birth day
Laurel turned one year old on January 8, 2010! I celebrated the weeks leading up to her first birthday with a series of posts about her birth. I meant to post the conclusion of her birth story on her actual birthday, but things were busy. So now, finally, you are reading the second part of Laurel's birth story, which I began in installment number four. (That makes this post installment five of this series; here are links to installments one, two, and three.)
So far in our story: my active labor started with a massive contraction at 1:15 a.m., and after about 30 minutes and a total of three contractions, I was scared and confused. I called the midwife, who told me she thought it was still early in my labor, but she arranged to send her assistant to my house. Meanwhile, Craig woke up my parents, who were sleeping in the guest room; three-year-old Isaac was still asleep in his room; and my parents called my sister Erica.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
1:45 a.m.
We were in my bedroom: me, Craig, and my mother.
The contractions had started out hard, and they never got easier. Each contraction was a shocker, nearly too intense to process. I never got a handle on them; I was clueless about how to cope, and none of my pain-management strategies helped. Unlike with Isaac's birth, I never went into that dream-like hypnotized state, nor did I feel the sense of being in control of being out of control. Instead I felt helpless, confused, and apprehensive -- and that was even worse than the pain.
2:15 a.m.
The midwife's assistant arrived; she listened to the baby's heartbeat, and thankfully everything was fine. She didn't perform an internal examination, in part because my water had already broken, but there was really no need. My contractions were from five to eight minutes apart, and I told her that occasionally one would be "half-strength," meaning it was actually bearable. We were planning a homebirth, but as a point of reference, most hospitals won't even admit a laboring woman until she is in active labor with contractions that have been less than five minutes apart for an hour. So at this point the assistant called the midwife and agreed that she also thought it was early on in my labor.
Me, I just knew that things were much harder than I had expected, especially considering my labor had begun only an hour before. I kept trying to relax and open up, which had worked with Isaac's birth, but I simply could not do it. Even between contractions I often didn't lose the pain and tension in my lower abdomen; the intensity would lessen, but the cramping continued. I was making noise, but I couldn't keep my vocalizations low or round; sometimes I found myself doing something that sounded a lot like shrieking. I scared myself.
However, after it was all over, my mom said it looked and sounded just like my previous labor; she didn't realize it was any different. Craig could tell it was different, but he didn't know what to do about it. Later he said he felt like we were always three contractions behind -- as soon as we got into a coping routine or a technique, the labor ratcheted up another level, and we were left behind again.
It was hard. Yes, it was very painful, but it wasn't the pain that was the problem, exactly -- it was the sense of not knowing what I should be doing with the pain. So in addition to the physical intensity, it was overwhelming both emotionally and psychologically. Maybe if we'd had a doula, a professional labor companion, she could have helped me develop a better coping routine. All the techniques we had practiced were relaxation-based, and maybe what I needed was something more active, like pulling on a rope or rocking. (Or listening to Metallica.) Or maybe, as I noted previously, nothing would have helped.
The midwife's assistant was only intermittently involved with the labor at first, at least as far as I remember. She checked on the vital signs, but she was also busy setting up for the birth. She said later that it seemed like I was dealing with the contractions amazingly well; she didn't notice my emotional distress and had no idea that I was struggling.
3:15 a.m.
I was still laboring in my bedroom, alternating positions quite frequently. Sometimes I stood and leaned on something; sometimes I knelt on the bed. I kept moving because I was trying to find some relief, but no matter the position I tried, the cramping in my lower abdomen was unrelenting. Around this time the midwife called, and the assistant left the room to take the call. We later learned that the assistant told the midwife she thought things were still early, that she didn't need to come yet.
But it turned out the midwife had left her house 30 minutes earlier. She was nearly at our house, and was just calling for final directions. Later the midwife told us that she hadn't been able to get back to sleep after I called at 1:45 a.m., and she just had a feeling she should come.
I was kneeling on the bed, leaning forward on a giant yoga ball, when I had a double-long contraction. At the end of it, I felt something twist into place in my lower abdomen. It was like the burrowing of a drill bit. Suddenly, irrationally, I felt like I wanted to go to the bathroom, and I decided I would ask the assistant about it when she got back from her phone call. In the meantime, I lay down on my side on the bed.
3:30 a.m.
In the middle of the next contraction I suddenly could not stand it any more. I leaped to my knees, clapped my hands between my legs, and cried out, "I don't know if I can do this!" The pain went on and on, and the pelvic pressure and burning were unbearable. I think I screamed.
At this moment the midwife walked in the bedroom door and said, "Looks like we're about to have a baby!"
No one believed her, not even me.
I was still on the bed on my knees after the contraction ended, and I was extremely confused. The midwife asked me if she could examine me, and did I want her to do it right then, or wait for the next contraction. I laughed humorlessly, and told her not during the next contraction. While we were talking, she checked the baby's heartbeat, and it was fine.
As it turned out, I didn't have a choice about the timing of my internal exam, because I had another contraction at that moment. Somehow they got me off the bed and into a standing position so they could get my pants off, because throughout this I had been fully dressed! Standing felt wrong to me, and I mumbled befuddledly, "I don't know, I don't know." I think I meant I didn't know what to do, or in what position I should be, or even whether I could cope any longer.
But somehow the midwife must have examined me, because she announced, "I can see your baby's head!"
Everyone was surprised, except for her.
Myself, I was neither surprised nor relieved. I was just having a very bad time, and I wanted it to be over. It was extraordinarily, amazingly uncomfortable to be standing there with the baby's head poised to emerge. I didn't feel the urge to push, as far as I can remember -- just that pelvic pressure and burning.
The midwife helped me lie down on my right side along the edge of the bed, facing outward. My head was on the pillow. Craig stood at my shoulder, and I wrapped my lower arm around both his thighs. I used my other arm to slightly raise my upper thigh, and Craig helped hold it as well; I wasn't pulling up very hard, since I didn't need much leverage. The midwife was on the floor beside me. Even without any pushing, I could feel the stretching as the baby's head moved down slowly.
But I guess "slowly" is relative. Even with the side-lying position, which is meant to slow a fast delivery (and protect pelvic organs from prolapse), and even without pushing, that baby was coming out pretty quickly. After I lay down, they told me later, the baby's scalp was already showing clearly, and it never vanished; the entire delivery phase only took ten minutes.
The midwife never once asked me to push; instead she told me to go slow, which I did. I gave a few little pushes, the burning grew more and more intense, and then I absolutely couldn't stand it. I cried out, "Help me! Help me!" at the peak of sensation, and then the feeling grew less overwhelming, although still terribly intense. I was too confused to understand it at the time, but the baby's head had been born.
Then the midwife told me to stop pushing and to blow, which she demonstrated. I was actually grateful to stop: not pushing meant less intensity, and I was in favor of anything that let me avoid intensity. Although it was still extremely uncomfortable, it was no longer overwhelming. Why did I need to stop? I had no idea. If I thought about it, which I'm not sure I did, then I assumed the midwife was trying to prevent me from tearing. (Which she did -- in the end I had only two tiny superficial lacerations. What a difference that makes in recovery!)
I didn't know what was happening, but they told me later that after the baby's head had been born, the midwife discovered that the umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck. However, when she tried to unloop the cord, it was too tight or too short to come over her head. So she had to internally clamp the cord in two places and cut it, without being able to see what she was doing, and with just the baby's head sticking out -- all while preventing me from trying to push out the rest of the baby! Craig and my mother were incredibly impressed with the midwife's skill; her voice never stopped being calm as she told me not to push, but her hands moved very swiftly and surely.
Then the midwife gave me permission to continue. She also asked me if I wanted to reach down and feel the baby's head, and I said emphatically, "No. No." I stopped my blowing and started breathing deeply. I don't think I pushed any more; I gave maybe a little downward pressure to get things started, but it really felt like the baby made her own way out as I breathed.
3:40 a.m.
I felt her shoulders being born, with another moment of increased intensity and accompanying unhappiness on my part. Then the rest of the baby's body slipped through the birth canal, emerging slowly and deliberately. It didn't hurt, exactly, but it felt very strange to feel her wriggling along. And then she was out, and the midwife handed the baby up to me, and my first thought was, "Thank God that's over!" I felt more traumatized than ecstatic.
The midwife explained to me why the umbilical cord had already been cut, but I was only half-listening; even though I was somewhat shell-shocked I was pulling aside my garments (remember I was fully clothed, besides pants) to press my baby to my bare breast. She had been breathing well from the moment she was born, and she was calm and not crying. She hadn't been cleaned at all, and she looked all slimy and gray and puffy, so coated with white sticky vernix that it was impossible to tell the color of her hair.
Since the bedroom was a little chilly for a newborn, although it was normal room temperature for a cold January dawn, it was imperative to keep the baby warm. I rested her naked body against my warm skin and covered us both up with blankets; we immediately added a hat and a heating pad. In fact, we covered her up so thoroughly that I couldn't see much of her, but it didn't matter. I had her where I wanted her, and I think she was also where she wanted to be. I nursed her a little bit, but she mostly wanted to rest. So for her first hour I just held her close and held on tight.
The Aftermath
In retrospect I realize that the midwife must have performed a medical check on the baby while I was holding her, but amazingly I didn't notice at the time. When I recently watched the post-birth video, for instance, I heard the midwife asking me if the baby really was a girl, a question I don't even remember. And of course I eventually had to deliver the placenta, and I am sure my medical caregivers made sure I was doing well. But for the first 40 minutes of the baby's life I had tunnel vision, concentrating only on her, and I knew no interruptions.
Then about 40 minutes after the birth, around 4:20 a.m., Isaac and my father came in, and my sister arrived from out of town, and I had something to eat, and we started taking pictures, and everything became sociable and celebratory. About 4:40 a.m., an hour after the birth, the midwife suggested we might want to weigh the baby, and I finally, reluctantly let her go. She weighed seven pounds, two ounces, and measured 20 inches long. Her entry into the world had taken two hours and 25 minutes.
Then at 6:00 a.m. it was time for bed. The midwives cleaned up and went home; my sister went home to celebrate her wedding anniversary; Isaac went to bed (but not to sleep!) with my parents in the guest room. And Craig and I tucked a tiny baby between us in the master bed, a rolled-up towel serving as a protective halo around her head, and fell asleep.
So far in our story: my active labor started with a massive contraction at 1:15 a.m., and after about 30 minutes and a total of three contractions, I was scared and confused. I called the midwife, who told me she thought it was still early in my labor, but she arranged to send her assistant to my house. Meanwhile, Craig woke up my parents, who were sleeping in the guest room; three-year-old Isaac was still asleep in his room; and my parents called my sister Erica.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
1:45 a.m.
We were in my bedroom: me, Craig, and my mother.
The contractions had started out hard, and they never got easier. Each contraction was a shocker, nearly too intense to process. I never got a handle on them; I was clueless about how to cope, and none of my pain-management strategies helped. Unlike with Isaac's birth, I never went into that dream-like hypnotized state, nor did I feel the sense of being in control of being out of control. Instead I felt helpless, confused, and apprehensive -- and that was even worse than the pain.
2:15 a.m.
The midwife's assistant arrived; she listened to the baby's heartbeat, and thankfully everything was fine. She didn't perform an internal examination, in part because my water had already broken, but there was really no need. My contractions were from five to eight minutes apart, and I told her that occasionally one would be "half-strength," meaning it was actually bearable. We were planning a homebirth, but as a point of reference, most hospitals won't even admit a laboring woman until she is in active labor with contractions that have been less than five minutes apart for an hour. So at this point the assistant called the midwife and agreed that she also thought it was early on in my labor.
Me, I just knew that things were much harder than I had expected, especially considering my labor had begun only an hour before. I kept trying to relax and open up, which had worked with Isaac's birth, but I simply could not do it. Even between contractions I often didn't lose the pain and tension in my lower abdomen; the intensity would lessen, but the cramping continued. I was making noise, but I couldn't keep my vocalizations low or round; sometimes I found myself doing something that sounded a lot like shrieking. I scared myself.
However, after it was all over, my mom said it looked and sounded just like my previous labor; she didn't realize it was any different. Craig could tell it was different, but he didn't know what to do about it. Later he said he felt like we were always three contractions behind -- as soon as we got into a coping routine or a technique, the labor ratcheted up another level, and we were left behind again.
It was hard. Yes, it was very painful, but it wasn't the pain that was the problem, exactly -- it was the sense of not knowing what I should be doing with the pain. So in addition to the physical intensity, it was overwhelming both emotionally and psychologically. Maybe if we'd had a doula, a professional labor companion, she could have helped me develop a better coping routine. All the techniques we had practiced were relaxation-based, and maybe what I needed was something more active, like pulling on a rope or rocking. (Or listening to Metallica.) Or maybe, as I noted previously, nothing would have helped.
The midwife's assistant was only intermittently involved with the labor at first, at least as far as I remember. She checked on the vital signs, but she was also busy setting up for the birth. She said later that it seemed like I was dealing with the contractions amazingly well; she didn't notice my emotional distress and had no idea that I was struggling.
3:15 a.m.
I was still laboring in my bedroom, alternating positions quite frequently. Sometimes I stood and leaned on something; sometimes I knelt on the bed. I kept moving because I was trying to find some relief, but no matter the position I tried, the cramping in my lower abdomen was unrelenting. Around this time the midwife called, and the assistant left the room to take the call. We later learned that the assistant told the midwife she thought things were still early, that she didn't need to come yet.
But it turned out the midwife had left her house 30 minutes earlier. She was nearly at our house, and was just calling for final directions. Later the midwife told us that she hadn't been able to get back to sleep after I called at 1:45 a.m., and she just had a feeling she should come.
I was kneeling on the bed, leaning forward on a giant yoga ball, when I had a double-long contraction. At the end of it, I felt something twist into place in my lower abdomen. It was like the burrowing of a drill bit. Suddenly, irrationally, I felt like I wanted to go to the bathroom, and I decided I would ask the assistant about it when she got back from her phone call. In the meantime, I lay down on my side on the bed.
3:30 a.m.
In the middle of the next contraction I suddenly could not stand it any more. I leaped to my knees, clapped my hands between my legs, and cried out, "I don't know if I can do this!" The pain went on and on, and the pelvic pressure and burning were unbearable. I think I screamed.
At this moment the midwife walked in the bedroom door and said, "Looks like we're about to have a baby!"
No one believed her, not even me.
I was still on the bed on my knees after the contraction ended, and I was extremely confused. The midwife asked me if she could examine me, and did I want her to do it right then, or wait for the next contraction. I laughed humorlessly, and told her not during the next contraction. While we were talking, she checked the baby's heartbeat, and it was fine.
As it turned out, I didn't have a choice about the timing of my internal exam, because I had another contraction at that moment. Somehow they got me off the bed and into a standing position so they could get my pants off, because throughout this I had been fully dressed! Standing felt wrong to me, and I mumbled befuddledly, "I don't know, I don't know." I think I meant I didn't know what to do, or in what position I should be, or even whether I could cope any longer.
But somehow the midwife must have examined me, because she announced, "I can see your baby's head!"
Everyone was surprised, except for her.
Myself, I was neither surprised nor relieved. I was just having a very bad time, and I wanted it to be over. It was extraordinarily, amazingly uncomfortable to be standing there with the baby's head poised to emerge. I didn't feel the urge to push, as far as I can remember -- just that pelvic pressure and burning.
The midwife helped me lie down on my right side along the edge of the bed, facing outward. My head was on the pillow. Craig stood at my shoulder, and I wrapped my lower arm around both his thighs. I used my other arm to slightly raise my upper thigh, and Craig helped hold it as well; I wasn't pulling up very hard, since I didn't need much leverage. The midwife was on the floor beside me. Even without any pushing, I could feel the stretching as the baby's head moved down slowly.
But I guess "slowly" is relative. Even with the side-lying position, which is meant to slow a fast delivery (and protect pelvic organs from prolapse), and even without pushing, that baby was coming out pretty quickly. After I lay down, they told me later, the baby's scalp was already showing clearly, and it never vanished; the entire delivery phase only took ten minutes.
The midwife never once asked me to push; instead she told me to go slow, which I did. I gave a few little pushes, the burning grew more and more intense, and then I absolutely couldn't stand it. I cried out, "Help me! Help me!" at the peak of sensation, and then the feeling grew less overwhelming, although still terribly intense. I was too confused to understand it at the time, but the baby's head had been born.
Then the midwife told me to stop pushing and to blow, which she demonstrated. I was actually grateful to stop: not pushing meant less intensity, and I was in favor of anything that let me avoid intensity. Although it was still extremely uncomfortable, it was no longer overwhelming. Why did I need to stop? I had no idea. If I thought about it, which I'm not sure I did, then I assumed the midwife was trying to prevent me from tearing. (Which she did -- in the end I had only two tiny superficial lacerations. What a difference that makes in recovery!)
I didn't know what was happening, but they told me later that after the baby's head had been born, the midwife discovered that the umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck. However, when she tried to unloop the cord, it was too tight or too short to come over her head. So she had to internally clamp the cord in two places and cut it, without being able to see what she was doing, and with just the baby's head sticking out -- all while preventing me from trying to push out the rest of the baby! Craig and my mother were incredibly impressed with the midwife's skill; her voice never stopped being calm as she told me not to push, but her hands moved very swiftly and surely.
Then the midwife gave me permission to continue. She also asked me if I wanted to reach down and feel the baby's head, and I said emphatically, "No. No." I stopped my blowing and started breathing deeply. I don't think I pushed any more; I gave maybe a little downward pressure to get things started, but it really felt like the baby made her own way out as I breathed.
3:40 a.m.
I felt her shoulders being born, with another moment of increased intensity and accompanying unhappiness on my part. Then the rest of the baby's body slipped through the birth canal, emerging slowly and deliberately. It didn't hurt, exactly, but it felt very strange to feel her wriggling along. And then she was out, and the midwife handed the baby up to me, and my first thought was, "Thank God that's over!" I felt more traumatized than ecstatic.
The midwife explained to me why the umbilical cord had already been cut, but I was only half-listening; even though I was somewhat shell-shocked I was pulling aside my garments (remember I was fully clothed, besides pants) to press my baby to my bare breast. She had been breathing well from the moment she was born, and she was calm and not crying. She hadn't been cleaned at all, and she looked all slimy and gray and puffy, so coated with white sticky vernix that it was impossible to tell the color of her hair.
Since the bedroom was a little chilly for a newborn, although it was normal room temperature for a cold January dawn, it was imperative to keep the baby warm. I rested her naked body against my warm skin and covered us both up with blankets; we immediately added a hat and a heating pad. In fact, we covered her up so thoroughly that I couldn't see much of her, but it didn't matter. I had her where I wanted her, and I think she was also where she wanted to be. I nursed her a little bit, but she mostly wanted to rest. So for her first hour I just held her close and held on tight.
The Aftermath
In retrospect I realize that the midwife must have performed a medical check on the baby while I was holding her, but amazingly I didn't notice at the time. When I recently watched the post-birth video, for instance, I heard the midwife asking me if the baby really was a girl, a question I don't even remember. And of course I eventually had to deliver the placenta, and I am sure my medical caregivers made sure I was doing well. But for the first 40 minutes of the baby's life I had tunnel vision, concentrating only on her, and I knew no interruptions.
Then about 40 minutes after the birth, around 4:20 a.m., Isaac and my father came in, and my sister arrived from out of town, and I had something to eat, and we started taking pictures, and everything became sociable and celebratory. About 4:40 a.m., an hour after the birth, the midwife suggested we might want to weigh the baby, and I finally, reluctantly let her go. She weighed seven pounds, two ounces, and measured 20 inches long. Her entry into the world had taken two hours and 25 minutes.
Then at 6:00 a.m. it was time for bed. The midwives cleaned up and went home; my sister went home to celebrate her wedding anniversary; Isaac went to bed (but not to sleep!) with my parents in the guest room. And Craig and I tucked a tiny baby between us in the master bed, a rolled-up towel serving as a protective halo around her head, and fell asleep.
Hello? Hello?
What, not a single comment on my magnum opus? Was it too long? Maybe no one made it all the way through. Was it too horrifying? I think I'm over the trauma by now, so don't worry about upsetting me further. Are you just tired of reading about childbirth? Don't worry, because I think I've finally said all I have to say on the topic.
For now.
For now.
First word
In my post about Laurel's one-year check-up I mentioned that she says "uh-oh." She usually says it when she purposefully drops something, often something she wants us to pick up. When I first wrote about it, I didn't think much of it. Instead of considering it a proper word, I figured "uh-oh" was just a cute baby noise. But after today I have decided to officially declare it her first word.
And why not? It's not a noun, which confused me, but it is a real word that she uses appropriately to communicate with other people. She sometimes uses it as an invitation to play the dropping game, which is not my favorite game. But today I tried to toss my scarf onto a chair, and I missed. As Laurel watched the scarf fall to the floor, she said, "Uh-oh."
- - - - -
Isaac said his first word, banana, at 11 months.
And why not? It's not a noun, which confused me, but it is a real word that she uses appropriately to communicate with other people. She sometimes uses it as an invitation to play the dropping game, which is not my favorite game. But today I tried to toss my scarf onto a chair, and I missed. As Laurel watched the scarf fall to the floor, she said, "Uh-oh."
- - - - -
Isaac said his first word, banana, at 11 months.
Vocabulary
Laurel is not the only child learning new words.
When I took Isaac to preschool this morning, his teacher was about 15 minutes into the morning circle time. I needed to talk to the director about a volunteer project, but she wasn't ready for me yet, so I decided to stay and watch circle time. There were about seven kids sitting on the floor facing the teacher, who was asking each kid in turn about their bed. (I assume this was related to a book she had read earlier!)
As soon as Isaac sat down, the teacher asked him what his bed looked like, and he didn't hesitate. He described it as "big and wooden."
Then she asked him what his blanket looked like. He said, "Dark blue, fuzzy, and threadbare."
Sadly, he is absolutely right. It is an elderly velour blanket that once belonged to my brother.
- - - - -
The next girl in line, when asked to describe her blanket, froze up and couldn't answer at all. No, Isaac is not shy.
When I took Isaac to preschool this morning, his teacher was about 15 minutes into the morning circle time. I needed to talk to the director about a volunteer project, but she wasn't ready for me yet, so I decided to stay and watch circle time. There were about seven kids sitting on the floor facing the teacher, who was asking each kid in turn about their bed. (I assume this was related to a book she had read earlier!)
As soon as Isaac sat down, the teacher asked him what his bed looked like, and he didn't hesitate. He described it as "big and wooden."
Then she asked him what his blanket looked like. He said, "Dark blue, fuzzy, and threadbare."
Sadly, he is absolutely right. It is an elderly velour blanket that once belonged to my brother.
- - - - -
The next girl in line, when asked to describe her blanket, froze up and couldn't answer at all. No, Isaac is not shy.
Music class
So far Laurel has gone to two of her Music Together classes. The first class she seemed to like, although she did have a bit of stranger anxiety whenever the teacher approached her. But the second class, which was last Monday, she loved.
As I think I have mentioned before, Laurel likes music. Sometimes when she hears recorded music, she bobs up and down in a rudimentary dance. Sometimes when I have just finished singing to her, she echoes a few tones in response. And she enjoys our box of musical instruments, frequently shaking a maraca, tooting a whistle, or blowing into a recorder.
So Laurel liked the singing and dancing in music class, and she liked playing (and chewing on) the rhythm instruments. But her favorite thing was the teacher's acoustic guitar.
It was a very small class last week, with just two children in attendance, so there was no competition afterward when the teacher invited the kids to come up and see her guitar. I brought Laurel over, and she was immediately transfixed. She was no longer nervous about being close to the teacher -- in fact, she put her hand on the teacher's knee for balance as she edged closer. Laurel watched the teacher's fingers play a tune, and then reached out her own little hand to touch the strings. Then they strummed and plucked at the strings together for several minutes, until the teacher had to put the guitar away to get ready for the next class.
No, there's no need to sign Laurel up for music lessons quite yet, but it was exciting to see her interest. Isaac took another type of music class when he was a little younger than Laurel is now, and he never showed that spark. He liked music at home, but he didn't seem to enjoy the group environment.
Actually, Isaac's main interest in that music class was crawling over to the meeting room's exterior double doors and investigating their latching system, which involved metal rods that dropped into holes in the ground.
As I think I have mentioned before, Laurel likes music. Sometimes when she hears recorded music, she bobs up and down in a rudimentary dance. Sometimes when I have just finished singing to her, she echoes a few tones in response. And she enjoys our box of musical instruments, frequently shaking a maraca, tooting a whistle, or blowing into a recorder.
So Laurel liked the singing and dancing in music class, and she liked playing (and chewing on) the rhythm instruments. But her favorite thing was the teacher's acoustic guitar.
It was a very small class last week, with just two children in attendance, so there was no competition afterward when the teacher invited the kids to come up and see her guitar. I brought Laurel over, and she was immediately transfixed. She was no longer nervous about being close to the teacher -- in fact, she put her hand on the teacher's knee for balance as she edged closer. Laurel watched the teacher's fingers play a tune, and then reached out her own little hand to touch the strings. Then they strummed and plucked at the strings together for several minutes, until the teacher had to put the guitar away to get ready for the next class.
No, there's no need to sign Laurel up for music lessons quite yet, but it was exciting to see her interest. Isaac took another type of music class when he was a little younger than Laurel is now, and he never showed that spark. He liked music at home, but he didn't seem to enjoy the group environment.
Actually, Isaac's main interest in that music class was crawling over to the meeting room's exterior double doors and investigating their latching system, which involved metal rods that dropped into holes in the ground.
Thursday, September 25, 2014
One milestone per child, part three
Laurel: stood on her own for the first time. She lasted about three seconds before she sat down abruptly on her bottom. The whole time she had her knees slightly bent and her arms outstretched, like she was surfing.
Isaac: was registered for kindergarten. We don't know whether or not we'll actually send him in the fall, or whether he'll spend a year at the developmental kindergarten offered by his preschool. Either way there are months left before we have to decide, plus more paperwork, conferences, and assessments.
Isaac: was registered for kindergarten. We don't know whether or not we'll actually send him in the fall, or whether he'll spend a year at the developmental kindergarten offered by his preschool. Either way there are months left before we have to decide, plus more paperwork, conferences, and assessments.
Disadvantages of mobility
Craig has been out of town for a few days, and it turns out it is much harder for me to be home alone with two kids than it was a few months ago. Why? Laurel is mobile.
Yes, we have baby gates. Yes, we even baby-proofed! But why does the house seem so much less baby-proofed with the second child? Perhaps I have simply forgotten how grabby a 12-month-old can be. Perhaps we had less stuff then. Perhaps when we only had one child we could pay more attention to him. Or perhaps our first child was less adventurous. For whatever reason, in our house there is much trouble available for a small girl to get into.
Today I have moved from their permanent positions five pairs of shoes, a rug, a magazine rack, books, a step-stool, records, computer chargers, and DVDs. Where will these things go? And of course I have moved a thousand other little items...
We had hoped to go to my parents' house while Craig was gone, and although at first I was disappointed we couldn't make it, now I'm almost glad. Their house is even less baby-proofed!
Yes, we have baby gates. Yes, we even baby-proofed! But why does the house seem so much less baby-proofed with the second child? Perhaps I have simply forgotten how grabby a 12-month-old can be. Perhaps we had less stuff then. Perhaps when we only had one child we could pay more attention to him. Or perhaps our first child was less adventurous. For whatever reason, in our house there is much trouble available for a small girl to get into.
Today I have moved from their permanent positions five pairs of shoes, a rug, a magazine rack, books, a step-stool, records, computer chargers, and DVDs. Where will these things go? And of course I have moved a thousand other little items...
We had hoped to go to my parents' house while Craig was gone, and although at first I was disappointed we couldn't make it, now I'm almost glad. Their house is even less baby-proofed!
When should my child start kindergarten?
Some parents in our area don't enroll their children in kindergarten as soon as the children are eligible, instead delaying their entry into kindergarten for one year in a practice known as academic redshirting. Isaac's birthday is September 6, 2005, three months before California's enrollment cut-off date of December 2, and I had always assumed we would send Isaac to kindergarten on time, just a few days before he turned five.
He's smart, he's polite, he's tall, he has a good attention span, he loves to learn. Why wouldn't he go to kindergarten like everyone else?
Well, it turns out that "everyone else" is not going to kindergarten! Most people we know are holding back their boys with summer and fall birthdays. Isaac has two good playmates in our neighborhood, one born in August and one in October 2005, and they will all attend the same school -- except that neither one is starting kindergarten in the fall.
So now that school registration is actually upon us, we are carefully considering all our options, including the possibility of delaying Isaac's entry into kindergarten for a year. In that case we would send him to the private "developmental kindergarten" offered to five-year-olds at his current preschool, then enroll him in the public kindergarten the following year.
But why "developmental kindergarten" instead of real kindergarten? It's a long story, having to do with kindergarten being "the new first grade," with avoiding premature homework packets and worksheets, with preserving free play as part of the school day, with taking time to mature socially and emotionally in a nurturing environment, with remaining with a peer group of one's own age, blah blah blah.
Despite popular journalism pieces to the contrary, there are arguments against academic redshirting. Kindergarten is free, but preschool for another year will cost us $6,000. And after all that expense, delaying kindergarten entry doesn't seem to make a lasting improvement in academic performance, according to a review of the many studies done by social scientists, and a revisiting of old research. (The studies are mostly shoddy and inconclusive, but factors like family income and maternal education make a much bigger difference in academic performance; redshirting does, however, seem to make some improvement in a child's social and athletic status.)
Also having so many older classmates is bad for those who do start kindergarten at age five, who end up dominated academically and socially, and perhaps society in general; the National Association for the Education of Young Children has a position paper against redshirting, arguing that kindergarten should be, by definition, appropriate for every five-year-old child. And there are plenty of personal opinions opposed to the practice, especially from people like us, a bit contrary by nature, who resent being told that we should do what "everyone else" is doing because it will make our kid a dominant super-achiever.
However the NAEYC's position paper also says this, in a sidebar entitled "What We DO Know about Holding Children Out":
And the summary of the research on redshirting says this, in a section entitled "What Advice Can Teachers Give Parents About Delaying Kindergarten for Their Children?":
So these two identical pieces of advice, especially coming from early childhood educators otherwise philosophically opposed to delaying kindergarten, make me wonder about the developmental inappropriateness of our local "achievement-oriented" and award-winning (i.e., high-test-score-receiving) schools.
Yes, Isaac is very smart, and he would probably be able to rise to the occasion, academically, if thrown into a developmentally inappropriate classroom. On the other hand, like his parents he is also a bit contrary by nature, and he might balk at being forced to sit down and do work he isn't developmentally ready to enjoy -- especially in a classroom full of kids a year older than him!
- - - - -
So, to make a long story short, here are my three main concerns:
Question #1: Is our local kindergarten "developmentally appropriate" for five-year-olds in its academic curriculum and methods of instruction?
Question #2: Will the kindergarten teacher be able to provide "developmentally appropriate" support and guidance to Isaac as he develops socially and emotionally?
Question #3: What are the ages of the other children, especially the boys, enrolled in kindergarten?
He's smart, he's polite, he's tall, he has a good attention span, he loves to learn. Why wouldn't he go to kindergarten like everyone else?
Well, it turns out that "everyone else" is not going to kindergarten! Most people we know are holding back their boys with summer and fall birthdays. Isaac has two good playmates in our neighborhood, one born in August and one in October 2005, and they will all attend the same school -- except that neither one is starting kindergarten in the fall.
So now that school registration is actually upon us, we are carefully considering all our options, including the possibility of delaying Isaac's entry into kindergarten for a year. In that case we would send him to the private "developmental kindergarten" offered to five-year-olds at his current preschool, then enroll him in the public kindergarten the following year.
But why "developmental kindergarten" instead of real kindergarten? It's a long story, having to do with kindergarten being "the new first grade," with avoiding premature homework packets and worksheets, with preserving free play as part of the school day, with taking time to mature socially and emotionally in a nurturing environment, with remaining with a peer group of one's own age, blah blah blah.
Despite popular journalism pieces to the contrary, there are arguments against academic redshirting. Kindergarten is free, but preschool for another year will cost us $6,000. And after all that expense, delaying kindergarten entry doesn't seem to make a lasting improvement in academic performance, according to a review of the many studies done by social scientists, and a revisiting of old research. (The studies are mostly shoddy and inconclusive, but factors like family income and maternal education make a much bigger difference in academic performance; redshirting does, however, seem to make some improvement in a child's social and athletic status.)
Also having so many older classmates is bad for those who do start kindergarten at age five, who end up dominated academically and socially, and perhaps society in general; the National Association for the Education of Young Children has a position paper against redshirting, arguing that kindergarten should be, by definition, appropriate for every five-year-old child. And there are plenty of personal opinions opposed to the practice, especially from people like us, a bit contrary by nature, who resent being told that we should do what "everyone else" is doing because it will make our kid a dominant super-achiever.
However the NAEYC's position paper also says this, in a sidebar entitled "What We DO Know about Holding Children Out":
In developmentally appropriate kindergartens, children’s age or maturity should make no difference. In kindergartens that are pressure-cookers influenced by the demands of achievement-oriented teachers, families may have greater cause for concern.
And the summary of the research on redshirting says this, in a section entitled "What Advice Can Teachers Give Parents About Delaying Kindergarten for Their Children?":
In making the decision, it is important for parents to consider the type of kindergarten program and academic expectations the child will face. If the program is developmental with individualized curriculum, the child will be more likely to succeed than if he is placed in a program emphasizing whole group instruction, sitting still for long periods of time and doing worksheets.
So these two identical pieces of advice, especially coming from early childhood educators otherwise philosophically opposed to delaying kindergarten, make me wonder about the developmental inappropriateness of our local "achievement-oriented" and award-winning (i.e., high-test-score-receiving) schools.
Yes, Isaac is very smart, and he would probably be able to rise to the occasion, academically, if thrown into a developmentally inappropriate classroom. On the other hand, like his parents he is also a bit contrary by nature, and he might balk at being forced to sit down and do work he isn't developmentally ready to enjoy -- especially in a classroom full of kids a year older than him!
- - - - -
So, to make a long story short, here are my three main concerns:
Question #1: Is our local kindergarten "developmentally appropriate" for five-year-olds in its academic curriculum and methods of instruction?
Question #2: Will the kindergarten teacher be able to provide "developmentally appropriate" support and guidance to Isaac as he develops socially and emotionally?
Question #3: What are the ages of the other children, especially the boys, enrolled in kindergarten?
"Uh-oh"
Here you see Laurel playing the dropping game with her little doll Pee-Wee. (Note: if the video doesn't load, try clicking on the title of this post. Once you are viewing just this post, not the entire blog, it might work better.)
Last week I announced that "uh-oh" was Laurel's first word, and in this video taken a few days later you can see it in action. (Craig claims her first word was "mama," but I seldom hear her say it. Apparently she mostly uses it to call for me when I'm not around! At any rate, she doesn't say "mama" frequently enough for me to count it.)
My parents bought Pee-Wee for Isaac right before he turned two, but he was never interested in it. (My father was the one who named it!) Laurel, on the other hand, has loved Pee-Wee for several months now.
Singing lessons
Craig doesn't have his own blog, but he knows he is always welcome to contribute a guest post to my blog. I guess he doesn't share my compulsion to share his thoughts with the Internet at large, however, because this post is only his second ever! (The first was three years ago.)
And so, here is Craig:
As some of you may know, Isaac’s bedtime routine ends with my singing him a few songs before leaving him to fall asleep. Over the course of his life I have sung him a wide variety of songs, from modified favorites like “Young MacIsaac” and “Skip to My Lou” to show tunes and Gilbert and Sullivan. As Isaac has become more insistent on understanding the songs, the nightly singing has also become a forum for learning about a surprising range of subjects. Perhaps you have never considered how you would explain a popular song to a four-year-old. Take “King of the Road” -- why are the stogies not too big around? Why are there no pets? How about “Blue-Tailed Fly”? -- why doesn’t he care? What is a master? If his master has gone away who will take care of him?
Songs also often stretch his ability to interpret motives -- Isaac nearly wept at “Charlie on the MTA” until he recognized it as a joke, and “Irish Rover” (one of his current favorites) is another lesson in untrustworthy narrators.
Our deepest discussions so far have stemmed from “Balm in Gilead.” Not the superficial questions -- what is a balm? or what is Gilead? -- but things like what is a soul, and how can it be sin-sick? Why do I “think my work’s in vain”? Why did he “die to save us all”? Like the best questions of a child, these demand deep self-examination before answering. I have to reconsider stories that I have long considered metaphorical, step back from my adult “demythologizing” and think about how God touches the soul of a child. The truths of God are revealed in strange ways, in parable and myth. How do I teach that to my literal-minded four-year-old?
-- Craig
- - - - -
The Kingston Trio performing "Charlie on the M.T.A."
- - - - -
The Pogues & the Dubliners performing "Irish Rover"
And so, here is Craig:
As some of you may know, Isaac’s bedtime routine ends with my singing him a few songs before leaving him to fall asleep. Over the course of his life I have sung him a wide variety of songs, from modified favorites like “Young MacIsaac” and “Skip to My Lou” to show tunes and Gilbert and Sullivan. As Isaac has become more insistent on understanding the songs, the nightly singing has also become a forum for learning about a surprising range of subjects. Perhaps you have never considered how you would explain a popular song to a four-year-old. Take “King of the Road” -- why are the stogies not too big around? Why are there no pets? How about “Blue-Tailed Fly”? -- why doesn’t he care? What is a master? If his master has gone away who will take care of him?
Songs also often stretch his ability to interpret motives -- Isaac nearly wept at “Charlie on the MTA” until he recognized it as a joke, and “Irish Rover” (one of his current favorites) is another lesson in untrustworthy narrators.
Our deepest discussions so far have stemmed from “Balm in Gilead.” Not the superficial questions -- what is a balm? or what is Gilead? -- but things like what is a soul, and how can it be sin-sick? Why do I “think my work’s in vain”? Why did he “die to save us all”? Like the best questions of a child, these demand deep self-examination before answering. I have to reconsider stories that I have long considered metaphorical, step back from my adult “demythologizing” and think about how God touches the soul of a child. The truths of God are revealed in strange ways, in parable and myth. How do I teach that to my literal-minded four-year-old?
-- Craig
- - - - -
The Kingston Trio performing "Charlie on the M.T.A."
- - - - -
The Pogues & the Dubliners performing "Irish Rover"
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
First person
On the left you see the first person that Isaac has, to my knowledge, ever drawn. I drew the circle for the face, and he added the rest, mostly unprompted, in this order: eyes, mouth, nose, hair, ears, legs, feet, arms, and fingers. What more could a person need?He hasn't been into drawing lately. This may be a projection of my own issues with perfectionism, but I think he is dissatisfied with his skills.
He wasn't happy with the fingers, for instance, so at the bottom of the page he traced his own hand. In this scan, I partially covered it with two Post-Its.
- - - - -
The Post-Its are notable because on them, also for the first time, Isaac wrote his name entirely on his own: no copying, no tracing, no coaching.
He's already four and a half, so he's a little late to the name-writing game. Some of his playmates have been writing their names since they were three, although I think in some of those cases it was a case of the parent training the child to perform a parlor trick, and there was little or no understanding of what the letters signified.
Isaac has been able to sound out letters in spoken words since he was three, but he has been resistant to learning the names of the letters themselves. He's also good with rhymes, and he can substitute letter sounds at the beginning of words to make new words. Perhaps the letter sounds came naturally to him, while the letter names would have required someone else to teach him? At any rate, I figured I wouldn't make a big deal of it, and he would learn when he was ready. Until very recently, he called several letters by their phonetic sound rather than their name (ghee instead of "G," key instead of "K"). I think by now he knows the names of all the capital and two-thirds of the lower-case letters, but as he hates to be quizzed, it's hard to tell.
He recognizes numerals from one to four, but after that he simply cannot remember them. He can count slightly past ten, but he can't tell a "7" from a "8."
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