When I got pregnant, I had no idea how hungry I would be as a breastfeeding mama. I’m ravenous. All the time. My belt is loose and my pants are so baggy that I look like I’m going to hang with my homeboys at the mall rather than looking like the responsible mother of a six month old. So while my daugther and I visit her grandparents this week in South Carolina, I’m going to chow down.
Like a lot of other mamas around here I feel like I straddle oovy groovy and totally conventional. I continue to seek out alternative views on parenting because I’m obviously open to them but can’t imagine what my mother must think about all of this.
At my daughter’s six-week doctor’s visit I told her doctor that she kicked and cried after she ate. The doctor said she probably had colic. “But you know, she may just be unhappy in her baby body. Some babies are like Buddha and love to be held others hate to go back to not being able to do their thing and it frustrates them,” she said.
“Go back?” I asked.
“Yeah, I mean if you believe in reincarnation, they’re just stuck back in their baby bodies. She could just be sensitive,” she said. “Have you read that book about highly sensitive people?” [more]
Somewhere between “wash behind her ears” and “send her to college” falls “read Goodnight Moon” on the top-secret, unwritten list of things I’m supposed to do as a parent so as not to warp my child for life. So I do, but I don’t pretend to understand it. [more]
I did something the other day that I’ve not done since my daughter was born in August, something I’ve been dreading, something I was sure would be painful. After pushing a baby out, some parts of my body have been a little, well, sensitive, and the thought of certain activities, that I once engaged in regularly and even enjoyed, haven’t seemed so appealing. Even so, last Sunday I did it. [more]