but her language stays the same….

A few days ago, A and I were naming body parts and she pointed to my chest and asked “What that for?” C jumped in with “Mommy milk A! Don’t you remember mommy milk?” A looked at me questioningly and I concurred with C. “Yes A, that’s where you and C got milk when you were babies.” She started to laugh. “Silly Mommy! Milk come in bottle. See?” And she held up her baby’s bottle. I had to resist the urge to scoop up all of the play bottles in the house and throw them out. Actually, Rebecca finally talked me down. If I had been left to my own devices, the bottles would have been gone and I would have been explaining to my two year old about milk production and latch issues.

I never intended to be a breastfeeding fanatic. I began my breastfeeding experience by saying “I’m just going to try it and if it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out.” I was particularly squeamish about the nursing in public thing, and worried about my ability to be the sole source of nutrition for my child. It was just too much responsibility. But somehow between the theoretical breastfeeding class I took while pregnant with C and the traumatic weaning of A at 12 months because I had to go on some medicines incompatible with breastfeeding, I became a raving advocate.

Without the many supports I received when I was trying to establish a nursing relationship with C, I never would have made it as far as I did. I was incredibly lucky in both my inadvertent choice of obstetrician and my default selection of the only pediatrician I had a chance to interview before delivering C earlier than planned. The hospital my OB had privileges at just happened to be a teaching hospital that also trained lactation consultants along with the doctors and nurses. So in the days after C made his appearance in this world there were lactation consultants in and out of my hospital room almost as frequently as the 43 billion doctors, residents and interns. After discharge, they offered a free walk-in breastfeeding clinic and I was a repeat customer there; they sent C a first birthday card.

My first pediatrician turned out to be a devout breastfeeding advocate who insisted at every visit that I just had to keep going. He had a lactation consultant on staff, with whom I was also on a first name basis (can you tell we had some issues?). His office sponsored a nursing mom’s group through which I met enough other nursing moms to feel like I wasn’t the only mommy in Manhattan who didn’t formula feed. Between the hospital staff, the pediatrican’s office, and the knowledge that I wasn’t alone, I kept going even when I wanted to quit. And I have never regretted pushing through the hard times.

Fast forward two years, and although I delivered A in the same hospital, the lactation program had been scaled back and since I was a second time mom, I didn’t rank high enough to warrant any support from overextended staff. My new pediatrician, while herself a proponent of breastfeeding, did not have nurses who knew anything about the nursing process. At one point when I called with a question about A’s weight gain, I was told “I don’t know what to tell you if you are still nursing.” When I called for support while I was trying to work out a way to temporarily transition her to formula because I had to undergo some tests that would require me to stop nursing for a week, I got better advice from my cardiologist’s nurse than my pediatrican’s. I frequently thought to myself, “Thank god I know what I’m doing here, but what about the women who don’t?”

If I had been a first time mother, I never would have continued nursing A because I didn’t get any positive support or helpful advice from the medical personel I was interacting with on a regular basis. And, in fact, I finally weaned because my doctor convinced me to to try some medicine even though my heart condition was not life-threatening and the probability of the drugs working was fairly low. But at the time I was so stressed out and hysterical over my flip-floppy heart, I was incapable of questioning the medical system, which is probably how most first time moms who are interested in nursing but give up because their doctors tell them to must feel.

As I watch A lovingly give her baby dolls bottles, I know that whether you breast or bottlefeed doesn’t change how you love and cherish your child. And I would never encourage someone who was being made miserable by the experience to continue. But on the one year anniversary of weaning A, I wish that everyone who wanted the experience of nursing a child could receive the encouragement and support that they need to nurse as long as they desire.

Four years into the game I still eagerly await my children’s routine checkups. I’m not sure why, I know I’m not going to learn anything earth-shattering about their development, and I am no longer worried that the doctor is going to pick up on anything I have missed. I suppose it is just knowing that I will get affirmation from an outside, somewhat impartial, observer that my children are indeed growing well and doing age appropriate things.

Yesterday A had her two year pediatrician’s appointment, and all went well. She’s moved into the 25% for weight (Go A!) and dropped into the 50% for height, which is to be expected given the short stature of her parents. Although C has never dropped in height and is currently slated to hit 6’4″ or so, A’s chart said she should hit a more manageable 5’4″.

In typical fashion, A refused to participate in any of the games Dr. S wanted to play. “A, can you jump over the tongue depressor?” A stared at her, shrugged, picked it up and handed it back. “A, throw the paper towel to me!” A looked at it, walked over to the trash can and threw it out. “A, is this a cat or a dog?” Stony silence. Dr. S finally gave up and relied on me for input. “Yes, she jumps. Yes, she throws. Yes, she knows what a cat is. Yes, she speaks in paragraphs, we have no issues with language development.”

Then came the 10 million dollar question: “How does she sleep?” Pause, maniacal laughter from me. “Sleep? Oh, that. Yeah, she doesn’t.” After detailing A’s sleep habits, the pediatrician looked at her, shrugged, and said “Huh. I’m so sorry. Well, keep putting her back in her bed and she’ll eventually figure it out.” Which is precisely what I knew she would say, but I had this glimmer of hope that maybe there was some new sleeping technique that the internets hadn’t stumbled upon yet. On the upside, it turns out she is getting her two year molars, and one is already partially through, so I can pretend that perhaps this has just been the longest teething episode known to man.

Dr. S wouldn’t let us leave her office until we caught up on the vaccination schedule, so A finally had the dreaded MMR shot, which she disliked immensely. But she was a trooper for the blood draw; probably helped by the fact that the nurse’s assistant held out a glittery orange plastic bracelet during the sticking procedure, promising A that she could put it on as soon as it was over. That bracelet is now A’s prize possession, and she lovingly shows it to all she meets.

So, yet another routine appointment is over, coming to the conclusion I knew it would, that my daughter is healthy and developmentally on target. But I still feel a sense of relief in the small corner of my mind that still worries that she hasn’t put on weight, even though the bags of clothes I need to donate someplace beg to differ.

C: “Mommy, is your temper still short or is it a little bit long now?”

Mommy: “Well, if you put it that way it…giggle, giggle…”

C: “Maybe if we took rests, it would be even longer!”

Mommy: “I am SURE it would be longer if you and A took rests. Are you going to take a rest?”

C: “No, I was just commenting.”

C: “Mommy, come dance with us!”

Mommy: “I think I’m just going to sit and watch. It’s been a really long day and I am tired.”

C: “It’s been a really long day for me too, but I never get tired! Never, ever tired!”

A: “Yeah. Not tired! Nedder edder tired!”

Mommy: “So I see. Dance, dance dance…”

Start reading! I procured a copy of Biting the Dust and the first ten pages seem quite promising. I already have several things I am dying to write about. So get on over to your library or bookstore, or troll the bookcases of friends (which is actually how I found my copy if you can believe it) and get going! I am arbitrarily going to set the “meeting” date for June 19, which gives you a little over a month.

Go, read, enjoy!

A comes rushing up while we are playing outside.

A: “Mom, I need money.”

Mommy: “Excuse me?”

A: “I need money.”

Mommy: “Why?”

A: “Uh, because.”

Mommy: “What are you going to buy with the money A? I’m not just going to hand over money without knowing how it is going to be spent!”

A: “Uh, I go to store!”

Mommy: “What are you going to get at the store?”

A: “Uh, stuff!”

I finally hand over some papers from my pocket and deem it enough money for a book. A rushes off to the pretend car and heads off to the corner of the yard that is doubling as the store today. She quickly turns around and comes back.

A: “Mom, Need more money?”

Mommy: “MORE? What did you get?”

A: “Now I need gas!”

As I raced through town to get C to preschool at a somewhat respectable hour this morning, I passed by several moms sitting on park benches, alone, staring into Snap-and-Go’s with a look I remember all so well. The “Oh my God, what am I supposed to do with you all day,” look. I so remember sitting on a similar park bench in a different city with that same look on my face, envying the moms barreling along with a preschooler and baby in tow. “THOSE women have places to go, people to chat with, things to fill their day. I can’t wait until I get to THAT stage,” I would whine to myself.

I am now one of the parents I envied four years ago. C has three mornings of preschool, one afternoon of swimming, one morning of gymnastics, and one morning of soccer (can you tell we’re into sports here at Chez J-E?). And having activities to structure a day around wasn’t the cure-all I thought it would be. In fact, I often wonder whether the stress of trying to get the kids to school and various activities looking somewhat presentable and somewhat on time is really worth the trouble. As after spending 45 minutes convincing C that one cannot wear pajamas to preschool and A that swimsuits are only to be worn in the water, and after searching for missing shoes and collecting the various equipment required for the day’s activity, I’m exhausted and ready for a nice nap.

But four years ago, as I sat on the park bench, friendless and bored silly staring into the Snap-n Go, I thought that I would meet lots of interesting people and have lots of stimulating conversations at all of the enriching activities in which we would someday be enrolled. Instead, I discovered that everyone is in a rush to get an errand done, grab a moment of silence, or tend to the needs of a younger sibling. So while there is some idle chit chat while waiting for your child to emerge from the pool or classroom, activities are not the instant parent-bonding mecca I once thought they would be when C was a baby.

But although the hustle and bustle of life with a toddler and preschooler is not quite what I imagined while sitting on that park bench, there are many things that I didn’t realize four years ago that I wish I had stopped to share with those moms. Like the fact that in just a few short months they will get a smile, then a laugh, then a hug and kiss from the dozing blob they are staring at. I wish I had told them that those smiles and giggles will go a long way towards making the long days seem shorter. And not only because they will spend hours trying to figure out the exact combination of funny faces, funny voices, and silly outfits that might garner that smile, laugh, and kiss.

I wish I had stopped to tell them that really, they should really keep a book or a copy of the New York Times under that Snap-and Go like my friend Karen, who would stop and sit on the nearest object resembling a seat the instant her baby fell asleep and start reading. Because a year from now, they’ll never quite be able to find the time to read.

I wish I had pointed out that if they just got up the nerve to walk two benches over and introduce themselves to the other new parent sitting there, they might just find the first of a string of mommy friends. But most of all, I wish I had told them that in four years, they would be racing around looking at the new parents wondering where the time went.

A: “Mommy! I scared! I scared!”

Mommy: “A, It’s bedtime. What are you scared of?

A” I scared of monsters. I scared of monsters.”

Mommy: “Excuse me?”

A: “I scared of monsters. There! Monster there!”

Mommy stands there perplexed as A starts crying hysterically and cowering in the corner of her bed.

Mommy: “Monsters? Really? “

A: “Monsters! There! Turn light on!”

Mommy: “OK, OK. See, no monsters!”

After 15 minutes or so, I finally got her settled down, but I remain perplexed. I’m unclear how she learned she should be afraid of monsters. We haven’t watched and shows about monsters except Sesame, and while Elmo may be scary to me, he’s not exactly the stuff children’s nightmares are made of. We haven’t read any books featuring scary monsters. This seems to have come out of the blue.

C has never had a scared of the dark or monsters phase, so I am a little unclear how to proceed here. Any thoughts from been there done that parents?