Here's the story of Oliver's baby book, or lack thereof. Friends of mine gave me a beautiful baby book when I was pregnant with Oliver. Chris brought it to the hospital, where we filled out what little we could so early in Oliver's life and affixed the sticker with Oliver's foot prints to the appropriate page, then packed the book in a box when we moved. The baby book miraculously made it out of the moving box, where it found a dedicated space among the junk and unfiled papers that make the desk in our office virtually unusable. Up through the first months of Oliver's life, I did make an attempt to throw pictures and other keepsakes into the box the book came in, knowing that at least having the materials for the baby book in one spot would give me the opportunity to finish the book at a later date instead of not at all. But I gave even that up.
This is in complete contrast to my grandmother, who not only kept, but still has, the baby books for not just her first child, but also her second. And she knew where they were. So out they came on the occasion of having all three generations of her family under one roof. The focus of the visit was naturally Oliver, so no matter the topic of conversation - how many teeth he has, what his first word was, what plans we have for his second birthday - my grandmother flipped through my dad's and uncle's baby books and was able to pull out the comparative statistics. I bet you don't believe any more than I do that my dad was able to recite the T'was the Night Before Christmas from memory at age two and a half. My humble uncle, who had long ago resigned himself to the fact that subsequent children don't get nearly the same attention as first-borns, was surprised to learn that he'd not only had a birthday party for his second birthday, but that my grandmother even took the time to write about it in his baby book. Ah, all the things you can learn from such meticulous record-keeping.
My dad told me later, much as I had suspected, that he and my mom didn't have a baby book for me. (And I'm the first born, so forget about one for my brother.) It's not that they didn't try to do one and couldn't keep up, or that they lost it. And they weren't opposed to the idea of baby books. They just weren't into them, so it really didn't occur to them to keep one. What they had, he explained, was a lot of pictures. And if the Internet and the practice of blogging had been around in 1979, I imagine my mom would have been a more prolific writer than she was picture-taker. (Oh, what I'd do to have a blog of my childhood, but for the sake of the pre-teen, teenage and even college-age Kirstens, it's probably best one doesn't exist.)
The truth is, as much as I find it really interesting to read about the childhood milestones of my dad and uncle, (and husband, since my mother-in-law dutifully kept a baby book for Chris) like my own parents, I'm not really into actually keeping one myself. They're fun to look at, but I don't feel any loss knowing that no such record exists for me. And besides the lack of interest in what is essentially scrapbooking, my ambivalence doesn't spark any motivation. I could put a lot of effort into a baby book and then Oliver will probably have one of two reactions: he won't care either, or he'll look at it once.
I think a lot of emphasis is put on baby books, which is really just one medium for preserving the memories of a childhood. Yet parents (well, probably mostly moms) feel so much pressure to make one. If we hadn't been given a baby book, we probably wouldn't have one for Oliver at all. Yet, I admittedly felt guilty about not completing something I predicted to myself before the baby's birth that I would probably fall out of habit of updating.
I have since let go of the baby book guilt even though I occasionally notice it on the desk and think, "Well, it would have been a nice keepsake if..." Instead, I know I have this blog. I don't have an organized list of milestones with dates bound in a book for Oliver, but I know the monthly updates I write provide at least a general idea of what he was doing when. But what I hope will be more interesting for Oliver someday will be to read about the random stories of his childhood sprinkled among my heavily opinionated views of parenthood told in the voice of his mom.
Kiera, Matteo, Oliver and Soren
Monday, June 27, 2011
Monday, June 20, 2011
The Baby
My friend has a son around Oliver's age with a name that comes with a variety of nickname options, so I asked him if there was anything other than the full name that he and his wife call him. He responded, rather bashfully, that, mostly, they just call their son "the baby." As in, "I think the baby needs his diaper changed," or "How's our little baby doing?" Then I realized I do the same with Oliver and so do many of my friends who also have kids well into toddlerhood. I even find myself calling Oliver "my little baby" even though he's of course not so little anymore.
The phrase my baby seems so darn cute, easy, comfortable. Now I know why the youngest child in a family is forever referred to as the baby of the family - there's no younger sibling to have stolen the title from him or her. But now that I'm expecting a second kid, of actual baby age, I'm trying to make the transition to other phrases like "my big boy," because I don't want Oliver to associate himself as being the baby, as in the one and only, and suffer a rougher transition than he's already going to experience.
As bittersweet it is for me to think about passing the title of "the baby" on, I suspect that years down the road I'll think of both of my kids as my babies. Even when they have babies of their own.
The phrase my baby seems so darn cute, easy, comfortable. Now I know why the youngest child in a family is forever referred to as the baby of the family - there's no younger sibling to have stolen the title from him or her. But now that I'm expecting a second kid, of actual baby age, I'm trying to make the transition to other phrases like "my big boy," because I don't want Oliver to associate himself as being the baby, as in the one and only, and suffer a rougher transition than he's already going to experience.
As bittersweet it is for me to think about passing the title of "the baby" on, I suspect that years down the road I'll think of both of my kids as my babies. Even when they have babies of their own.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Formula Stockpile
A friend was clearing out her house in preparation to move and asked me if I wanted any of the formula samples her baby daughter had received. This was an offer coming from a woman who is a doctor and an ardent breast-feeding supporter, and who is still nursing her older child as he approaches two. I know that neither kid has had a sip of formula. Yet she had saved any freebies offered to her to pass along to friends and I eagerly accepted. I'm openly starting my own stockpile of formula in preparation for our fall arrival, despite the fact that I plan to breastfeed as much as possible.
If my experience breastfeeding number #2 is anything like it was with Oliver - overwhelming, constant sleep-deprivation and no time for pumping - I'll be using formula again. Except this time, I've vowed to not feel guilty about it and ignore anyone who gives me a holier-than-thou attitude.
I still believe that breastmilk is best for babies under most circumstances, but my own breastfeeding experience, even while overall positive, made me a firmer believer in having the right to choose how you want to feed your child. Yes, breastfeeding is the way nature intended, but in this era, we do have choices about many things regarding the well-being and raising of children. I realize now that there are MANY factors that go into whether a woman will try to breastfeed, continue to breastfeed, how her baby will get breastmilk (breast or bottle) and whether she will even be able to breastfeed, how long, how much, whether she will love the experience, hate it or feel somewhat indifferent, whether her child will self-wean or whether she makes the call and at what point. And I also have a bigger-picture perspective now that I've already raised another one, (well, at least into toddlerhood) and have seen that how you choose to feed your infant is just one of many decisions you'll make in your child's life. I had felt so guilty at first about giving Oliver formula, but since then, I've made countless other decisions that will impact his physical health and relationship with food, that the breastmilk versus formula feels narrow-focused. Even before I weaned Oliver at a year, we started him on solids (at six months) and then cow's milk (at 11 months, which started to replace formula feedings and then breastfeeding at a year) and thus began the decision-making on what to feed him, when to feed him and how to model healthy habits and table manners. I'm as proud of some of those decisions, such as fostering a healthy attitude about food and portion size by offering him a variety of foods, letting to choose what to eat or not to eat out of what is offered, having him sit down for snacks and meals, and not creating "forbidden" foods by sharing my sweet-tooth-satisfying treats with him, as I am by the fact that I breastfed him.
If my experience breastfeeding number #2 is anything like it was with Oliver - overwhelming, constant sleep-deprivation and no time for pumping - I'll be using formula again. Except this time, I've vowed to not feel guilty about it and ignore anyone who gives me a holier-than-thou attitude.
I still believe that breastmilk is best for babies under most circumstances, but my own breastfeeding experience, even while overall positive, made me a firmer believer in having the right to choose how you want to feed your child. Yes, breastfeeding is the way nature intended, but in this era, we do have choices about many things regarding the well-being and raising of children. I realize now that there are MANY factors that go into whether a woman will try to breastfeed, continue to breastfeed, how her baby will get breastmilk (breast or bottle) and whether she will even be able to breastfeed, how long, how much, whether she will love the experience, hate it or feel somewhat indifferent, whether her child will self-wean or whether she makes the call and at what point. And I also have a bigger-picture perspective now that I've already raised another one, (well, at least into toddlerhood) and have seen that how you choose to feed your infant is just one of many decisions you'll make in your child's life. I had felt so guilty at first about giving Oliver formula, but since then, I've made countless other decisions that will impact his physical health and relationship with food, that the breastmilk versus formula feels narrow-focused. Even before I weaned Oliver at a year, we started him on solids (at six months) and then cow's milk (at 11 months, which started to replace formula feedings and then breastfeeding at a year) and thus began the decision-making on what to feed him, when to feed him and how to model healthy habits and table manners. I'm as proud of some of those decisions, such as fostering a healthy attitude about food and portion size by offering him a variety of foods, letting to choose what to eat or not to eat out of what is offered, having him sit down for snacks and meals, and not creating "forbidden" foods by sharing my sweet-tooth-satisfying treats with him, as I am by the fact that I breastfed him.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
ECFE in Minnesota
The final Early Childhood and Family Education (ECFE) class of the school year was Monday night and every seat in the classroom was taken. This was despite the record heat wave and lack of air-conditioning in the building. Like me, no one wanted to miss the last class, even if it meant flushed faces, matted hair and sticky legs against vinyl-upholstered seats.
As I looked around the room at my fellow parents, I realized that I'd learned something from every single one of them, even those I didn't know well at all because their children were older and in a different classroom, or simply because I'd joined the class mid-year. They had either given me parenting advice at one point or another over the months, or had told a story about their own parenting joys and challenges that will stick with me long after our children graduate high school. Only as a long summer loomed in front of me did I realize what a resource I had had every Monday night when I could ask a handful of teachers with backgrounds in child development and a classroom full of fellow parents what to do about random issues, such as tantrums or sleep disturbances.
The Early Childhood Family Education (ECFE) program was created by the Minnesota legislature and is available to all Minnesota families with children between the ages of birth to kindergarten entrance. The program is based on the idea that the family provides a child’s first and most significant learning environment and parents are a child’s first and most important teachers. Thus, the purpose is to provide parenting education to support children's learning and development.
Since the program is offered through Minnesota public schools, families have access to local programs throughout the state, and program fees, which are based on family income, are a bargain even if you pay the highest rate. But what makes Minnesota's program so unique is that accessibility and affordability have created a program that is valued across classes, family structure and national origin. I'm sure I have friends who are parents in other parts of the country who would think a parenting class is something you take because you're mandated to do so by the courts. That stigma doesn't exist here. In fact, in my district, one of the most diverse in the state, there aren't enough classes to meet demand.
I learned about ECFE when I was pregnant with Oliver and started our first class when he was only four weeks old. He didn't do much more than nurse or sleep through class during those first few months. In the spring and following fall we took classes specifically for babies his age, which meant that the babies were all around the same age and developmental abilities and most of us parents were newbies and as clueless as the next. Every milestone was celebrated. Oh my gosh, Even can sit up! Look at Leo crawl! Did Abigail grow a head of hair since just last week?
Our class this last semester was a birth-5 class and included a lot of sibling groups with an age group spanning from babies as young as six months to kids old enough to be entering kindergarten in the fall. The kids were divided into two classrooms by age, so Oliver got to do activities geared towards his developmental abiltities and interests, while the older kids got to do their big kid things in the other classroom. We'd spend the first half an hour playing with the toys and doing the activities the teachers had set up encourage the different development areas, like gross motor, fine motor, literacy, etc.
The big change for both of us this semester was that this was a "separating" class. After a half and hour of parent-child interaction, we left the kids with their teachers and headed for the parent education room, where we had an hour to discuss that week's topic without the interruption of children. With Chris away so much, it was sometimes the only hour in the week I had adults-only time.
Oliver made huge strides with his separation anxiety the past couple of months. Not only was he becoming even more comfortable being left with caregivers, he slowly started letting me leave his sight without melting down. I saw a similar pattern of improvement at ECFE. He was fine the first class, but started crying as we approached the school building for our second class, and his teachers finally had to call me back to his classroom with ten minutes to go. During the third class, I only made it ten minutes into the parent discuss before having to go back to Oliver. But since then, despite some emotional highs and lows, (a fall down a slide sent him into a crying jag, or bad nap that day left him exhausted and easily to cry by the time our 6:00 p.m. class started) his teachers said he was doing great. I knew things were looking up when Chris took Oliver for a walk on a Sunday afternoon and Oliver lead him right to the ECFE entrance (the school happens to be down the street from our house) and then cried when he couldn't get in!
I hope to get us into a morning birth-5 class in the fall so I can take the same class with Oliver and his new sibling. Maybe by this time next year, I'll be the one answering the questions of parents with younger children and saying, "I understand, I've been there."
As I looked around the room at my fellow parents, I realized that I'd learned something from every single one of them, even those I didn't know well at all because their children were older and in a different classroom, or simply because I'd joined the class mid-year. They had either given me parenting advice at one point or another over the months, or had told a story about their own parenting joys and challenges that will stick with me long after our children graduate high school. Only as a long summer loomed in front of me did I realize what a resource I had had every Monday night when I could ask a handful of teachers with backgrounds in child development and a classroom full of fellow parents what to do about random issues, such as tantrums or sleep disturbances.
The Early Childhood Family Education (ECFE) program was created by the Minnesota legislature and is available to all Minnesota families with children between the ages of birth to kindergarten entrance. The program is based on the idea that the family provides a child’s first and most significant learning environment and parents are a child’s first and most important teachers. Thus, the purpose is to provide parenting education to support children's learning and development.
Since the program is offered through Minnesota public schools, families have access to local programs throughout the state, and program fees, which are based on family income, are a bargain even if you pay the highest rate. But what makes Minnesota's program so unique is that accessibility and affordability have created a program that is valued across classes, family structure and national origin. I'm sure I have friends who are parents in other parts of the country who would think a parenting class is something you take because you're mandated to do so by the courts. That stigma doesn't exist here. In fact, in my district, one of the most diverse in the state, there aren't enough classes to meet demand.
I learned about ECFE when I was pregnant with Oliver and started our first class when he was only four weeks old. He didn't do much more than nurse or sleep through class during those first few months. In the spring and following fall we took classes specifically for babies his age, which meant that the babies were all around the same age and developmental abilities and most of us parents were newbies and as clueless as the next. Every milestone was celebrated. Oh my gosh, Even can sit up! Look at Leo crawl! Did Abigail grow a head of hair since just last week?
Our class this last semester was a birth-5 class and included a lot of sibling groups with an age group spanning from babies as young as six months to kids old enough to be entering kindergarten in the fall. The kids were divided into two classrooms by age, so Oliver got to do activities geared towards his developmental abiltities and interests, while the older kids got to do their big kid things in the other classroom. We'd spend the first half an hour playing with the toys and doing the activities the teachers had set up encourage the different development areas, like gross motor, fine motor, literacy, etc.
The big change for both of us this semester was that this was a "separating" class. After a half and hour of parent-child interaction, we left the kids with their teachers and headed for the parent education room, where we had an hour to discuss that week's topic without the interruption of children. With Chris away so much, it was sometimes the only hour in the week I had adults-only time.
Oliver made huge strides with his separation anxiety the past couple of months. Not only was he becoming even more comfortable being left with caregivers, he slowly started letting me leave his sight without melting down. I saw a similar pattern of improvement at ECFE. He was fine the first class, but started crying as we approached the school building for our second class, and his teachers finally had to call me back to his classroom with ten minutes to go. During the third class, I only made it ten minutes into the parent discuss before having to go back to Oliver. But since then, despite some emotional highs and lows, (a fall down a slide sent him into a crying jag, or bad nap that day left him exhausted and easily to cry by the time our 6:00 p.m. class started) his teachers said he was doing great. I knew things were looking up when Chris took Oliver for a walk on a Sunday afternoon and Oliver lead him right to the ECFE entrance (the school happens to be down the street from our house) and then cried when he couldn't get in!
I hope to get us into a morning birth-5 class in the fall so I can take the same class with Oliver and his new sibling. Maybe by this time next year, I'll be the one answering the questions of parents with younger children and saying, "I understand, I've been there."
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Starting the "To Do" List
We moved into our current house when Oliver was 16 days old and crammed furniture and belongings into the third bedroom and called it an office, and then put the extra bed and all the dressers, nightstands and off-season clothes that wouldn't fit into our impossibly small "master" bedroom into the fourth bedroom and called that a guest room, even though only one person has slept there for a total of two nights in the 20 months we've lived here. The goal was simply to unpack - we'd worry about organization later. Later finally came when we learned we'd be having a second kid and the necessity to create room for him or her loomed. I had naively thought the work we'd done over two years ago in preparation for the sale of a home, a move and a new baby - numerous trips to Goodwill, cleaning out closets and the kitchen junk drawer, selling furniture, buying the baby and nursery necessities - meant that the preparation for Baby 2.0 would be pretty simple.
Yet we still ended up with a "to do" list that looks like this:
- Clear out office and closet.
- Clear out guest bedroom.
- Figure out where to relocate towels, toiletries and cleaning supplies that had occupied the office closet because our two-bathroom home was built without a single linen closet (or coat closet).
- Buy new set of nursery furniture and set up in former office.
- Evict Oliver from his crib, transition him to a bed and set up old crib in new nursery.
- Repurpose tiny guest bedroom to also function as an office.
- Research and buy double stroller.
- Relocate and organize baby gear I had boxed up and stashed in the basement after Oliver no longer needed it.
- Reroof garage.
- Finish basement.
- Purge junk.
At least we're not trying to pack up the contents of our lives while I'm nine months pregnant this time around, but we sure haven't made it much easier on ourselves. We're not only trying to dedicate space to a whole new family member where there seems no room to spare, but with better understanding of the reality that a new baby means you get nothing else done, we have the feeling like it's now or never for renovation projects, like finishing an entire basement.
Memorial Day weekend the past couple of years has been spent at Chris's parent's cabin, but we took advantage of a three-day weekend and availability from friends and family to start on our to-do list. We can now check off the one item from our list that has the least bearing on the new baby, the garage roof. But we're relieved not to have to worry whether the old one would have survived another severe summer storm.
I was tempted for a split second to get up on the roof with Chris and help rip off shingles, but instead I worked on the less cathartic, but safer task, of clearing out the office and guest bedroom. Despite the fact that every move offers the "opportunity" to purge yourself of unnecessary stuff, I was still astounded by what I discovered had not be used, let alone touched, in years, yet had made the move from my apartment in Minneapolis (where I lived before I met Chris) to our shared duplex in St. Paul, to our first house in Stillwater, then on to St. Paul, and then only last weekend was thrown in a box bound for Goodwill - or a garbage bag.
Neither room is near finished being cleared out, but eventually I got overwhelmed with the task of where to put everything and called it quits for the weekend. Oliver's due date had been the kick in the pants we had needed to accomplish what needed to be done before he arrived, and I'm expecting (and relying) on Baby 2.0's due date to have a similar effect on our organizational motivation. What's the saying? "If it weren't for the last minute, nothing would get done."
Yet we still ended up with a "to do" list that looks like this:
- Clear out office and closet.
- Clear out guest bedroom.
- Figure out where to relocate towels, toiletries and cleaning supplies that had occupied the office closet because our two-bathroom home was built without a single linen closet (or coat closet).
- Buy new set of nursery furniture and set up in former office.
- Evict Oliver from his crib, transition him to a bed and set up old crib in new nursery.
- Repurpose tiny guest bedroom to also function as an office.
- Research and buy double stroller.
- Relocate and organize baby gear I had boxed up and stashed in the basement after Oliver no longer needed it.
- Reroof garage.
- Finish basement.
- Purge junk.
At least we're not trying to pack up the contents of our lives while I'm nine months pregnant this time around, but we sure haven't made it much easier on ourselves. We're not only trying to dedicate space to a whole new family member where there seems no room to spare, but with better understanding of the reality that a new baby means you get nothing else done, we have the feeling like it's now or never for renovation projects, like finishing an entire basement.
Memorial Day weekend the past couple of years has been spent at Chris's parent's cabin, but we took advantage of a three-day weekend and availability from friends and family to start on our to-do list. We can now check off the one item from our list that has the least bearing on the new baby, the garage roof. But we're relieved not to have to worry whether the old one would have survived another severe summer storm.
I was tempted for a split second to get up on the roof with Chris and help rip off shingles, but instead I worked on the less cathartic, but safer task, of clearing out the office and guest bedroom. Despite the fact that every move offers the "opportunity" to purge yourself of unnecessary stuff, I was still astounded by what I discovered had not be used, let alone touched, in years, yet had made the move from my apartment in Minneapolis (where I lived before I met Chris) to our shared duplex in St. Paul, to our first house in Stillwater, then on to St. Paul, and then only last weekend was thrown in a box bound for Goodwill - or a garbage bag.
Neither room is near finished being cleared out, but eventually I got overwhelmed with the task of where to put everything and called it quits for the weekend. Oliver's due date had been the kick in the pants we had needed to accomplish what needed to be done before he arrived, and I'm expecting (and relying) on Baby 2.0's due date to have a similar effect on our organizational motivation. What's the saying? "If it weren't for the last minute, nothing would get done."
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