I deliberately created Belle, as I stated in a previous post. I asked The Universe for an anchor, a baby, a family and I manifested all of the above on December 7, 2011. I did not set conditions or limits on my gift, although ideally I wanted a baby in the confines of a marriage or other committed relationship. I knew from my years of conscious creating that The Universe doesn't always provide things exactly as requested, if at all. That being said, I did not go into my relationship with Belle's father hoping to have a baby.
Our relationship disintegrated around the time of Belle's conception (I compared the dates against an online pregnancy calculator.). I left Belle's father when he became outwardly aggressive and hostile. This scared the crap out of me. I dumped him and I went to Maui during my entire pregnancy, likely as self-preservation. Belle's father had seemed eager to settle down [with me] at the start of our relationship. I know he would have wanted to move in with me immediately had we known about Belle. This would have been the worst mistake of my life. Belle, however, is no mistake.
I am coming to terms with the reality that Belle's father won't likely be around to witness her many milestones. Personally, I would rather he stay back and not make false promises or otherwise upset me and my child. I got into enough trouble with health and social services for not being present during my pregnancy and for not receiving prenatal care to bring any additional stress onto me or Belle. The Universe does not make mistakes. I attracted the right baby at the right time. Now I can attract the right romantic relationship with someone who will match me vibrationally and will serve as a positive influence in Belle's life.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Ring sling
I am having major success carrying (and nursing!) Belle in her Chic Tots Chic & Cozy ring sling. We took nearly a two hour walk with her in it this afternoon. I love it especially now that I have mastered the fine art of threading the sling in three easy steps (The manufacturer provided something like fourteen pieces of instructions). Now that I am so confident wearing Belle in it (I wasn't at first, thanks to the lengthy instructions provided!), I face the stares, comments and concerns of others.
Some people think Belle is a puppy when I wear her in either the Chic Tots ring sling or the Hot Slings. Once they realise Belle is, indeed, a baby, they ask how many weeks she is, thinking she is a newborn. When I tell them Belle is nearly four months old, they say, "She's petite!" Some ask if she is cold inside the sling, if I made the sling (Umm, no!) or how comfortable I am wearing the sling. When I reveal how cloth slings can safely accommodate an infant of five pounds to a child of at least thirty-five pounds, they say, "That will break your back." I have been wearing Belle since her underweight days at four pounds something. She is now eight and a half pounds and growing, thanks to the comfort and warmth this close contact provides.
I must be the only [black] woman on Alameda's West end who carries her baby in such a fashion. I must introduce [race] because someone once assumed I was an African based on my manner of wearing Belle, that, and my curly/kinky hair. I have witnessed two [white] women and one [white] man carrying their babies in an Ergo (I have a similar Infantino.) on this side of town. I have only ever witnessed one [black] woman carrying her baby in a Moby wrap (I also have one of those, but I have yet to use it publicly) across the island. Most everyone else pushes their young in car seats that attach to stroller frames before graduating to the more traditional strollers where baby sits upright. Belle won't fit upright in her stroller for another several months.
Some people think Belle is a puppy when I wear her in either the Chic Tots ring sling or the Hot Slings. Once they realise Belle is, indeed, a baby, they ask how many weeks she is, thinking she is a newborn. When I tell them Belle is nearly four months old, they say, "She's petite!" Some ask if she is cold inside the sling, if I made the sling (Umm, no!) or how comfortable I am wearing the sling. When I reveal how cloth slings can safely accommodate an infant of five pounds to a child of at least thirty-five pounds, they say, "That will break your back." I have been wearing Belle since her underweight days at four pounds something. She is now eight and a half pounds and growing, thanks to the comfort and warmth this close contact provides.
I must be the only [black] woman on Alameda's West end who carries her baby in such a fashion. I must introduce [race] because someone once assumed I was an African based on my manner of wearing Belle, that, and my curly/kinky hair. I have witnessed two [white] women and one [white] man carrying their babies in an Ergo (I have a similar Infantino.) on this side of town. I have only ever witnessed one [black] woman carrying her baby in a Moby wrap (I also have one of those, but I have yet to use it publicly) across the island. Most everyone else pushes their young in car seats that attach to stroller frames before graduating to the more traditional strollers where baby sits upright. Belle won't fit upright in her stroller for another several months.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Le petite
Belle officially weighs 8lbs, 7.5oz, up five ounces from last Friday. Aside from being born just shy of thirty-five weeks (A full term pregnancy lasts about forty weeks), Belle is proving herself a slow gainer. She lost almost an entire pound in the weeks after birth and didn't return to her birth weight until her sixth week of life (Many babies are back to birth weight by week two). This concerned her original doctor, who insisted I supplement breastfeeding with formula. He didn't say how to do this, however. When the couple of bottles I gave infrequently didn't plump the baby up, the doctor ordered Belle into the hospital, where a battery of tests were given. Those tests all came back negative for abnormalities or malignancies.
Belle took up to twenty-four ounces of formula per day for a good month after that. She went from 5lbs, 3 oz (January 20, 2012) to 7lbs, 10oz (February 24, 2012). Belle slowly weened herself from formula after this by nursing until she either fell asleep or drifted into quiet, contented alertness. She maintained her weight on breast milk alone for most of March, only picking up eight ounces before last Friday's appointment. Her new doctor suggested I give Belle at least a bottle of formula per day just to ensure she is getting enough calories. Breastfeeding on demand, plus five extra ounces [of formula] a day for three days, helped Belle gain five ounces between last Friday and today, Thursday.
I wasted half a bottle of "ready to feed" formula in this process. I am reluctant to open even an 8 oz canister of powdered formula because that defeats the goal of exclusive breastfeeding. Also, the canister puts pressure on me to clean bottles, measure and mix formula for an entire month's commitment. I would rather express milk for Belle with a breast pump than use additional formula, especially after last night. Belle took her last bottle of formula after breast feeding and then politely pooped runny stools. The poop stained her tunic and my bedding, down to the mattress pad. I fell asleep doing the laundry.
Belle took up to twenty-four ounces of formula per day for a good month after that. She went from 5lbs, 3 oz (January 20, 2012) to 7lbs, 10oz (February 24, 2012). Belle slowly weened herself from formula after this by nursing until she either fell asleep or drifted into quiet, contented alertness. She maintained her weight on breast milk alone for most of March, only picking up eight ounces before last Friday's appointment. Her new doctor suggested I give Belle at least a bottle of formula per day just to ensure she is getting enough calories. Breastfeeding on demand, plus five extra ounces [of formula] a day for three days, helped Belle gain five ounces between last Friday and today, Thursday.
I wasted half a bottle of "ready to feed" formula in this process. I am reluctant to open even an 8 oz canister of powdered formula because that defeats the goal of exclusive breastfeeding. Also, the canister puts pressure on me to clean bottles, measure and mix formula for an entire month's commitment. I would rather express milk for Belle with a breast pump than use additional formula, especially after last night. Belle took her last bottle of formula after breast feeding and then politely pooped runny stools. The poop stained her tunic and my bedding, down to the mattress pad. I fell asleep doing the laundry.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Human touch
I am re-learning the value of human touch through Belle. I lived alone for over twelve years before her birth. I needed those twelve years to myself after the smothering relationship I'd had with my maternal grandmother. My grandmother, a hoarder, had sought refuge in my room after filling her own room with mementos to the ceiling of the apartment we shared in Los Angeles. We shared a bed for many years, which made adolescent development very difficult. My grandmother monitored everything I said and did. I had absolutely no personal freedom, but I had every useless material good advertised on TV.
Those things were packed into boxes and spread throughout the duplex I'd inherited from my paternal grandmother once we relocated. I was so thrilled to be turning twenty-one and finally in my own room again. I spent six happy months in that room before my grandmother said she'd seen or heard something (A spirit, perhaps?) that scared her to be alone in her room. I moved back into her room for moral support just for a season until an argument drove me back into my room.
My grandmother and I stopped the affectionate touching that transpires in most families along the way. My grandmother's health severely declined about a year after I graduated university. Instead of giving her the healing human touch I am sure she needed, I retreated into (1) the fear that she would die soon and (2) the resentment that my own twentysomething life would be forever sidelined by her failing health. My grandmother's own fears about her pending demise eventually manifested as harsh verbal abuse and other criticisms that hurt us both. We didn't know how to be affectionate at the end.
I lived in what one of my astrology books calls "splendid isolation" after my grandmother died. I attracted the right short term players for long term lessons. I never found lasting romantic love or stability. It took me many years to re-establish relationships with my extended network of aunts, uncles and cousins. It eventually took relocating to Alameda, meeting a variety of people and having Belle to finally get that human touch I'd been missing. Belle and I are now growing together, each providing what the other needs to thrive.
Those things were packed into boxes and spread throughout the duplex I'd inherited from my paternal grandmother once we relocated. I was so thrilled to be turning twenty-one and finally in my own room again. I spent six happy months in that room before my grandmother said she'd seen or heard something (A spirit, perhaps?) that scared her to be alone in her room. I moved back into her room for moral support just for a season until an argument drove me back into my room.
My grandmother and I stopped the affectionate touching that transpires in most families along the way. My grandmother's health severely declined about a year after I graduated university. Instead of giving her the healing human touch I am sure she needed, I retreated into (1) the fear that she would die soon and (2) the resentment that my own twentysomething life would be forever sidelined by her failing health. My grandmother's own fears about her pending demise eventually manifested as harsh verbal abuse and other criticisms that hurt us both. We didn't know how to be affectionate at the end.
I lived in what one of my astrology books calls "splendid isolation" after my grandmother died. I attracted the right short term players for long term lessons. I never found lasting romantic love or stability. It took me many years to re-establish relationships with my extended network of aunts, uncles and cousins. It eventually took relocating to Alameda, meeting a variety of people and having Belle to finally get that human touch I'd been missing. Belle and I are now growing together, each providing what the other needs to thrive.
On why I almost left.
I almost left Belle back in January. Doctors, nurses and social workers were on my case about Belle not gaining enough weight despite my best breastfeeding efforts. To make matters worse, I had participated in social drinking (without blacking out or engaging in risky sex, I must add) and sushi eating when not conscious of my pregnancy. Certain agencies wondered if I was truly fit to raise a child ("Just because you're old enough to have a child, doesn't mean you should!"). When allowed to leave Belle momentarily to fetch myself some clothes from home, I wondered if I would be allowed back in. In the midst of this uncertainty, I considered walking away to save myself and Belle. Belle wasn't thriving on my breast milk anyway. I strongly detested, and even feared, her father. That relationship had long ended. I had no grandparents, aunts or uncles to surround her with. I wasn't prepared for her, nor did I feel deserving of her, at all.
I didn't walk away from Belle. I weathered the storm, literally and figuratively (It stormed the entire weekend of Belle's hospitalisation.). I faced what seemed like endless questioning from people in authority on why I hadn't sought prenatal care, why I didn't know I was pregnant and why Belle wasn't gaining enough weight on breast milk alone. Add to this my parents' murder/suicide, my maternal grandmother's harsh nurturing in light of her daughter's murder and my failed romantic relationships, and I felt like a complete failure at life. I let the walls close in on me during Belle's hospitalisation for four long nights. Because this was a children's unit, food for me, a breastfeeding mom, was not guaranteed. I had no one at home to bring me any food or to otherwise do anything for me. I settled for whatever scraps the nurses could arrange for me on a tray. I also settled for harsh words and unkind treatment because I didn't have parents, grandparents or a man around to advocate or support me in any way. If there was any karmic debt owed, I sure paid it that weekend.
I am very lucky to have Belle in my life today. She is an active and healthy 16 week old, if not petite. I see myself and her father in her. I also see shades of my parents and grandparents. I wish we were surrounded by these special people. I wish, like my new girlfriends with babies, that I had chosen a good man to serve as both husband to me and father to Belle. I attribute witnessing my parents' murder/suicide as a five year old to my questionable romantic choices as a thirty-five year old. The domestic violence I witnessed from zero to five left its imprint on me, especially my mother's murder. I remember breaking down in tears as a seven year old on the afternoon of the wedding of a family friend. I had come to associate marriage with violent death. I decided this young woman was too beautiful to be murdered by her new husband. I refused to bear witness to what I knew would be her undoing. I decided that day that I wanted no part of marriage. It didn't help matters that both sets of my grandparents had divorced. My maternal grandmother, who raised me, daily preached the horrors of marriage, child rearing and other intimate relationships once my puberty started. I was given Barbie dolls and other material delights even through my teens to curb typical teen development and dating.
Marriage, children, and the creation of a solid and stable home were not encouraged or supported in the households I grew up in. I truly had nothing to look forward to when I found myself turning twenty-three years old, having outlived my parents and grandparents. I had absolutely no idea how I could possibly rebuild my family, or even if I should. You bet I made mistakes in the twelve and a half years before I had Belle! I surrounded myself with people who did not respect, support or understand me at all. None of my romantic relationships were ever geared toward longevity, especially not my relationship with Belle's father. It may have looked promising in the beginning, but it had no staying power whatsoever. This all came to a head the moment of Belle's birth.
I didn't walk away from Belle. I weathered the storm, literally and figuratively (It stormed the entire weekend of Belle's hospitalisation.). I faced what seemed like endless questioning from people in authority on why I hadn't sought prenatal care, why I didn't know I was pregnant and why Belle wasn't gaining enough weight on breast milk alone. Add to this my parents' murder/suicide, my maternal grandmother's harsh nurturing in light of her daughter's murder and my failed romantic relationships, and I felt like a complete failure at life. I let the walls close in on me during Belle's hospitalisation for four long nights. Because this was a children's unit, food for me, a breastfeeding mom, was not guaranteed. I had no one at home to bring me any food or to otherwise do anything for me. I settled for whatever scraps the nurses could arrange for me on a tray. I also settled for harsh words and unkind treatment because I didn't have parents, grandparents or a man around to advocate or support me in any way. If there was any karmic debt owed, I sure paid it that weekend.
I am very lucky to have Belle in my life today. She is an active and healthy 16 week old, if not petite. I see myself and her father in her. I also see shades of my parents and grandparents. I wish we were surrounded by these special people. I wish, like my new girlfriends with babies, that I had chosen a good man to serve as both husband to me and father to Belle. I attribute witnessing my parents' murder/suicide as a five year old to my questionable romantic choices as a thirty-five year old. The domestic violence I witnessed from zero to five left its imprint on me, especially my mother's murder. I remember breaking down in tears as a seven year old on the afternoon of the wedding of a family friend. I had come to associate marriage with violent death. I decided this young woman was too beautiful to be murdered by her new husband. I refused to bear witness to what I knew would be her undoing. I decided that day that I wanted no part of marriage. It didn't help matters that both sets of my grandparents had divorced. My maternal grandmother, who raised me, daily preached the horrors of marriage, child rearing and other intimate relationships once my puberty started. I was given Barbie dolls and other material delights even through my teens to curb typical teen development and dating.
Marriage, children, and the creation of a solid and stable home were not encouraged or supported in the households I grew up in. I truly had nothing to look forward to when I found myself turning twenty-three years old, having outlived my parents and grandparents. I had absolutely no idea how I could possibly rebuild my family, or even if I should. You bet I made mistakes in the twelve and a half years before I had Belle! I surrounded myself with people who did not respect, support or understand me at all. None of my romantic relationships were ever geared toward longevity, especially not my relationship with Belle's father. It may have looked promising in the beginning, but it had no staying power whatsoever. This all came to a head the moment of Belle's birth.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Peanut Butter and Jelly Smoothie!
Today I made a peanut butter and jelly smoothie from reduced fat milk, "no sugar added" grape juice and "all natural" creamy peanut butter. I blended two tablespoons of peanut butter, 3/4 cup milk and 1/4 cup grape juice, plus a few shakes of nutritional yeast (optional). The smoothie started out lilac (white milk plus deep purple grape juice) and went dish water after that. It was subtly flavored and highly nutritious (B vitamins, calcium, calories, fat, etc).
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Drawers
I have finally organised Belle's 0-3 mos clothing (8-12lbs). One drawer holds colorful one piece body suits and socks; one drawer holds white onesies and bodysuits, bibs, hats and elastic headbands; one drawer holds baby gowns, pajamas, play suits and sleep sacks. I haven't yet sorted through the "going out" fits or given them their own drawer. I must also figure out where to put the knitted pieces. I am tempted to re-organise the bottom drawer because I feel I could do a better job. I am very excited for this next round of wardrobe. Can't you tell?
Belle and I skipped church this morning after a long night and lazy morning. I gave her a bath in the early afternoon and dressed her in blue and pink polka dots. We trekked out to our favorite Mexican restaurant about six this evening, with the sun still shining bright, for dinner. Belle slept very well while cradled in her Chic Tots Chic & Cozy sling. She slept through my entire meal (a bowl of pazole) and a short after dinner walk. Belle read me the riot act as soon I poured myself a cup of tea at home, demanding to be breastfed as if she'd never done it before.
I tell Belle all the time how excited I am to one day share tea with her when she is ready. I speak of the virtues of the herbal tea, particularly rose petal tea, that she will drink at whatever age small children start sipping warm beverages. Until then, I am currently enjoying Lipton tea in moderation because it is caffeinated and I am breastfeeding. At fifteen weeks, Belle is too young to get why mommy needs her tea. I am usually caught breastfeeding Belle with one hand while sipping tea with the other. I miss drinking hot tea in a hot bath.
I also miss social drinking. I spent a good chunk of my time in the pubs and restaurants around my home these past five years. It proved a good way to meet people, including Belle's father. I would have never done this in Los Angeles, my birthplace. I never felt safe enough to be out there the way I do here. I made so many connections in these places that some of my friends in the food service industry gave me things for Belle. Belle will hear all of these stories as she grows.
Belle and I skipped church this morning after a long night and lazy morning. I gave her a bath in the early afternoon and dressed her in blue and pink polka dots. We trekked out to our favorite Mexican restaurant about six this evening, with the sun still shining bright, for dinner. Belle slept very well while cradled in her Chic Tots Chic & Cozy sling. She slept through my entire meal (a bowl of pazole) and a short after dinner walk. Belle read me the riot act as soon I poured myself a cup of tea at home, demanding to be breastfed as if she'd never done it before.
I tell Belle all the time how excited I am to one day share tea with her when she is ready. I speak of the virtues of the herbal tea, particularly rose petal tea, that she will drink at whatever age small children start sipping warm beverages. Until then, I am currently enjoying Lipton tea in moderation because it is caffeinated and I am breastfeeding. At fifteen weeks, Belle is too young to get why mommy needs her tea. I am usually caught breastfeeding Belle with one hand while sipping tea with the other. I miss drinking hot tea in a hot bath.
I also miss social drinking. I spent a good chunk of my time in the pubs and restaurants around my home these past five years. It proved a good way to meet people, including Belle's father. I would have never done this in Los Angeles, my birthplace. I never felt safe enough to be out there the way I do here. I made so many connections in these places that some of my friends in the food service industry gave me things for Belle. Belle will hear all of these stories as she grows.
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