Tall Tara

Remember a time when you showed excitement with your whole body?

I’m grateful for the daily reminder.

music credit: Pumped Up Kicks, Foster The People

Call me crazy.

Don’t worry, my mother already has. And my mother-in-law is too polite to say it to my face, but when she heard our plans, she probably thought it.

From the beginning, Adam and I never liked the idea of a crib. We called it a “baby prison”. There are stories of Adam crawling out of his crib, while I used to slam mine against the wall to get the attention of my parents. Yikes. Could you imagine what our offspring would do to a crib?

We discovered an alternative while reading a book about Montessori and early childhood development. Montessori believed that a baby should sleep on a small bed on the floor in a room that’s been made safe for him. This way, a child can foster his sense of exploration by having the ability to get out of bed and crawl around his room. He can also engage in solo play time, which is as important for baby as it is for Mom.

The floor bed was hard to find. We ended up doing some online research and ordered it through a company in Kentucky that makes Montessori-based furniture. It was a little smaller than we imagined it would be but I think it’s going to work for another few years.

Eli was in a Pack n Play in our bedroom for the first three months, so I guess you could say he’s already been in a crib. But when he was three months old, we transitioned him into his own bedroom on the floor bed. It took him a while to get used to it and to be honest, it was a crapshoot each time he woke up.

Would he be on the bed?

And if he wasn’t on the bed, exactly how far away would he be?

Maybe he’ll sorta kinda be on the bed…?

It’s been five months now and the experiment is still in progress. He’s definitely learned how to stay on the bed and 95% of the time, he’s on the bed in the morning, after 10+ hours of sleep. (I’m lucky, I know.)

Naps are a whole different ballgame and it’sbeen no holds barred now that he’s army crawling around. (Oh yeah, he’s army crawling. HOLY SHIT!) He’ll wake up from his nap and crawl over to the bookcase and start playing with the books, which I think is sort of awesome. He has his space, he can travel around it safely and play with whatever he wants. He’s not locked up in a crib, crying for us to let him out so that he can play. He’s not attempting to crawl out of a crib or falling while in the process.

I tell myself that we’re teaching him how to sleep. Which is something I didn’t expect to have to teach a baby. I thought they just knew how to sleep. But more importantly in my mind, we’re teaching him how to sleep ANYWHERE. Because you never know where you’re going to end up in life. The ability to curl up on the airport floor or a friend’s couch can be a lifesaving skill.

So that’s why we’re not using a crib.

Please call me crazy. It’s what I get for talking about parenting philosophies anyway.

We also have friends that call the floor bed a baby litter box. So you’re probably not going to offend me.

And also? Do you know how much sneaking around I had to do in order to take these pictures while he was napping?

(P.S. I found a few beautiful examples of other parents going the floor bed route.)

When there’s snow outside, get out & try to enjoy it.

First, we tried on his snowsuit. Inside.

He’s happy.

Then, we tried the snowsuit in the snow. Outside.

Not so happy.

But he did make a great first miniature snow angel.

It was time to venture out a little farther. Enter the Ergo.

We walked to the park near our house to check out the downed branches…

…cold water…

…and otherworldly terrain.

I’m pretty sure someone had a good time.

Bring it Old Man Winter. We’re ready.

I know, I know…only two? Maybe it should be the two BIGGEST things that scared me about being a parent in the last week.

The first bit is from an article in the Atlantic, a few weeks old now, about the decline in the amount of children’s play time and how that has led to an increase in anxiety and depression.

“It is hard to find groups of children outdoors at all, and, if you do find them, they are likely to be wearing uniforms and following the directions of coaches while their parents dutifully watch and cheer.”

This one totally bummed me out. I’m not sure if it’s because I can remember playing Capture the Flag with the neighborhood kids when I was growing up or if it’s because I have a hard time remembering the last time I’ve played as an adult before my child was born.

With Eli, I’m definitely playing more than I used to and it’s most definitely unstructured and spontaneous. But before him, my playing involved semi-solitary activities like running or hiking or backpacking. My seasons on the Ultimate Frisbee team would be considered playing, but it’s playing that you had to pay for.

Even the picture that I posted above brings up a question about playing. The folks jumping are obviously having fun. However, this photo is part of a Jump Project that the photographer is taking part in around the world. So their childlike playing was scheduled and a small piece of a larger “project”. When do adults really get a chance to play? And if the adults aren’t playing, how do you convince kids it’s an important thing to do?

(I’m certain this is the most I’ve thought about playing in the last two decades. Which is frightening as well.)

Moving from playing to paying, the other thing that scared the bejeezus out of me this week was a documentary I saw titled Nursery University, about the fight to get kids into pre-school in Manhattan. Have you seen this shit?

Are you serious? I thought we had it bad in Boulder, but I realize now just how lucky we are. And why I’m not living in Manhattan.

I think my favorite part of the documentary is when the parents talked about how getting into the right pre-school means their child will get into the right college. Yes! That’s exactly right. What your child does at age three pretty much sets them up for life. Everyone knows that. In fact, I can’t wait for my kid to be working for your kid. All because of the $50,000 per year pre-school.

Also, am I the only one who believes that a true education doesn’t happen in the classroom? Pre-school or otherwise?

I’m sorry. Rant over.

What scared you about being a parent last week?

(You are welcome to use me as your answer.)

Step one: Find a baby and a pumpkin.

Step two: Give up any hope of measuring or planning. Decide to wing it.

Step three: Take the top off.

Step four: Cut out an area the width of baby’s shoulders and continue that cut further down the back side of the pumpkin. Scoop out guts.

Step five: Take a break. Play with the guts.

Step six: Cut leg holes as wide as baby’s hips. Or attempt to.

Step seven: Time for the trial run. See how baby fits into the pumpkin and then make adjustments to leg holes and add decorative finishes.

Step eight: Convince baby that sitting inside a pumpkin is really fun.

Step nine: When step eight fails, let baby chew on his hat.

Step ten: Enjoy the Halloween spirit!

(A final note, though I hope it’s obvious: No babies were harmed in the making of this jack-o-lantern.)

(And one other more final note, though I hope it’s obvious as well: Bathing your baby is a really good step eleven.)

And it’s awesome.

Here’s a little something I put together for the occasion…

The adventure continues.

Music credit: Bruno Coulais from the Babies Soundtrack

{Thanks for your patience. It took six months and an emotionally intense therapy session before I was able to write this post. I suppose I was a *little* traumatized by the whole thing. Unlike Part One, my nether regions are highly featured in this story. Gentlemen, you’ve been warned.}

On March 25th, I was officially a week overdue. We went in for an ultrasound to check my amniotic fluids (which were low) and headed for my check-up at the midwives’ office.

This is what I looked like:

After they listened to the baby’s heart rate and checked my cervix for ripening (once they found my cervix – yes, again with the hard-to-locate cervix), the midwives huddled together and suggested that I head to the hospital later that afternoon. I somehow negotiated a later admittance time, asking them for one last meal before going in. They granted me this request and we went home to order some Indian food.

I was a little bummed at this point because the entire experience had already started out wrong. My plan was to start labor at home, naturally, and then make my way to the hospital not a moment before it was necessary.

Needless to say, this was just the first of many “changes” to my birth plan.

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At the hospital and in my cute birthing dress, I was ready to go. Unfortunately, the baby was still not.

Enter the cervical catheter. Designed like two water balloons, it’s supposed to help open up your cervix and get the proverbial show on the road. Unlike water balloons, cervical catheters are not colorful. Or fun.

The midwife proceeded to put the catheter in me incorrectly, causing me more pain than I’ve ever experienced in my vagina. This, in turn, caused me to wonder about the rest of the whole “getting the baby outside of my body” process. Oh my holy hell, what had I gotten myself into?

Once the catheter was in, I was told that it needs to stay in for 12 hours and I should try to sleep.

Oh, but having a cervical catheter in your body doesn’t make for the most comfortable sleeping. Trust me on this one.

The nurse asked if  I wanted an Ambien. I’d never taken an Ambien before. However, I can honestly say that after taking that Ambien, I had the best night of sleep I’d had in months. It was also probably the last night of good sleep I would have again for months. Thank God for Ambien.

(This post is not sponsored by Ambien. But I would probably do more of it if given the chance. Not that I’m into pills. Just good sleep.)

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The next afternoon….

To fill in the gaps, the catheter opened my cervix to 5cm. Then we tried getting labor to start naturally, hence the breast-pumping, the stair-walking, and the pregnant-lady-lunging. All to no effect.

Still at 5 cm. Still no contractions.

Around noon, the midwives suggested Pitocin to get things going. Once labor was underway, they told me, I wouldn’t need the Pitocin. It was just a kick-start. I could still totally push this kid out on my own.

I seem almost cheery in the video, don’t I?

And I really believed this kid was going to come out on the 26th.

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At 5pm, they broke my water.

At 10pm, I walked the hospital hallways, eating nut butter and making jokes.

At 1am, I took another hot bath, hoping to ease the intensity of the contractions.

At 3am, the levels of Pitocin were so high that I was having back-to-back contractions. One on top of the other, no breaks,  just pain.

At 3:30am, they decreased the Pitocin and checked my cervix again. I was at 4 cm, exhausted and disheartened.

At 4am, I was getting prepped for an epidural. My midwife promised that I could take a nap and then continue to labor after I’d rested.

At 4:15am, after deeply breathing through the epidural, another catheter and an intrauterine contraction monitor were inserted. I laid back in bed and was ready for that nap.

At 4:25am, my baby’s heart rate crashed.

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I heard someone say something about Code Blue. There were suddenly people running into my hospital room, shouting at one another and I was told that we had to get the baby out.

It started to dawn on me that this could have an unhappy ending.

My husband put on scrubs as I was being prepped for surgery. My friend Jess must have seen the crazy, desperate look in my eyes because she was telling me that everything was going to be okay. I kept asking what the fuck was happening.

I was wheeled down the hallway in a frantic rush. All I remember thinking was, “Oh god. This is just like you see in the movies when there’s an emergency surgery. How perfect.”

After a dramatic arrival in the OR, the baby’s heart rate stabilized.

Since we didn’t want to put the baby in any more danger, it was decided to move forward with the operation. This meant that the doctors could now take their time with my incision.  It was going to be a nice bikini incision, instead of, as I overheard one doctor put it,  a “slash and dash”.

(For real. I didn’t go to medical school, but I guess that’s doctor-speak for an emergency c-section.)

So now that we had some time, my midwife introduced me to the doctors by telling them I’m a stand-up comic and that I’ll probably use this as material in my routine.

Do you want to know when I feel the least funny?

I’ll give you a hint. When I’m strapped to a table in the OR, with a sheet up around my mid-section and the fate of my child hanging in the balance….yep…not many witty one-liners at that point.

After the awkward small talk, the doctors get down to the business of cutting me open and getting the baby out.

I distinctly remember that one of the doctors told me I had really good abs.

I reminded myself to thank Nicole, my Crossfit coach.

The doctors told Adam he could watch over the abdomen curtain and I was totally jealous. I wanted to see what they were doing to me, too. A few minutes later, they pulled the baby out, Adam told me it was a boy and I heard a loud cry.

Elijah Cole was born at 4:53am, weighing 8lb, 2oz.

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There you have it. The whole 33-hour story in a nutshell. Turns out Eli was face-up with his shoulder pressing on my cervix and the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck. There’s no way I could have delivered him naturally.

Not pretty, not painless and not perfect…just like the rest of parenthood.

Definitely not according to plan…just like the rest of life.

Aimee (better known as Greeblemonkey) has done it again. And by it, I don’t mean…

…starting a disagreement with a huge online personality…

…or going to the emergency room…

but instead, I’m talking about taking AMAZING pictures. This woman knows what she’s doing. Fortunately, we’re friends and her gift to me when Eli was born was a newborn photo session.

We got together in June (GAH – has it really been that long?) and I’m so very pleased with the results.

Our first official family portraits (besides those hold-your-arm-out-and-try-to-get-everyone-in-the-shot captures):

And our first official naked baby pictures, which I totally reserve the right to use in the future for the sole purpose of embarrassing my son as an adolescent…

Although Aimee already wrote about it on her blog, I just had to reiterate what a wonderful time we had taking pictures with her. The fact that she’s a good friend made the entire photo shoot that much easier. She also brought along her husband & her son, immediately putting them to work as photographer’s assistants, and making it a real family affair.

It’s obvious Greebs is talented. If you’re looking to become a better photographer, Aimee will be teaching an upcoming online course on improving your holiday photography. You’ll learn something. I promise.

Thanks again Aimee, Bryan & Dex. So glad we’re friends.

(P.S. These pictures were taken when Eli was a little more than 2 months old. He looks sooooo small. Sigh. I guess that whole growing up fast thing is true.)

I totally know how he feels.

We recently took our 4 month old backpacking. As in, not car camping but oh-my-god-how-heavy-is-my-backpack-because-I’m-basically-carrying-two-people’s-shit camping.

This was our first time trying out the Deuter backpack and it was also our first time, you know, backpacking with a baby.

At moments, this is what it felt like.

We wanted to stay close to home, in case of emergency bailout (notice a theme?) and decided on Caribou. It’s right outside of Nederland, about 20 miles away, and also just happens to be the site of our elopement.

We hiked in about two miles to find a somewhat mediocre campsite. Eli did well sleeping in the tent, riding on his dad’s back and hanging out in camp. There were definitely some fussy moments, but all in all, I think he enjoyed his time outdoors.

After hearing about our trip, a friend sent along this video about some parents who took their 8 month old backpacking…

It made me tear up. I love what they’re doing and why.

THEN…I realized that all of the baby’s fussy moments and crying have been edited out of this video.

Which then made me realize that REI should totally do a video about our next backpacking trip with the baby. There would be humor, singing and way more whiskey.

Probably lots of swearing and poop talk, too.

Did I mention that the singing isn’t very good? And that the songs are made up?

Ummm…maybe a video isn’t such a good idea. But we do need trekking poles and a new hip belt for our pack before the next journey.

So, REI, if you happen to be listening, we’re planning a multi-day backpacking excursion to Utah in October and we’re REI members.

A video crew isn’t necessary, but we will happily accept you as a sponsor. And we promise to take pictures, video and mention REI as often as possible.

I’m ready to talk when you are.

(Look at me. I’ve only been a mommyblogger for five months and I’m already trying to score some free stuff. I’ve had good teachers.)