Potty Training Pitfalls

There's no parenting chore I dislike more than the changing of the poopy diaper. Given Eliza's reaction when I say it's time for a change (denying she has a dirty diaper and then running away from me when I try to pin her down), I'd say the feeling's mutual. I really think we'd both be happier if Eliza were potty trained, so I've decided to start trying. As you can see in this video, about the farthest we've come is learning the sounds!

Suffering Through the Cold & Flu Season

This weekend, as we moped around the house coping with our millionth cold of the season, a favorite SNL skit from the past came to mind. Take a look... '>video

When I first watched the skit as a teenager, I chucked at the preposterous idea of a drug that could help you sleep through the winter, but now the concept of "HiberNol" is funny in a whole new way...mainly because if such a product really did exist, I would be all over it! The past few months have been so germ-ridden that I'm not sure I even remember what it's like to NOT have a minor ailment of some sort. Lately, my dependence on Tylenol, ibuprofen and caffeine is what keeps me standing upright, and I'm pretty sure our family is single-handedly keeping the Kleenex company in business.

Since late October I've been afflicted with more colds than I can even count, two bouts of gastroenteritis (stomach flu), sinusitis, shingles and the normal aches and pains that come with training for a half marathon. I can't complain about the last thing, because I brought that on myself, but SHINGLES? I did a little research when I had them back in November, and found that they usually only happen to people older than 50, the immunocompromised, or those who are undergoing a stressful period of life. My research into the upper respiratory infection (aka cold) also revealed that those who feel more stressed and get less sleep report more frequent colds, longer duration of colds, and worse symptoms. It further advised that those suffering from colds should be sure to take the time to rest in order to speed recovery, and to of course, avoid stress. No further advice given on how to actually accomplish that.

Let's face it, with a toddler in the house, life is stressful. We get a 5 am wake up call daily, and that's when she isn't sick! Lately it seems like about once a week we're up for 2-3 hrs in the middle of the night because she's not feeling well. During the daytime, the girl is a tornado. The house is a mess. Every single meal ends up on the floor. She brings home every germ known to man and doesn't have any concept of hygiene. She kisses us smack on the lips (but who can resist that?) and rubs her drippy nose on our furniture, our clothes and our faces. When she brings a new germ home from daycare, we pretty much sigh and brace ourselves for the next round of illness. We've learned that no amount of hand washing, nose blowing or careful food preparation will prevent my husband and me from getting sick too.

You can see why a product such as "HiberNol" sounds appealing. Let's face it. Not much good happens between January and March anyway, so why not just hibernate? Maybe those bears and squirrels have the right idea. I wouldn't even complain about missing the Pack in the Superbowl.

A couple weekends ago when my sister was visiting, we discussed our frustration with frequent illnesses in our families. She's the mother of three, so she's been dealing with the cold & flu season x 3, and even suffered through her oldest bringing home lice twice. She's a very spiritual and prayerful person, so her advice was this: any time you have an illness, view it as a cross. Take it up without complaining and offer your suffering as a prayer for someone else whose needs are greater. Imagine that. No wallowing in self pity? No complaining? Thinking of other people who are worse off than me? Wow, what a concept!

As our church prepares to start a partnership congregation with a church in El Salvador, we've started learning more about this small country. A guest speaker told us that pain, illness and early death are simply a part of life for your average Salvadoran. In other words, the common cold is the least of their problems. Most don't have access to basic medical care. They are vulnerable to the elements...earthquakes, mudslides, and hurricanes can and do destroy their homes at any given moment. Dengue fever is endemic. It is not uncommon for women and babies to die in childbirth simply due to lack of good medical care. The day-to-day diet consists of beans and corn and is therefore insufficient in nutrients, which leaves them more susceptible to illness.

So maybe my sister is right. There are basically two ways to cope with the cold & flu season: search for the "HiberNol" solution which mainly involves self-pity to the point of a medicated stupor, or to offer it up. So El Salvador, you won't hear any more whining from me-I promise. This one's for you!

We did it!

Over a year ago, I posted about a goal that I've had in the back of my mind for most of my life, despite having a million excuses for not doing it. Now, I'm happy to report that my husband and I have finished not one, but two half marathons. For the longest time, this goal seemed far off and impossible. It kind of reminds me of grade school. When my sister, who is two years older, used to come home with her text books and do her homework, I'd think to myself "Her homework looks HARD! I'll never be able to do that!" But low and behold, two years later I was learning the same things.

And now that we've run a 1/2 marathon, it feels like no big deal! Walking around Disney World on marathon weekend and seeing thousands of other people with their medals, including full marathon and Goofy challenge medals (running 1/2 marathon on Saturday and full marathon on Sunday) made me feel like kind of a slacker for not going the whole distance. But in case you're wondering, this is NOT a current goal of mine, though I can't promise I won't want to pick up running in the future during a less hectic time in my life.

2010 was a sometimes fun, sometimes frustrating year of training. Making time for both Kyle and me to do long runs on the weekends and maintenance runs during the work week was often a logistical nightmare. We gave up sleep and time together, and shamelessly finagled free babysitting out of numerous friends and family (thanks again for your help-we owe you!)

In the end, it helped that this was a group goal. Kyle and several other mom friends from church as well as Kyle's sister and her friend were working for the same goal, and that helped to keep us all motivated. It was a seriously fun ride and now it is very rewarding to say "We did it!"

By the way, in case you're looking for that romantic photo of Kyle and I crossing the finish line holding hands, you won't find it. During both 1/2 marathons we parted ways around mile 10. The first time I left him, the second time he left me. Turnabout's fair play, he says!

Parents at the Park

The older I get, the less interested I am in small talk. Unfortunately, small talk is virtually unavoidable when you're a parent at the park. A few weeks ago I was swinging my daughter at a beautiful park overlooking Lake Michigan on a gorgeous Fall day. I'm normally pretty extroverted, but this day I really just wanted to appreciate the nice weather and not have to pretend to care about little Keaton's developmental accomplishments or his unique name, cute shoes, fancy stroller, etc. There were two empty swings between us and the next kid. Another parent made her way towards the empty swings....

Perhaps it was my unfriendly demeanor or the fact that I was staring at the ground, but this mom took the hint and stealthily slid her son into the swing closest to the other pair, a middle aged stay-at-home Dad pushing his baby daughter. I breathed a sigh of relief and settled into ease dropping. The conversation they had was so predictable that the details don't really matter. Pretty much any parent who's been at the park recently can fill in the blanks:

Park Mom: "How old is your son/daughter?"

Park Dad: "X months/years. How about yours?"

Park Mom "X months/years. What's his/her name?"

Park Dad: "It's X"

Park Mom : "Wow, what a cute name! That was on our top 5 list."

Park Dad: "So does he/she sit up/crawl/walk/talk yet?"

Park Mom: "Oh yes, he/she has been sitting up/crawling/walking/talking since X months. What about your child?

Park Dad: "No, he/she doesn't sit up/crawl/walk/talk yet."
Park Mom: "Oh well that's fine. It's normal for him/her. My pediatrician said blah blah blah blah"

This is where I always stop listening because I am SO tired of hearing what everyone else's pediatricians think.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not suggesting that Park Mom and Park Dad are bad people, or that I wouldn't want to be friends with them. It's just that some days I don't have the patience to wade through the small talk in order to get to the part where parents start being genuine with each other.

I mean, imagine what Park Mom would do if she asked "How are you today?" and I responded with "Well, I'm not so good because my baby was up half the night, so I finally took her into bed with me and then she puked all over my sheets so I had to get up and change them at 3 am, and then the next morning I got in a fight with my husband because he made the coffee too weak AGAIN!" Park Mom would definitely run away, back to Park Dad who makes a better show of being in control of his life.

Anyway, every time I hear a conversation like this between two parents, or participate in one myself, I secretly feel grateful for my husband, my parents, my sister, and all those real life "Park Moms" and "Park Dads" who have names to me, and who can relate to my daily struggles and lend me some supportive, encouraging words when I need them. I feel that these people understand and won't judge me for being honest about the difficult side of parenting. All I can say is that I hope that Park Mom and Park Dad have those people in their lives too, or they are on the fast track to insanity!

Off to the Suburbs

As a senior in college, I distinctly remember saying to my group of girlfriends, "If I end up in the suburbs with 2.3 kids, just shoot me." Fresh out of college, off to Puerto Rico to work with the homeless, and with tons of idealistic notions about my ability to make a difference in the world, I was looking forward to a life of fighting for the little guy.

Now I find myself almost 30, just weeks away from moving to the suburbs, and only 1.3 kids short of the national average (and sure to catch up some day soon.) Yet, I'm surprisingly comfortable with this scenario. In fact, I fantasize daily about how great it will be once we have more space, a yard, a quiet evening at home without our neighbor's video games in the background, etc. But my comfort with my future as a mom, housewife, and midwife who lives in, well, the suburbs, has led me to ponder one thing.....

Would my idealistic, worldly, goal-driven 22 year-old self be disappointed in me?

Part of me scoffs at her. How easy it is to look down on others when you yourself do not have to answer to anyone. Gosh, what a sacrifice to work with the homeless in Puerto Rico...yet let's face it, Ann, the hours you spent on the beach are at least equal to the hours of service you did! Living on $400 a month-that's tough, but you had no one but yourself to spend it on, with rent paid and with no college loans to worry about (thanks, Mom & Dad!) Now I have a husband and a daughter, grad school and car loans to pay off, and I am about to add a mortgage payment to the mix. Is it so wrong that my husband and I have to hold steady jobs in order to support these things? Am I supposed to ditch my family and go do service in Latin America? Or should I bring my daughter along and let her hang out with prostitutes and drug addicts?

Still, there was something in my 22 year old self that I admire, and well, miss a little bit. That girl was very comfortable being uncomfortable. She was good at fitting in with people so different than herself. She attended quincenera parties where she was the only white person, spent time with HIV positive drug addicts, and walked through "dangerous" neighborhoods without batting an eye. She was unmaterialistic, requiring very little to be happy. She could deal with life with no air conditioning, no hot water, sewage backups into the toilet, sharing a room, sleeping on the floor, mosquito bites daily, crappy food and second hand clothes.

In contrast, the me that I've become requires a king bed to be comfortable and is way, way too good to sleep on the floor. She whines excessively when she's too hot or too cold. She hates to camp because it involves "getting dirty." She hasn't left the country in almost 2 years, and when she does think about leaving, it's for some comfortable vacation to Europe, not to anywhere in the 3rd world. This me has developed a taste for fancy food at nice restaurants, and turns her nose up at greasy spoon diners, which used to be all that she could afford. She usually looks away when she sees a homeless person on the street, not because she doesn't care, but because she doesn't think there's anything she can do to help. She's twice committed to service projects and then backed out because she just doesn't have the time now that there's this baby to care for...

Sigh...it's true that I've lost some things, but I like to think I've gained some abilities as well.

My almost 30 year old self doesn't need to leave the country in search of adventure. She can find fun and amusement in simple things, like her daughter's giggle when being pushed on the swings at the park or her excitement at opening her Easter basket. Any plans this self makes require thinking about someone else's needs first, as in "I'll cut my Target trip short because Eliza's clearly not handling this" or "I guess that instead of jogging those 4 miles I was trying to get in, I'll walk that last 2 while carrying my baby and pushing the jogging stroller...sigh" or "Better do that laundry so Kyle actually has underwear to wear to work."

I guess what I'm saying is, while I don't want to devalue my 22 year-old self's opinions, there has to be a way to mix the old and the new in order to become a "me" that I can be proud of. I made some choices as a college student and young person, such as the choice to learn Spanish, that are still guiding me today in my work and family life, so the challenge is to keep letting that spirited young woman guide me while not losing sight of my current responsibilities. Perhaps she was right to be wary of my inevitable transition to the suburbs. It will undoubtedly be a struggle to avoid falling into the privileged white, middle class bubble where a person quickly starts to loose interest in the rest of the world and it's problems. But it doesn't have to be like that. I may be off to the suburbs in a few weeks, but I'm still committed to making the world a better place, albeit in a very different way than I had imagined as a 22 year old!

Reflection for Church

I had to write this scripture reflection for church, and thought I'd share it here too.

“I will take away your stubborn heart and give you a new heart and a desire to be faithful. You will have only pure thoughts.” Ezekiel 36:26

I never thought of myself as a stubborn or hard-hearted person until I became a parent. Yet, in the middle of the night, I find myself not-so-sympathetic to a very fussy little teether. The minutes and then hours pass by and my patience wears thin. First, I think angry thoughts. Then, I say angry words. I push her aside and then stubbornly refuse to pick her up when she cries for me. I reflect on blissful nights of sleep before I was a parent, remembering how I didn’t have to answer to anyone. I blame her for destroying it all.

In the morning, I’m disappointed in myself, but I make excuses like “I’m just not one of those people who functions well on three hours of sleep” and “Must be those postpartum hormones still affecting me.” But I know it’s a lie. Unlike my daughter, I’m an adult perfectly capable of controlling my own words and actions. I wish I could claim this “monster-me” isn’t the real me, but when I am honest with myself, I realize that I am a sinner in need of a new heart, better faith, and much purer thoughts. Faith in God requires that I step back for a minute, leaving anger and stubbornness behind in order to recognize that the small challenges God gives me to cope with are nothing compared to the rich blessings in my life.

God, I believe that you will give me a new heart, if only I am willing to let you enter in. Give me the faith to call on you throughout the day and in the middle of the night. Let my thoughts be of you and in you. Amen.

Ann Ledbetter

The First Placenta of the New Year

Let's face it-if I'd been in it for the fame, fortune or favorable public opinion of me, I wouldn't have been a midwife. There are a ton of negative stereotypes that the word "midwife" conjures up. Explaining what I do to the average person isn't much fun, and the jokes get old too ("So, you deliver babies in barns?") Still, I try to remember what my favorite midwifery professor taught us in school: that we are ambassadors of our field and it's our job to help the public to understand what we do, and why there is a need for it. Sure, we could get defensive and angry every time someone misunderstands our field or asks a naive question, but wouldn't it be better to politely explain the role of midwives and how our training and skills can lead to a better birth experience?

With this in mind, I went to work on New Year's Eve hoping to catch the first baby of the new year. I imagined the headline: AREA MIDWIFE CATCHES FIRST BABY OF NEW YEAR. I imagined a touching article about a heroic midwife who gave up her New Year's Eve party with friends and that New Year's kiss from her husband to stay by a laboring woman's side through a difficult labor. With expert care and precision, she guided a new life into the world as the new year approached.

So the real scenario? I was home playing board games with family when my pager went off. It was the hospital, calling to say I had a patient in labor with her fourth baby. I left for the hospital, knowing that multips can be unpredictable. When I checked the patient at 10 pm and she was already 8 cm, I had a feeling that we'd not be successful at having the first baby of the new year. Her labor was going too fast. So I sat with her and her husband. She was coping beautifully with natural childbirth. The clock ticked, and no urge to push...finally, around 11 pm she was saying she felt some pressure and I encouraged her to listen to her body, to push if she felt the urge but to not feel pressured to push unless she was ready. The clock kept ticking...could we have a chance? At 11:30, still not seeing the head, the nurse and I exchanged glances. The excitement in the room was building with each passing minute.

But alas, at 10 minutes until midnight we started to see head. At 7 minutes before midnight, out came the baby boy, greeting December 31st, 2009 with a shrill cry, as if he too were disappointed in his rather unceremonious arrival. I placed him on his mother's tummy and covered him with a warm blanket, rubbing him gently to encourage his breathing.

My only claim to fame this New Year's Day is having caught the first placenta of the new year, which happened to pop out at 12:01. It's a good lesson for me, I guess, because midwifery isn't supposed to be about fame and fortune. As I tell myself time and time again on the job. "Just be thankful to be present in this special moment."

So that was how I spent my New Year's Eve. I can't think of a more beautiful way to spend it. And gosh, what a nice placenta!