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Written by Mama Monday

Blog posts written by mamas on cloth diapering, green living, natural parenting.

English: Black Bear mother and cubs in den,, h...

Black Bear mother and cubs in den (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My husband and I celebrated our eleventh anniversary this weekend. We kept it low key and went out to dinner with all three kids and had a great time. But the best part of the day? When our brand new king-sized bed was delivered. I had been begging for a king for years because my older sister (and mother of four) told me the best piece of baby equipment she and her husband owned was a king-sized bed. But my husband kept saying our room was too small (he did have a point), we’d have to buy all new sheets in king-size (another good point), and he didn’t think we should spend the money (and there I heartily disagreed).

Since none of our kids have been great sleepers (read my blog “When Will My Babies Sleep Through the Night? Maybe Never,”) we ended up co-sleeping by default. I liked the idea of co-sleeping anyway, I mean, baby bears don’t sleep in a nearby den do they? And yet, I was nervous about rolling over on a newborn or having a baby fall out of the bed. In the end, it was our babies themselves who made the choice. They woke so often to nurse or for a snuggle that it just didn’t make sense for us not to sleep together. It was the only way any of us got any sleep (and sleep is very good thing).

Having a queen-sized bed and one newborn was not a problem. Even when Kate was born and Lauren was two and a half, it was still ok. Lauren loved her crib. We didn’t rush her into a big girl bed because Kate was sleeping in bed with us or in the bassinet in our room and if Lauren was happy in the crib and staying in it all night, who was I to mess with that?

When Cooper was born however, things changed. Never have I had a child so physically and emotionally attached to me. Don’t get me wrong, it’s wonderful having my little Mama’s Boy but it’s new to me. Both of our girls are very independent. Cooper, much less so. At three and a half he’s happy to go to school but as an infant and young toddler, it was Only Mama or Big-Time Drama. This holds true today if he is hurt or tired or waking up in the middle of the night. I don’t think that there has been a single night since Cooper was born that he hasn’t ended up in bed with us. Have I attempted to get him back to his own bed? Sure. Yes. Did I give up rather quickly since we have a small house and Cooper screams really loudly? Yes. Yes. Yes. Call me “one of those mothers who doesn’t follow through” or “a parent who allows bad behavior,” if you must. But I’d much prefer to be called an exhausted mother of three who just wants everyone in the family to get some sleep: my husband who needs to get up to go to the office, the girls who have to get up to go to school, and bleary-eyed, coffee-siphoning, yoga-pants wearing me. Oh, and Cooper, our littlest family member who won’t be doing this forever.

The image of our sleeping baby boy, feeling safe and secure, nestled between his two parents is a nice one. The reality however, is often more like this: a large, sweaty, toddler sleeping horizontally between us (is it better to have the drooling end or the kicking end?)….or a large sweaty toddler donkey-kicking the covers off of his two shivering parents…or a large sweaty toddler attached to his mother like an adorable, sleep-sucking parasite while she clings to the edge of the bed in unnatural positions, trying to fill every millimeter of space she can find despite the LOVE that is both pushing her both off the edge of the bed and off the cliff of sanity, into the dark waters of sleep-deprivation below.

Last night was our first in our new, gloriously roomy, gigantic bed. We went to bed alone but we woke up both Kate and Cooper in the bed and the dog. So did we need this bed? Was it worth the money?? Yes, yes, and yes! And guess what? Now my husband can’t believe we waited this long.

Do you have plenty of room to get your Zzzzzzzzs or are you cramped with cuddlers?

positive pregnancy test

positive pregnancy test (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I was beyond excited to get pregnant after my husband and I were married. I remember that agonizing two week wait after ovulation, but before the start of my period in which miraculous changes may or may not have been taking place inside my body. Was there a little zygote free-floating down my fallopian tubes? And if so, would it successfully burrow it’s way into my uterine lining? Could I possibly wait to see if my period was late or would I buy one of the many early home pregnancy tests on the market?

Early home pregnancy tests look for the smallest traceable amounts of Human Chorionic Gonadotropin hormone (cCG). Some pregnancy tests say that the earliest you can get accurate results is the day after a missed period. Several early home pregnancy tests claim you can get a positive result up to five days sooner–before you’ve even missed your period.

The obvious benefit of early home pregnancy tests are that you will know much sooner if you are pregnant–MUCH being a relative term of course. For some, four or five days might not seem too long to wait–to others, myself included, each day feels like a century or two.

There also some things about using early home pregnancy tests that aren’t ideal. For instance, the earlier you test, the less accurate the results. You are much more likely to get a false negative than a false positive. So if you test five days before you expect your period and get a negative, will you wonder if you just tested too early? If so, you’ll be spending more money to buy another test and you won’t even have quieted your racing mind.

Another thing that isn’t great about early home pregnancy tests is that they can detect pregnancies that may not last. There are times when a fertilized might implant for a day or two and then the pregnancy might terminate naturally. A woman who hasn’t taken a pregnancy test will assume she has gotten her period while a woman who has taken an early pregnancy test will know she has had a very early miscarriage. I know my doctor told me that he isn’t a big fan of early testing for this reason–every day that goes by increases the chances that the pregnancy will be viable.

I remember getting a positive pregnancy test with my second pregnancy at day 22 of my cycle, which probably meant I ovulated very early that month. I even took the test in the middle of the afternoon–I couldn’t even wait until the following day to use first morning urine which is the most concentrated. Talk about impatient. So, while I well know the cons of testing too early, have I ever been able to follow that advice? No Ma’am!

Did you test early or were you patient enough to wait until you were “late”?

A pregnant woman

A pregnant woman (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In honor of Labor Day, the day when we as a nation, honor all of our working people, I decided I would write a post in honor of a different type of Labor. This is in honor of the hard work women do after going into labor and pushing one (or more!) living beings out of an orifice that was made far too small to comfortably do the job.

I was ecstatic when I found out I was pregnant with our first child. I was bubbling with excitement even as I heaved Cheerios and milk mixed with coffee into the toilet every morning. Was it the beads of sweat that formed on my forehead as I tried not to vomit every time I brushed my teeth or tried to eat something that gave me that pregnancy glow? Maybe. But I really was glowing on the inside.

However, when the morning sickness finally passed and my waistline was no longer prone to curious glances of friends and acquaintances who were too polite to ask if I was pregnant, just in case I had actually been binge eating Twinkies, and I began to have the perfectly round beginnings of a baby bump, I realized the tenant in my uterus was getting bigger by the day and that this tenant was going to be inevitably evicted by my body, one way or another. It was an odd moment of realization since I had “known” this fact long before I became pregnant. It just hadn’t hit me on a gut level until that point. I was scared. Luckily, the impending arrival of our bundle of joy and all of the amazing dreams I had about meeting our daughter for the first time, kept my mind occupied more than the two options I had to actually get her out.

I, like many first time mothers, worried about how I would know I was going into labor. But here’s the funny part…I didn’t really know. I remember hearing in our birthing class  “you’ll know,” because once the contractions start coming there is no mistaking them for Braxton Hicks. But of course, there are exceptions to every rule.

The day before Lauren was born, I had horrible lower back pain all day and some irregular contractions–that is, they were not coming at regular intervals all the time–sometimes they would be neatly spaced five minutes apart and I’d think, ok, this is the real thing! But then they’d stop, only to start up a little later and be eight minutes apart, then three, then five. Sometimes they were painful and I had to breathe through them and sometimes they weren’t as bad. I remember calling my boss and telling her I thought I was in labor and that I wouldn’t be coming in to work the next day. She laughed because it was still two weeks before my official due date. We went to the hospital about an hour later.

When we arrived at the hospital, I remember being annoyed at the nurses because I didn’t feel like they were taking me seriously. They seemed to think I wasn’t really in labor but I insisted that I was. When they finally put the belt on that measures the strength of my contractions, they seemed to think things were too irregular for this “to be the real thing,” and I remember them telling me I could stay a while longer but that I would probably sent home on account of the false alarm. I was peeved. I sat in a hospital bed with a belt around my stomach, extremely uncomfortable because I was in a lot of pain and worse, they seemed to think I was being an over-reactive drama queen. Then about forty-five minutes later, my water broke. I was triumphant. Even the increasingly agonizing pain of the contractions couldn’t stop me from gloating for a bit. HA! So there! I TOLD YOU I WAS I WAS IN LABOR. And then, the anesthatizing jubilation of being right wore off and I was just another woman having intense, painful and yes, REAL, contractions.

I’ll skip the epidural, the three and a half fruitless hours of trying to push my daughter out of my android (read “man-like”) pelvic opening, the emergency c-section I had after her heart rate started to drop from the stress of being stuck for over three hours at the top of a birth canal that was apparently a one-way street, and get right to the moment I came to my senses and looked at a nurse washing her hair and said “Is that our baby?” And it was! Sure, I hadn’t heard her first cry because I was knocked out cold for the c-section because there wasn’t time to re-do my patchy epidural, but there she was–perfect and pink and healthy. Not quite what I had expected but a process ,which I to this day, believe is deserving of a National Holiday.

**During my c-section, it was discovered that Lauren was sunny-side up, or face up, so I had been having back labor which is different than labor women experience with babies presenting face down. Apparently, this is typical for women with android-shaped pelvises.

Do you remember the day you went into labor with your first bundle of joy? Or if you are expecting your first, how are you preparing for the day your baby will make his or her grand entrance out of your body and into the world?

Anyone who knows me already knows that my children could never be called “mellow, easy or calm.” In fact, the truth is, they have been the opposite since birth. Both Lauren and Cooper were very colicky for weeks after they were born, only Kate, my middle child, was an easy newborn. But unlike her easy-going infant personality, when Kate got older, she got much hyper, more irritable and more angry. It’s been really, really hard having three kids like this.

In fact, for the past couple of years, we’ve been seeking the help of psychiatrists and child psychologists to help us deal with Kate’s irritability, intense tantrums and defiant behavior. We know we have a history of ADHD in the family but Kate seems off the charts. Some of Kate’s meltdowns have been so severe, I’ve contemplated calling the police. I’m not kidding. She’s been so out of control scratching me, kicking, hitting, biting and screaming that I don’t know what to do. She screams that she “can’t stop” and I believe her. She has absolutely no control over herself when it happens and she feels bad afterward. It’s been heartbreaking and confusing to see her going through this. There is truly nothing worse than being unable to find the cause or the cure for your suffering child. Not all people view a raging child with empathy and sadness but as a mother, I do. I feel it’s my duty as writer to share this so that other parents seeking answers might help their own children.  Here’s what we just figured out:

This past June we were visiting my parents in Florida and the kids were doing great. Their moods were great, they were swimming and eating lots of fruit popsicles that Grandma had bought. As our two week visit came to an end, Kate’s mood got worse and worse. And two days before we left she had one of those “apocalyptic” meltdowns. It went on for an hour. I felt horrible that my niece and my parents had to witness it. When it was finally over, she fell asleep for over two hours. I cannot even tell you how hard it was to deal with that and to have Cooper screaming for me as well. My parents couldn’t comfort him and certainly no one could help Kate.

I had always attributed this kind of meltdown to ADHD and the intense tantrums that go along with it. But this seemed above and beyond and I told my mother it happened on a regular basis. Not daily, maybe not weekly. But sometimes more than once a day and sometimes a lot more than once a week. There was no pattern that I could see between good days and bad days or good weeks and bad weeks. My mother encouraged me to cut out sugar from the kids’ diets to see if that would help. I was skeptical but I thought we’d give it a try anyway. It would be a good idea to give the summer a healthy jump start.

Two weeks later, we were home and the kids had been pretty much sugar free. The only treats the kids could have were fig cookies and 100% fruit juice popsicles. One day, when I was alone with Kate, she was digging through my purse and found a red Tootsie Pop (my personal favorite). Since her siblings weren’t around and there was only one lollipop I told her she could have it. And despite what happened afterward, I’m awfully glad I did. Twenty minutes after finishing her treat, Kate had a severe meltdown over something trivial for over an hour and then fell asleep for two and a half hours. It suddenly clicked. The lollipop. And what had she eaten right before her last meltdown in Florida? Not the fruit popsicles the kids had been eating for most of the week but a second box that we had purchased a few days before we were to leave: the bright red, orange and purple popsicles with nothing in them but dye and sugar. It occurred to me that it might actually be the artificial food coloring and not the sugar that was causing Kate’s extreme behavior. I believe that Red #40 affects her the most.

Photo Credit Michael Buist

Photo Credit Michael Buist

Like I always do in this sort of situation, I began to research food dyes and behavior. I.Was.Floored. I had briefly wondered at one point if food dyes could play a part in our behavioral challenges but I had ruled them out thinking “We don’t feed our kids red, orange and green cereal ever. Sure we have the occasional treats but that’s candy. It’s not every day. We don’t drink soda or Kool aid or any of that stuff.” What I learned was that we don’t need to. Artificial food dyes are even in things like white frosting (red and yellow!) and mac and cheese, vitamins and medications. They even put artificial colors in ADHD medications even though these dyes have been scientifically proven to make ADHD symptoms worse. Unreal. My theory is that Kate’s behavior was unpredictable because at any given moment she could have little to no dye in her system, a medium amount if she had maybe had an OTC pain/fever reducer and handful or two of M & Ms, or a TON if she had eaten more than one brightly colored popsicle.

What really disturbs me is that there is actually science behind this. It’s been proven that food dyes, most especially Red #40, affect most children. But there are some children who have severe reactions. I read blog after blog in which parents shared their own experiences and described the behavior their kids exhibited after eating artificially colored foods. It was like reading about my own life. But more disturbing? Artificial food dyes are illegal in many countries in Europe and what’s more, American food companies have taken the artificial dyes out of the foods they sell in Europe but continue to sell them to us here in the United States. Why? Because it’s cheaper and it’s legal? That’s my guess.

Kate’s behavior is not perfect. She still has ADHD. But her mood swings and irritability have decreased significantly and she now reacts much more typically to small triggers that used to cause huge tantrums. When tantrums do happen, they don’t last nearly as long. I’ll leave you with my two biggest reactions on the subject:

1) Phew! I’m glad we figured that out!

2) How in the world is this stuff legal in the United States?

 

How do you feel about giving your kids artificially colored foods? Do they react? Do you?

 

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As I sit typing this, I am on Lookout Mountain, in Tennessee. We’re visiting my husband’s family and we’re staying in his grandmother’s cottage which is in a very rural area. There are no other houses to speak of and no traffic going by. None. There is also no Wifi and no television. What there is plenty of: trees, grass, farm animals and insects. There are rocks to turn over, crayfish to catch and fairy houses to be made of stones and mud-mortar.

At home in Boulder, Colorado, we are right in the middle of the suburbs. We have a good sized backyard for being in town and a park a couple of blocks away but at 3, 6, and 8 years old, it’s not safe for the kids to be out and about exploring on their own without an adult. The backyard gets boring. Did I mention I have to actually be inside cooking and cleaning a lot of the time so I can’t be taking them on outdoor adventures all them time. But that’s the whole point, isn’t it? My kids don’t have the chance to do much exploring on their own, without me, my husband or a caregiver of some sort breathing down their neck. Don’t step in that puddle! You can’t pick those flowers. Stay away from that part of the creek–you could fall in and get wet and then you’ll cry to me about it! Don’t poke your sister with that stick! 

This summer has been a challenging one to say the least. With not enough to do and without the structure of the school-year schedule, the kids have been fighting a ton. I don’t remember fighting that frequently with my sister growing up and my husband didn’t fight with his brothers this much. Did we fight? Yes. But it was different.

Both my husband and I grew up in rural areas—he grew up here in Tennessee and I grew up in Vermont. We both had access to streams, woods and areas without a lot of other folks and speeding cars driven by texting drivers. We had more freedom. I remember playing in the woods behind our house when I was younger than Kate, at age six, is now. My mother was not constantly nagging at me and rather than being mischievous and sneaking away because mom was not watching, I poked around and climbed and wandered…but never too far. My own sense of judgement kicked in and my own sense of self-preservation. My kids rarely get the chance to to use their own judgement in those kind of circumstances. And it’s too bad.

Another interesting thing that happens when you give kids a little Lord of the Flies-style freedom is this: without an adult around to micromanage every interaction they have, they have to strategize, problem solve and work together. How are we going to cross that swampy area on the way to the stream? Can we climb on that fallen log to get there? The things I was doing as kid weren’t dangerous and my parents had been with us many times to the stream and the woods. They knew there were no serious hazards. The water was shallow enough in the stream that we could wade up to our shins but the risk of drowning or getting swept away…not even possible. But could we fall in the mud? Get a scratch from poking around in thorny bushes or come home with poison ivy? Yes, and heck, we might have even broken a wrist or arm if we fell off that fallen log. I don’t think of myself as the type of parent who feels the need to protect my kids from learning experiences and challenges that might involve a little discomfort, but more often than not, when I see an avoidable incident about to happen, my Mommy Mouth opens up and before I can stop myself, I find myself cautioning, nagging, reminding and scolding.

Without the safety of a grown-up chaperone kids act differently. We’ve all seen how a child who falls in front of a parent is much more likely to cry than one who thinks mom or dad isn’t around to help. My kids also seem to fight less. A natural hierarchy develops. I’ve seen this happen when I let Kate and Lauren walk Clover (the dog) around the block. Stuck in the house or even the backyard, they squabble. Let them out in the big wide world, even if it’s not too far from home, and suddenly Kate will listen to Lauren. She looks to her sister as someone who can keep her safe and Lauren feels the responsibility to do so. They also offer comfort to each other if the other gets hurt–something they also don’t seem to do when I am around to dry the tears. They are no longer working against each other, they are working together. My girls know there are real dangers out in the world; strange people who snatch children, other dogs who might not be safe and cars that drive too fast and yet, because they are young, they still make foolish decisions, like riding their bikes onto the street right in front of  a parked car. I wish they had a safer place to practice being independent. Kids have been out in the world alone, making decisions for themselves, for centuries and they are capable of critical thinking, problem solving and team work much earlier than we give them credit for.

When we arrive back in Boulder, guess what I am going to do? I’m going to look at houses outside of town, on more land, where we could get a goat and some chickens and who knows what else. I’ve seen how good this increased room to spread their wings is for the children and for my husband and for me. Less TV time, more outside and maybe even a little less together time would be good for all us.

Did you have more or less freedom to roam than your kids do today?