Category Archives: Pregnancy

Volunteerism: Better Bedrest

Last week I talked about how I have over extended myself through my volunteerism. This week I thought I would share some of the reasons why I volunteer with Better BedRest.

One day I was scanning a Preemie magazine that is no longer in print. I ran across two ads that I wish I would have run across years earlier. One of the ads was for a gadget that looked like an adult hand filled with sand to use to help sooth a baby to sleep — oh how I wished I would have had two of these when my twins were 12 months old. I stood for hours over their cribs with my hands on their backs waiting, and waiting, and waiting for them to fall asleep because if I moved my hand they would wake up.

The second ad was for an organization called Better BedRest. I quickly jumped on the Internet to see if they were still in existence. To my delight their website was live and I scanned it to learn more about what they did. I found that they offer phone support to women on bed rest due to high-risk pregnancies. I contacted Better BedRest to inquire if they accepted out-of-state phone volunteers. When I was on pregnancy bed rest I know how much I would have LOVED someone to call me once a week to check on me. Especially someone who had been there, done that. It was something I knew that I needed to do. It’s not terribly time consuming and I have had many great conversations with women doing their best to stay pregnant as long as possible.

What drives me to volunteer, I guess, is when I find a cause that I believe in. I know that I would have benefited from the service Better BedRest provides. I believe they are doing a great thing and I can do my small part to help another woman who will be so grateful someone took a few minutes to check on her once a week for a full month.

What do you believe in?

Raising Baby Green

It seems that going Green is all the rage now, so when I saw Dr. Alan Greene’s new book about green child-rearing, I thought I would take a look at it.

The book is wealth of information. It takes you from pregnancy to early childhood, giving parents tips on how to reduce their wastefulness, protect their children from harmful chemicals, and influence the revitalization of the planet. If you’re interested in learning about going organic or changing your lifestyle, this is definitely the book for you. The author includes recommendations for over 300 “best” green baby products and gives helpful hints for going green effectively. One example is the handy organic foods chart. It lists different produce in order of the percentage of pesticides found in the food, allowing parents to make more informed decisions about which fruits and vegetables they might want to spend a little more on to get the organic versions.

I have one small warning about this book. In its excitement about raising safer, healthier, and greener kids, it can be downright frightening. I found new dangers that I wasn’t even aware of–did you know that there could be nitrates in your drinking water. Apparently you can- and, apparently, that’s not a good thing.

Overall, the book is worth a look if you’re trying to find strategies for adjusting your lifestyle to make the planet a better place.

by Lisa D.

Photo graciously provided by the Fair Use doctrine, some rights reserved

My Experience with Postpartum Depression

Isn’t it interesting how we can think that Postpartum Depression is something that happens to other people even while we are surrounded by the signs of depression within ourselves?

I struggled with Postpartum Depression with three of my four births and I’m not yet out of the woods with my fourth. My fourth baby, Laurelyn, is only three months which means that I could still be kicked in the gut by depression. Postpartum Depression could kick in any time within the year after the baby’s birth.

There’s something to look forward to.

I have been looking back over the blog posts I wrote during my depression with my other children and it makes me scared and grateful at the same time. I’m scared it could happen again and I’m grateful for all the happy, wonderful days I’ve been having since Laurelyn was born.

Having a baby is not a guarantee that you will have PPD, thank goodness but chances are better that you would be affected by it in subsequent births and it usually gets worse. My third baby, David was the one that I struggled with the most. He was a great baby and the birth was normal with no complications but I was hit with a terrible bout of PPD. It took a long time, some counseling and a lot of talking with my husband in order to get myself out of it. I was able to work through it without medications but it made me change my mind about anti-depressants. If you need them, get them. Don’t put guilt onto yourself and don’t let anyone else get away with making you feel guilty for taking them.

This is an excerpt from my blog written during my depression after David was born. (September 2006)

Saturday started out like most nightmares. I was wondering what happened to my brain. Had it been surgically removed while I was sleeping to be donated to someone who would use it more responsibly? Where were my legs because I couldn’t will myself out of bed. What was wrong with my tear ducts because all I could do was lay in bed sobbing?

Not a good start to the day.

Nothing had happened. I just opened my eyes and this was how my morning began, with tears and a depression that felt like it was choking me. I could hardly breath between my sobs and I hoped my kids wouldn’t come into my room like they normally did. I wouldn’t know what to tell them. That I’d officially lost my mind? That mom was crazy?

I finally pulled myself out of bed and hoped a shower would make everything feel better. I cried all the way through my shower, through getting dressed, through putting my makeup on. It was useless, I was useless.

Finally I ran out of tears but still felt like crap. Chuck asked me how I was doing.

Hmm, how do I describe emotional hell?

I didn’t have to. He could see it. I’ve never been very good at hiding my emotions. I might not say something but it hangs off my face like a bad outfit.

I would like to hope that no woman feels the way I felt after having a baby. I have such admiration and
awe with what our bodies are capable of doing while bringing our babies into this world. How tragic that some of us battle with feelings of worthlessness after doing something so magical and empowering!

These are some of the symptoms of Postpartum Depression as seen on the U.S. Department of Women’s Health. If they feel familiar to how you’re feeling I hope that you can have the strength to see a Doctor and ask for help.

I didn’t know as much about PPD then as I do now. I googled PPD after a a visit with a doctor while we were on vacation. I went in to his office to get a prescription for David’s Thrush. Since this wasn’t my first baby I knew what Thrush was and I knew what I needed so I expected a quick visit. I just wanted that little white paper with the prescription on it and I wanted to leave. The doctor said I was right, it was Thrush and he handed over what I had come in for. What I didn’t expect were all of his questions:

I couldn’t believe the gall of this guy. Who did he think he was. He certainly wasn’t my doctor. I was just about to stand up and walk out when he asked me if I had Postpartum Depression with my other children.

I was blown away. Definitely not what I was expecting.

He gave me some information on PPD and sent a fax to my family doctor. I drove back to the place Chuck and I were staying, the whole time thinking about what had just happened. Was he right? Did I really have PPD? What do I do now? How am I going to tell Chuck that his wife is a lunatic?
I should have had more faith in my husband but at that point I didn’t have faith in anyone at all.

I sat under a tree holding our new baby and told Chuck everything the local doctor had said. He didn’t seem shocked or surprised. He said that he knew something was wrong but he wasn’t sure what it was and he was so happy that we knew now. We looked PPD up online and read as much as we could. Everything sounded so familiar and that alone made me feel better. I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t the only woman who felt worse after having a baby. I wasn’t the only woman crying in the shower to hide the tears. I was a part of a large group and that brought a small amount of comfort.

After our vacation was over I went to my family doctor and talked with her about how I was feeling. I had been so scared to tell anyone but since the previous doctor had already let the cat out of the bag I felt free to let the feelings run out and I told her all the dark thoughts I had. I told her how I couldn’t get myself out of bed most days and even if I did get out of bed I stayed in my pajamas all day and hid from going outside. I told her about feeling detached from my children and that I didn’t even feel like they were mine. I felt no responsibility or affection toward them.

She sat and listened and not once did she get the judgmental look I was afraid of. She didn’t say that she was taking my children away from me and she wasn’t going to call the police and lock me up. She simply asked me what I was willing to do to get better.

We made a plan. I would try medication only after I tried therapy. My church is very helpful so I called my Bishop and met with him several times. I talked with Chuck and we made permanent plans for a Friday date night. We made it a sacred engagement that could never be broken. Every Friday we went out without the older kids and got away from the house and all of my responsibilities. I told my two closest girlfriends and we made plans to go out regularly, just us girls. Once I was willing to tell the people closest to me I never again got as deep into that depression as I had before. As soon as I started ignoring the phone I’d be greeted by one of my girlfriends at the door ready to take us to the park, the Zoo or anywhere else with somewhere for the kids to play and for me to sit in the Sun.

I couldn’t have made it through my depression without the help of my husband, my doctor and my girlfriends. Slowly I started to feel like I could breath without something weighing on my chest.

Now I look at the face of a new mother and search for the look. More than just tired. It’s a look of fear. A look I remember seeing in the mirror and I can’t walk past that look on a new mother without offering help of some kind.

As I said before, I had my fourth baby three months ago and I feel great. I am relishing her scent, her tiny finger and toes and the way she looks when she’s sleeping. Although it is common for women to experience PPD if they’ve had it before, it’s not a guarantee. I am in love with my baby girl and I fall more in love with her every day that comes.

by Jen McKinnon

Photo graciously provided by Annadriel, through a Creative Commons license, some rights reserved

If Only The Stork Came With A Personal Shopper

I remember it like it was yesterday–parking in the special “mom-to-be” section, walking through the automatic doors, and encountering a space that seemed the size of a Target which held nothing but baby gear. It was overwhelming. Dizzying that there could be that much stuff to need, that much stuff to buy for a being whose biggest accomplishment to date was being able to provide sure and direct kicks directly to my bladder.

But overwhelmed or not, we marched on, scanner gun in hand, clutching our own list and the list that Babies “R” Us so handily provided for us. We had brought along my parents, and standing in front of the two-story high wall of bottling accessories, my dad asked, “you got enough nipples?” It was funny then, and it’s still funny to me now. I had decided to breast-feed and here I was, standing at ready to scan my way along “just in case.” The truth was I did have enough–and they weren’t the ones on the wall.

Registering was exciting (who doesn’t like to shop without spending money), overwhelming (how many of which size pacifiers do we need), and downright comical (thanks to my brother who thought it would be fun to wear the rubber trough-like bib around the store). It was also, in many ways, unnecessary. The stimulating soft blocks picked out to entice baby’s brain development? Never played with. The Boppy “tummy time” pillow. The kid hated, I mean hated, it. The super stylish rock ‘n roll diaper bad that I fell in love with, that my mom dutifully paid $60 for? Used once or twice. Turns out I’m not even a diaper bag kind of girl. The truth is, people could have picked out a bathtub, some onesies, a couple of crib sheets, maybe even a swing, without my opinion before hand–and they would have been just fine.

Overall, we didn’t do too bad at keeping our registry reasonable. The first books that we had purchased upon finding out we were expecting were not What to Expect, but Baby Bargains and the Consumer Reports Best Baby Products. We were ruthless about finding out which baby products were good buys and which products weren’t. We learned that walkers were bad, which cribs were the best best for the price, and that it really didn’t matter which car seat you picked in terms of safety and that travel systems weren’t as great a deal as they seemed. Both of those books helped us narrow down our own list before we arrived at said baby store, where the helpful staff will hand you a checklist of the must-haves for the first year. Under strollers, we were told that we should register for a travel system, a mid-size, a full-size, a jogging, and a light-weight stroller.

We were only having one baby. Four strollers seems a bit ridiculous.

The impulse to buy big for baby isn’t a new one, but the extent to which Americans buy is. In her recent book Parenting, Inc. Pamela Paul uncovers the way that the parenting industry has used parental anxiety to transform an entire segment of the market into a multi-billion dollar industry. We don’t raise children any more; we parent. “The anxiety of underspending has turned us into parenting gear-heads,” she writes. Ever ready to purchase the perfect equipment to outfit our babies. From $800 strollers to exclusive baby clubs in New York City, Paul uncovers just how deeply parenting has become big business. She carefully dissects the ways that we have been sold toys that don’t make our children smarter, gadgets that don’t make our life easier, and classes that do not produce more advanced children.

What she says is simply this: we all want the best for our children, but it’s that very desire that is exploited in the marketing of these products, services, and lifestyles. Rather than placing the blame on parents for indulging in the consumer frenzy, Paul’s book exposes the fiction behind so many of the claims of these so-called wonder products. Smartly written and humorous at times, it’s not a book that indicts parents; it’s a book that helps parents understand what they are really being sold–a feeling of well-being rather than the well-being itself.

As such, it’s a book that should be required reading for every soon-to-be or new mom and dad out there. I sure wish I had the opportunity to read it before wielding that scanner. Maybe I would have thought twice about the designer diaper bag and the stroller that “everyone in New York” uses. Ok, maybe not about the stroller–I love that thing.

Parenting, Inc. by Pamela Paul; Times Books, 2008.

Baby Bargains, 7th ed. by Denise Fields; Windsor Peak Press, 2007.

Consumer Reports Best Baby Products, 9th ed.; Consumer Reports, 2007.

by Lisa D.

Photo graciously provided by wester, through a Creative Commons license, some rights reserved

Wait! A Second!

Working Mom and I are expecting our second baby girl in November! By New Year’s Eve, I’ll be a stay-at-home dad to two girls under 3.

I’m so screwed.

I feel completely competent as a stay-at-home parent, sometimes. (Some rare and brief times, but some times all the same.) Last Wednesday, for example, I was lifting a tribe of toddlers, my two-year old Boobaby included, up to the playground high bar intended for teenagers, then letting them fall and catching them just before they landed in a heap of broken legs and collarbones. Scream, giggle, repeat. And — no injuries! After two years, I told myself, I’ve got this dad thing down.

Then a playground mom joined us, one of those parents who makes everything look easy despite having three kids under 5. Her 2-year old girl wanted up on the bar, too, and I gleefully realized that there was no way she’d be able to manage it with her baby in a sling. So, expert and chivalrous dad that I imagined myself to be, I offered to perform the lifting services.

“Oh, no need, I’ve got it,” she replied kindly, hoisting her joyful little kid around the bulky Baby Bjorn and adding a little spin just for good measure. Then mom herself swung a bit from the high bar, landing with a pirouette and kick, to the delight of all the kids. My formerly rapt audience of toddlers immediately began emulating her ballet moves.

As I watched, the mom of three skipped cheerfully away up the stairs, supplying boob, bottle, and juice box as she balanced infant and toddlers in what seemed a round half-dozen arms. My spirits sank.

I feel momentarily successful as a parent and house-husband maybe three times a week at the outside. On those rare occasions, Boobaby has been fed, the house would be theoretically presentable to theoretical guests, the laundry is done enough so we have a few days of clean underthings, and dinner is either planned or given up on. I’ve even been known to have a few minutes to read the Sunday paper, although not usually until Wednesday or so.

To sum up: with one kid — moreover, a toddler who can play independently for 20 minutes — I’m scraping by. My time outweighs my responsibilities — but only by the barest margin.

But when I have two kids to handle? When our family is joined by another infant, a new nap schedule, and gallons of pumped milk to defrost and manage? I haven’t the faintest clue in the world how I’m going to handle that.

All I know for sure is that I will. Somehow.

by Doodaddy

Photo graciously provided by colodio, through a Creative Commons license, some rights reserved

Forever Parenting

A Parent's Work Is Never Done