Granny Traditions 2013

While my mom was here, she built upon her special and new traditions with my kiddos. The links go to earlier blogs from her time with us earlier this year as a comparison.

1. She made awesome cookies with PJ.

Making the batter

Cutting out the cookies

PJ refusing to clean up after all the fun.

2. She decorated Jelly Bean's room. Apologies to my mom and Jelly Bean. I just cannot get good pictures of this room; it is too awesome for my limited camera options. And Jelly Bean is still too young to react and enjoy the artist value here.

3. She acted silly around all over the house with both kids. One strength that my mom has is acting child-like; PJ adored it.

Amazing picture snapped while playing hide-and-seek with Granny.

I have no idea what they are doing here but it was loud and looked like a lot of fun.

4. Getting the entire Steinbach clan in front of the camera at the same time (well, almost).

PJ refused to show his face.

So we tried again, including Granny this time.

xo

The Jelly Bean Story in Pictures

The past two weeks have been one hell of a wild ride. Instead of blocks of text and details no one (but my mother) would care about: pictures with commentary!

Okay, okay, if you've been reading this blog or listening to me complain the past 10 months, my pregnancy with jelly bean wasn't so easy. On Tuesday, October 8, another round of ickiness started and it was bad enough that I called my doctor. She asked me to please come into the hospital...and off we went.

 

And I was admitted. My boys had to leave me there. I may have cried over it.

 

The next day, Wednesday and one day before our estimated due date, we started an induction. I was two minds about it because while an induction went well with PJ, I wanted that experience of labor starting naturally this time. I even had some romantic images of driving to the hospital in contractions. But in the end, the Mr. and I decided to go ahead with another induction based on all of my ongoing health challenges and the doctor's concern about jelly bean and her "tired" placenta.

 

 

The contractions started pretty quickly but not a whole lot was happening towards labor for the first two days. Frankly, it was pretty boring, especially since the staff was concerned that I could be infectious and encouraged me to avoid all the other patients.

 

Thankfully, my boys came to visit me and we spent some time on the playground of the hospital. And I did get that "labor starting slowly" experience...for over two days.

But the second day, Thursday, I was smiling on the outside but I wasn't so thrilled on the inside. It was just like with PJ all over again...and then BAM! on Friday evening, October 11, at 6:30pm my water broke. Just three and a half (very loud) hours later, our little girl burst onto the scene.

Since it was a slow night for the hospital, we got to hang out for a few hours in their amazing birthing rooms getting to know each other.

The next day PJ got to come in and meet his little sister. His first words were, "Mein baby halten!" (hold my baby!) Which he did, like the excellent big brother he is.

And even better: I got to hold my two babies at the same time, one in each arm. Its true: moms' arms really do grow to make more space for each baby.

And then we got our first family portrait. Handsome group, I'd say.

Jelly bean and I stayed in the hospital until Monday. We slept a lot.

Then on Monday I got my last check up: no temperature, no pain, and I was released to go.

Yet, just shortly after we got home, I wasn't feeling so great. In fact, I felt like I was having contractions again and then suddenly I got freezing cold. I took some pain killers and tried to relax on the couch.

It didn't help. Instead, it got worse. I called my midwife who was concerned at what I described; took my temperature (over 38 degree Celsius after pain killers); and off we went back to the hospital. On the way there, the contractions increased and I felt like I was in labor again.

I got to experience that whole contractions-in-the-car bit and trust me: its not that great. Be careful what you ask for, the gods are always listening.

Upon arrival at the hospital - on the same day I was released (only me, people, only me!) - I was diagnosed with Endometritis. To help my body push out the infection as well as heal, I got pumped full with antibiotics, contraction-creating medicines, and (thankfully!) pain meds. From Monday until Wednesday I was in labor again...but I had already had my baby.

That will fuck with your mind. Just saying.

In the end Jelly Bean and I were in the hospital for over a week while the Mr. held down the fort at home and PJ dealt with his mommy being away for the first time ever. We did it all with as much grace as one can expect in the real world.

And, if I may brag for a moment please, Jelly Bean nursed through it all. That's right: I nursed my baby girl while I was going through contractions and - to quote the doctor - had a wound the size of my baby on the inside of my body. And to also quote one of my amazing nurses, that makes me one hell of a badass.

Finally on Tuesday, October 22, Jelly Bean and I finally got to go home for real. Thankfully we still have a midwife coming regularly; PJ gets to play at his kindergarten during the day; and the Mr. still has some vacation. Together, we are all easing into being a family of four.

I'm healing and gaining strength. Jelly Bean is getting some fat on her. The Mr. is still holding down the fort. And PJ is getting use to his baby being around so much. In other words, the adventure continues.



xo

Adventures on Sylt

More than a few weeks ago we went for our last vacation before the jelly bean arrives in October. Considering we had to drive nine hours, we split the driving into two days both up and back, stopping at some friends' homes outside of Hannover. They were excellent hosts but sadly I failed to get a single picture of our time together.

On the way up, and after our stop in Hannover, we went to a German island in the North Sea called Sylt. The two car-friendly ways to get onto the island are with a ferry from Denmark or a train for cars from Germany. We chose the train option and it was remarkable. Although its only eight hours away from where we live in the south part of Germany, it felt like a different world. The air smells different, the air feels different, the world looks different: flat, moist, sandy with straight lines as far as the eye can see.

Our view from within our car while on the car train. That there is the sea in low tide.

PJ with his baby while on the train.

Once we arrived in Sylt we discovered we had rented a one-bedroom hotel room with a kitchen. That was a really nice surprise. It is so much easier and relaxed when little man can enjoy his morning cereal while his parents are still in their pajamas, sipping their coffees. Am I right, other parents?

Almost as soon as we arrived, we went out for a long walk around the hotel's area and then for dinner at a great kid-friendly camping place with direct access to the wild side of the sea.

Check out that natural sand dune sorta thing in the back.

The boardwalk up the sand dunes and to the sea.

The top of the boardwalk.

 

PJ seeing the ocean for the second time (first time was in Hilton Head).

 

 I wanted to put a video of PJ running to the sea over and over again, while his papa rushed after him over and over again, but Blogger is being a serious P.I.A. You'll have to imagine it I guess. Booooooo.

We finally managed to catch PJ just long enough to snap a quick picture.

The next day we went to both the south and the north tips of the island. While the rest of Germany was soaked in rain that led to major flooding, we were on a sunny, hot island. This side of the sea was calm but still freezing cold water. That didn't bug PJ at all: within half an hour, we had stripped him down to his onsie and he was happily rushing towards the water to splash around.

Right before we stripped him down, rushing into the freezing cold water.
Notice: PJ is the ONLY person headed towards the water.

When he was finally too cold to play anymore, we bundled him back up and cuddled him warm. Then we  played on the beach playground and ate some yummy ice cream.

Afterwards, we were more than tired and all crashed out for a massive nap. Our jelly bean decided to dance me awake, so I got this adorable picture of my boys napping.

That afternoon we went to the northern tip of the island which was so beautiful and stunningly raw that we forgot to take a single picture. Whoops. Guess you'll enjoy a vacation there soon? ;)

The next day, our last on the island, we explored the largest town of the island called Westerland. We spent the majority of the time on the massive, stone boardwalk that runs along the seashore. Along the way there was a walkway under active repair with massive machines and the whole deal. Of course we had to stop so that PJ could watch the machines...but I'd like to point out all the other men of all ages that were watching the action as well.

Men. So easily distracted.

Typical of an island, the weather turned from the warm, sunny of the day before into a chilly, rainy day within just a few hours. As mainlanders, we got caught in a hefty downpour. But as lucky mainlanders, we managed to duck into a simple, PJ-friendly beachfront restaurant that offered reasonably priced and super yummy fish platters.

PJ and papa right before the rain started.

PJ and mommy during the start of the rain.
Those skies! Those sand dunes!

All in all, I'm happy that we took the chance to visit the island Sylt. Its a rather posh island - one way to describe it: there are certainly more Porsches than there are VW, let alone Toyotas or Fords - but it also offers activities that are family-friendly. It is a special place, especially since so much space is set aside to allow the island to be and remain 'natural' but for us, I think once is most likely enough.

 

xo

Trying to Stay in the Picture

This beautiful article, written by Allison Tate, on Huffington Post just popped up on my person Facebook page. I clicked on it expecting another tongue-in-cheek article that would make me laugh. Instead the first person essay about being in pictures as a mother made me sad.

You see, I love pictures. I take a lot of pictures, especially now that I have a little boy and taking pictures of him is even more fun. I take pictures because I like to look at pictures. I am one of the few that still orders prints and then stores them carefully in photo albums. I take them down randomly and flip through the pictures - they make me happy in a very special way.

But I've stopped printing pictures out in the past six months. In part because it hurts. You might have noticed in this blog: I have a lot of pictures of PJ; the Mr and PJ; other people and PJ; a number of pictures of me holding the camera so that I have a picture of me with PJ; and few of PJ and I together. Especially before my parents and nana arrived to visit, there are precious, precious few pictures of me with PJ. Because those people who were around in those first few weeks either didn't take pictures or took pictures of them with PJ or the Mr. with PJ.

Learning from the hurt, I asked our very talented photographer friend, Aline Lange, to take just a few pictures of PJ and I at his first birthday. And good thing: there was not one single picture of us together by anyone else. And only one of the entire Steinbach clan.

There are most likely some good reasons for that. In the first few weeks of PJ's life, I wasn't doing well. Often I went to my bedroom or slept when there were visitors. Afterwards....well I'm not sure what that was but I'm sure it wasn't mean-hearted. I guess if  we lived close to my family and my long-time friends, they would have most likely taken pictures primarily of me with PJ, leaving out the Mr. (like on our American vacation). No one means to ignore me or leave me out of the picture (literally) but that is what has happened.

And it hurts. Because just like the author I "someday, I want them to see me, documented, sitting right there beside them: me, the woman who gave birth to them....I'm everywhere in their young lives, and yet I have very few pictures of me with them. Someday I won't be here -- and I don't know if that someday is tomorrow or thirty or forty or fifty years from now -- but I want them to have pictures of me. I want them to see the way I looked at them, see how much I loved them. I am not perfect to look at and I am not perfect to love, but I am perfectly their mother."

I am not a perfect mother but I am perfectly PJ's mother. I'd like some record of that, as egotistical as it may be. Until then, do me and all the other moms a favor: take a picture of mom with the kids. I'm not the only one wishing for more pictures.

And moms: hold still and smile.

xo

By Request: Update 3"The Ugly: Breast Feeding and Mother Guilt"

I have been contacted again by a few readers for an update about breastfeeding.

Holy freaking cool is that? People are reading this blog! Remembering this blog! Asking for updates! My ego rejoices!!

Yes, two exclamation points.

And ... back to the point of this blog. Back in July 2011, I posted a blog about my struggles with early breastfeeding. Then in August, I posted an update. Followed by another one in December based on request. Then I sorta let it die. I thought I had covered the topic and frankly, I don't really think about nursing that often any more. But it turns out there are people out there that want an update from a "normal" mom, especially after the whole TIME thing (link does not go to the original story, but a commentary on Huffington Post). So, here ya go, dear readers.

I'm still nursing my little boy who is now 11 months old. All those things that I was told back in the day and did not believe - easy, natural - have become totally true. Nursing is super, super easy. It is natural. It is awesome. Yes, I just wrote that, nursing is awesome. I truly enjoy breastfeeding my little boy and I know that he truly enjoys breastfeeding. Two very happy people. Neither of us are planning on stopping any time soon.

We finally meet the expectations set by the medical community and society in general. So, we are all happy, right?

Wrong. Because, strangely, once a baby hits six months old and then as the big, first birthday gets ever closer, the expectations change and the pressure to stop builds and builds and builds. Suddenly all that hard work and all that dedication isn't wanted any more: it is time to wean. Now. There is some sort of invisible (to me) boundary in which nursing is about the best for both mommy and child and into a strange, slightly incestuous world in which a nursing mother is forcing her child to remain reliant upon nursing because (whispered in heavy voice) "it feels good for her."

Yet, this ignores a massive and growing amount of research supported by leading organizations around the world that clearly and repeatedly states that a nursing relationship should continue for at least 12 months (the current majority) or 2 years (the largest growing group right now). And, more importantly, to me, the expectation to wean doesn't come from the fact that the baby needs to stop or the mom needs to stop or because that's how nature needs it to be. But because you, or they, are not comfortable with my baby nursing when he can eat other food, crawl, walk, or (god forbid!) talk.

Notice that the verbs are different: you, or they, want us to stop; nothing needs us to do so. I'm happy. PJ is happy. So, frankly and with love in my words: please respect that I am doing the best for my child. If you don't agree, I grant you full permission to complain about it to someone else that will never tell me about it. And we will all win.

But vent aside, the nature of our nursing relationship is changing. Now that I am working and PJ is snacking more, our nursing sessions are slowly reducing during the day. Thankfully we are able to gently reduce and the Mr. is supportive of helping us through the transition. For example, this past week I was in a full-day workshop from Wednesday to Friday that cut out our late morning session. To help ease the transition, the Mr. brought little man to the workshop at lunch time for the afternoon nursing session. That's support. Additionally, when we are out-and-about PJ is offered a snack before nursing and many times that's enough. But when its not, its not and we nurse.

Although many people with no experience in being a working and nursing mother have told me that continuing our nursing will be "impossible" - I know that it is possible: I have found role models in strong, confident, professional women who even travel and still nurse their children far past the one year mark. To them I look and to them I am thankful.

To those readers that asked for an update: Thank you. I hope I met your expectations. In the end, my key message for you is: if you want to breastfeed your baby, it will most likely start out really tough. Growth spurts will be tough. But stick it out. Ask for help from people who have not only breastfed but support your hopes (whatever they are). It gets better; actually it gets great. Natural. Easy. Real.

For everyone else: thanks for reading.

Happy mommy and happy baby

xo

Oh, and I still fucking hate that damn pump. I doubt that will ever get better.

Lucky's Taproom and Eatery

Over a year ago my uncle made good on a long-term dream and opened up his own bar in Dayton, Ohio, with a name and theme to honor my deceased Grandpa (his dad), called Lucky's Taproom and Eatery. http://www.luckystaproom.com/

We finally got to see open and serving on this vacation. PJ was enamored with the toy cars that once belonged to his great-grandpa, leading to a good amount of singing.  Loud singing.

Great Aunt L-Lady chilling with PJ.

Great Nana and PJ loving on the toy cars.

Great Uncle Drewmeister, owner & operator, and PJ interest.

The lunch crew and our soul-singer PJ.

xo

By Request: Update 2 "The Ugly: Breast Feeding and Mother Guilt"

*Warning: Grown-up language and a nursing picture*

You may or may not remember the struggles with breastfeeding that little man and I had at the start of outside-adventure together. A few of you definitely do because I've been asked recently for another update.

The reader's digest version: I like breastfeeding. PJ likes breastfeeding. The struggle was worth it. I am proud of us. To all new and about-to-be mothers, I recommend giving nursing a damn good shot.

The longer version is somewhat more complicated:

PJ was exclusively breastfed for about 6 weeks before he started stealing food and we introduced solids. He still nurses anywhere from eight to ten times a day and is gleeful (seriously, he giggles and wiggles around with joy) when he starts to nurse. Breastfeeding doesn't hurt anymore - it should NEVER hurt after the initial soreness and once the relationship is established - and I enjoy the spike of relaxing hormones during and after each nursing session. I love the growing weight of my little man in my arms and I love dosing off while he wraps his tiny fingers around my thumb. I love how when he is finished he dramatically smacks off and then cuddles his head against my breast with a satisfied smile. I even like when he wiggles and giggles through an entire meal. I love how convenient and simple nursing has become for us both. I'm looking forward to the day when PJ starts to reliable sleep more than three hours at a time - and Lord knows there are times I wish I could unscrew one of my ladies and hand it to the Mr so that he could take over the 3 or 4am feeding - but I'm extremely thankful that our nursing relationship works.

As the weeks somehow fly by, I become even more grateful for the love from the Mr., the real information and foundational support from the La Leche League, and for the encouragement that I got from a myriad of people, both in real life and over the Internet. I kept going because I am incredibly stubborn and strong willed but your back-up and support as well as your permission to turn to formula made my stubbornness a little less than insane. I don't know how to say thank you enough.

But I am also becoming even more pissed off for the shitty information and treatment I got from the "established" medical community. Some of that treatment included:

• smashing PJ's face so hard into my breast that he got scared of my breast ... as well as holding my breast so tightly while smashing my infant's face against me that I literally had a bruise the shape of said "professional lactation consultant's" hand on my breast for a number of days.
• hurtful statements that broke my confidence like "well, I guess you just aren't cut out for nursing" when sore nipples are pretty normal for a first time mom
  
• alarmist and untrue statements like "he isn't getting enough to eat!" while he was gaining weight just fine
  
• retarded statements like "wait 1.5 hours so that he is really hungry" when he needed to suckle for more milk and comfort and I needed him to demand more milk AND "you need to pump to stimulate more milk" when I didn't need to pump I needed my baby on my breast
  

What I really needed was to hear "this is so normal" and "it takes a little bit of time and skill but you two will do this" and other informed and true statements. Thankfully I did, finally.

In the end it took us about 10 weeks for our relationship to really get established (the pain completely gone, his latch regularly successful, I aware of his early hungry signs, etc). With a good support system and without horrible advice at the beginning, I think it may take less for others. So, yeah, I recommend giving nursing a damn good shot. But even more I recommend doing what is right for you, for your child, and for your family. And only you know what that may be. For us that was breastfeeding with supplementing and then breastfeeding exclusively and now breastfeeding while introducing little man to solid foods.

At 6 weeks, when nursing just started working.

Just yesterday at 23 weeks

xo
Oh, and I still fucking hate that damn pump.

Appreciating the Little Moments

PJ was born in July 2011. It is now September 2011. Between then and now – and unlike the mythology of motherhood – there have been more dark moments than moments of joy. Going into pregnancy I knew that I was at high risk for postpartum depression but what I did not know was that the support I thought I would need was far from what I really needed. I was also ignorant that breastfeeding, something I had planned on doing since I watched my mother breastfeed my sister, was a learned skill for both myself and my son and it is a difficult skill for us both to learn at that. There were other things I had failed to understand: the power and the pain of short bursts of sleep; what colic is; how much a new mother needs her mommy.

To say we struggled would be an understatement not unlike saying the Grand Canyon is „big“ and German „a little tough to learn at first“.

Thankfully, my husband was also able and willing to take the first month of our little boy's life off of work. I'm not sure what would have happened had I been alone. With him in the house, cooking, cleaning, shopping, encouraging, reassuring me and PJ (often literally at the same time), I could yell at him, slam doors at him, cry at him, and – most importantly – blame him for all this insanity instead of our little boy, just days and then weeks old.

Not that our son remained untouched by all of this. Breastfeeding was so difficult and so painful that I exuded fear every time he cried and every time I held him in my arms. Infants, like animals, react to our feelings and PJ's reaction was natural: my arms were not a safe place and he screamed for safety. Based on the bad advice we got during his first few weeks, I'm pretty sure he was also screaming out of hunger but that's another story.

I cried on the phone, I cried on skype, I cried going to the bathroom. Everything was too much and my world was wrapped in dark fog, a fog I hadn't seen in years since my last true depressive episode. I got scared and so did my husband.

"What do you need? How can I help you?" he kept asking over and over again, desperately ready to do anything to help Fix This.

"I don't know," I kept answering in many vague ways. Like so much, I didn't know what I needed or what would help.

Time crept past and after four weeks my husband went back to work. I learned about the La Leche league and got the patience, understanding, support, and expert guidance I needed for breastfeeding to become successful. I went onto Facebook and asked for support between 12 and 5, when my son was the most upset and I was alone. People - some of them surprising - started coming. I got up the courage to go to mommy groups. My mommy came for a visit. I went to my first MOPS meeting. My sister arrived to help.

And things got and are getting better. Breastfeeding is established and going well. My son has almost doubled his weight, grown out of his 0-3 month clothing, and had learned to smile and coo. And I have proven to him that my arms are the safest place to be. We all sleep a little more. The colic is basically gone. My husband is and continues to be an outstanding husband and father. I see and feel now that I am not alone.

Which brings us to a recent morning, 11 weeks into this adventure. After a rocky night, my husband, son, and I all laid down for an early morning nap. I nursed our little man to sleep and then I gently rocked onto my back, placing one hand on my husband's thigh. My right arm was wrapped around my son and my left hand was resting on my husband. Both of my men were peacefully, deeply breathing in their sleep in our dark bedroom and I looked at them both and tears rolled down my cheeks as I thought, "This. I really like this moment."

Here's to appreciating more of these moments. 

 xo

Baby Wearing

Our little guy may have been evicted from his first apartment 10 days after his lease was up, but he still demands certain luxuries, particularly the Constant Heartbeat Soundtrack. Thankfully over the past 17 days he has gotten a lot less picky about whose heartbeat it is; we’ve branched out from just mine and the Mr.’s to just about anyone’s. My son, the heart beat whore. Bless him.

Yet carrying him around on our chests isn’t always the most practical solutions. Enter baby carrying with Didymos.

Thankfully PJ seems to enjoy the wrap (as long as he is calm when slipped in) and has been known to enjoy a nap lasting up to two hours. And while he sleeps we can use our two free hands to things like laundry, write blogs, tidy up a little, or just sit or lay with our hands free.

It really is the little things.


xo

For the Record: Pictures Galore

Once I finally finished our wedding album (right before our 2 year anniversary, go me!) I decided to go back and print out all those other pictures we’d taken since January 2009 and put them into albums.

It turns out that not only do we travel a lot but we take a heck of a lot of pictures. Even after sorting, I had almost 1500 pictures printed. 1500 pictures. That’s almost a complete shelf of photo albums, all of them full. How do I know? Because I put all 1500 pictures into albums this week. Here they are:

And this was pre-baby…will it be better or worse after the worm arrives?

xo

Happy Belated (First) Mother’s Day

This post comes with a little delay, so I hope it was worth the wait! Another major milestone in the life of this Mrs. Steinbach: my first mother’s day. It was a great day that started with a veggie omelet breakfast and my first mother’s day gift, then ended with time spent at the Mr's family.

We also got copies of the recent maternity pictures that the very talent Aline Lange recently shot. If you are looking for a photographer in Germany for anything coming up soon - check her out! Here are two of my personal favorites from our session.

There are more pictures of Aline's blog.
Happy Belated Mother’s Day!

Good People Galore

Last week the Mr, the worm, and I crossed the ocean to visit friends and family, celebrate two baby showers, and shop, shop, shop, and shop some more. We succeeded in every respect, mainly because of others’ generosity.

This blogs feels a bit of an Oscar speech because there are so many people to thank: my parents for hosting both parties; my sister for spending about two days shopping with me; my mom and my sister for giving me a crown not once but twice (finally confirming my princess status!); my brother for introducing us to Jersey Shore; our family and friends that were generous with their time (a number of people drove 4+ hours to spend the day with us) and their gifts for the little baby (we carried home almost 60 pounds of gifts, not including the fabulous cake, food and drink we couldn’t take with us); and much more that I don’t time for because the photo montage and orchestra music is coming up.

The First Baby Shower, with Friends from Pittsburgh and Detroit

The Scientist was the first to unsuccessfully aim my princess status.

Mr. Pittsburgh and my mom.

My crown, the Mr.'s crown, Chelle Belle and her man.

Yummy foods, especially the rice krispies.

The whole pack of friends!

The Man was the second to try to steal Princess status. I got tired to the chaos and promoted myself to Queen.

Totally handmade hat by the Scientist, sweetness!

From Mr. Pittsburgh - who else?

 Everyone at both showers drew on onesies/bodies...except to see many of those starting in late June!

Yes, sis has that many awesome nail colors.

The two pregnant ladies got very tired.

The Second Baby Shower - with Family from Dayton, Maryland, and St. Louis

The fabulous cake made by my talented cousin.

Two lovely ladies.

All the ladies in the family.

Ladies that I've known my entire life.

I got my crown for a second time!

The Mr. also got a crown.

Mom.

Little One.

The Man and our Colorado Girl.

At the second baby shower, we played a few games. Goodness occurred in the form of pictures (thanks for playing along everyone!):

My two cousins - the Cake Magician and Ms. Alabama (above) - were the absolute winners in charades.

Mexican mama and papa.

Bubby with far too many pieces of toilet paper ... sorry but you just had to be there.

My nana made a lovely blanket, with paisley, of course.

Really, we weren't sure: for the baby or for the Mr.?

A good amount of the crew.

An exhausted dad-to-be with the balloons he wasn't keen on giving up. They almost made it to the airport with us (okay, not really).

xo