Family – Page 3 – Angel Wheeler

Breast Weaning Woes

I’m categorizing this blog under the Public Service category because somethings just need to be said, that no one said to me. And also because I feel the need to vent.

I’m a little bit peeved at the female race right now. Yes, women, you. Don’t point at yourself with your eyebrows raised in surprise like that. Yes, you. I’m feeling a bit uninformed, a bit left out in the cold, and a whole LOT OF shocked at the fact that nobody told me how painful weaning my baby from breast-feeding would be.

To my male readers: don’t check out quite yet, I have something for you too.

To the mothers out there: you told me how much pregnancy sucks, you told me how painful labor would be, you warned me of the pain of beginning breast-feeding, how badly it hurt when they latched on. You told me about the hard recovery from a c-section, the hormonal swings, the postpartum depression. But no one, I mean NO ONE mentioned how painful weaning would be.

I chose to breast feed because I believe in it. I believe in its goodness. I never expected to last 6 months, never mind last a year and onward. My little EK loves to nurse. She asks for it all the time. “muck”. It has been beneficial to her, to her health, to our bonding, etc., etc., etc. I could go on.

I must be honest, I felt a little weird nursing a toddler, even though deep down I knew I shouldn’t. But Western Society sexualizes the breast, rather than embracing its intended function and breast feeding a toddler or older is frowned upon. Dare I even say stigmatized.

I slowly began to wean the baby around 12 months. First we night weaned, then we began dropping a feeding here and there. Finally we were down to 2 feedings a day. I kept it like this for several weeks. And then the tantrums began. When I had to postpone her desire for “muck”, she got mad. She cried. She pouted. She hit whatever was closest, sometimes me.

This past Thursday, after a hitting episode, I just said. “no more, there’s no more milk”. I’ve stuck to it, but it’s a lie. It’s one big whopper of a lie, because let me tell you folks, there’s still milk. There’s a lot milk. And my bosoms are engorged! The pain is almost unbearable. They’re hard, and hot, and lumpy and leaky. Originally XS, they’ve expanded to a size XXX. It’s not fun.

To my male readers: I think I now know how it feels to have testicles. You know how you guys are always protecting yours? I get that now. If something comes near you; a ball, a small child, you instinctively put your hands up to guard your jewels. I get that now. Because they hurt. And especially when they get bumped. I get that. You have no idea how much I get that now. I cry out like a little girl. And feel like hitting back whoever or whatever has bumped them.

You have no idea how badly I want to allow my girl to nurse again to relieve the pain and discomfort, but I feel like I would really be taking 300 steps backward. She still asks for her “muck” but the fits have stopped and she seems to be happy with substitute nourishment and comfort. It’s not really her suffering from weaning. It’s me.

I think I did this the smart way. I weaned gradually. There was no “cold turkey” . And yet, I still have an overabundance of supply. I’ve pumped a little just to grant myself an ounce (pun intended) of relief. And now I have cabbage leaves in my bra as a home remedy to help drain and dry up. So guess what? Not only do I hurt, I am uncomfortable, I am downright grouchy, but now……I smell like slaw. All I lack is fried chicken. Just add that to my woes.

Which brings me to my advice. To all you young mothers or ladies thinking of becoming a mother or thinking of breast-feeding. Do it, it is a wonderful thing, don’t get me wrong, the benefits are astounding.

But for me it has not been a piece of cake to wean, I’m here to tell you.

Since no one else will.

But can anyone bring me some fried chicken?

My Happily Ever After

I’ve known my husband since I was eleven years old and he was twelve, that’s how it is in a small town. My family ran onto some hard times and had to move to the po’ side o’ town. That’s the poor side of town for those who aren’t from there. You’ve heard the joke…..we were so po we couldn’t afford the ‘or’. Jason lived 2 blocks away to the right. We did not have a love at first sight experience. Actually, he was crushing on my sister instead and would bring her roses he’d stolen from somebody’s flowerbed. They were outside sitting on the porch and I could be found next door watching Golden Girls and Cagney and Lacey with my Grannie, not giving two thoughts to boys.

We went to Middle School and High School together where he was a year older than me. We hung out in different crowds, but said hello in passing.

I was in my early adulthood when I figured out that I knew everyone in both the police record and the wedding announcements. Small town stuff. Early adulthood is when society dictates that you should get married. I wasn’t married, nor was I anywhere close. There’s a sort of panic that sets in when you figure out that you aren’t on the same time frame as the rest of the world.

Being a single girl in a small town is not an easy thing to do. Up until I found and married Jason, I was constantly being asked who I was dating, why wasn’t I dating, or someone was trying to fix me up. Eventually the well meaning townsfolk decided I was probably a lesbian and left me alone.

One day in 1998 I went to the grocery store to buy Fruity Pebbles and Ramen Noodles, staples in my single-girl diet. As I was walking out, a girl I knew stopped me in the parking lot and told me someone’s truck had just rolled into my car. In small towns everyone knows what everyone else drives. I rolled my eyes and groaned. This turned out to be my third wreck in a parking lot! In my experience, you’re pretty much out of luck. The police won’t do much because it’s considered private property. You just have to hope the other guy has insurance and is a respectable dude who will take care of it. When I got into eye shot, I saw this empty, avocado green, beat up Ford pickup had knocked out of gear and rolled about fifty feet before slamming his taillights into my headlights.

It belonged to Jason. I knew that the minute I saw it. Small town stuff. Neither of us were in our vehicles at the time. It was almost as if this old, green, beat up Ford truck saw this fancy, new, bluish purple Mustang and said, “Hey there, wild thang with the 4 cylinder. I think you need a better look at my rear end.” I leaned against the side of my car and waited for him to meander out of the store. He was all apologies, promised he’d take care of it. And he did. He called me up and asked me to take it to a certain body shop, the car got fixed and life went on. And that was that.

For five more years.
Dates with crazies came and went.
Then I became a recluse.
I would never go out. People would tell me I needed to be out meeting people. But I had met people, and they turned out to be daddy’s boys or killer cops and I’d rather stay home and watch Survivor alone. If somebody wanted to date me, they were going to have to knock on my door. And that was that.

Then one day I came home from work to find Jason’s name on my caller ID. That was curious, but I assumed it was a wrong number. He called back two days later and asked me out. We talked for three hours. I was teaching school and a parent of one of my students, that happened to be a friend of his, had suggested he ask me out. He remarked that I was too sweet for him, which is true. But a few days later, we passed each other on the main road in town and waved, and prompted him to call. I’d had my experiences with cowboys, not to mention their dads, and didn’t figure it would go anywhere, but I agreed. Eating Ramen Noodles was getting pretty old by this time.

It worked out pretty good.
He wore a yellow shirt.
I ordered chicken.

We had a second date.
He took me horseback riding.

I needed a boost on the butt.

He happily obliged.
I was petrified.

We had a third date.
At a comedy club.
His truck started breaking down on the way home.

A few months later he proposed to me on bended knee.
We got married.
He still has to give me a boost on the butt.
A much bigger boost on a much larger butt.

Sometimes, when I get nostalgic, I’ll think about the wreck we had in the parking lot both in unmanned vehicles. I learned later that of course that po’ boy didn’t have any car insurance but knew a guy who could fix my car. They did a little bartering and Jason broke a horse for the body shop man in exchange for payment. Small town stuff.

It’s a funny story I guess. Maybe even a coincidence.

Perhaps it was Fate.
Or Destiny.
Or the cosmos aligning perfectly with Mercury in the Sixth House.

But if you really want to know the truth, I believe it was God.
I believe that he intended for that collision of two unmanned vehicles to be the beginning of Jason and Angel. A collision of love.
And we just weren’t listening.

That was a move on His part to create His will for two dumb pilgrims down here, and we missed it. So he went to Plan B. He works around our goofs.
Because He’s cool like that.

This entry is #15 on a list of 30 things. How I fell in love.

Day In, Day Out

I never awaken on my own. I’m usually smack dab in the middle of some amazing dream when a little person whose feet are in my ribs begins to stir and repeatedly request “muck”, the translation of milk in baby talk. Staggering out of bed with my daughter in my arms, leaving my dream of lottery winning or beach lying behind forever, I put aside all my needs, never considering even a trip to the bathroom, to satisfy hers instead. Because that’s what mothers do.

Eventually, I manage a cup of coffee or two, breakfast consists of oatmeal with brown sugar and milk, while a well-worn DVD of Sesame Street or Barney provides the background noise. I sing along and speak the lines by memory knowing I could recite the entire episode better than a 7th grader reciting the Preamble to the Constitution in History class. Repetition will do that.

Our outdoor surroundings are breathtakingly relaxing and outside time is a must even on cooler days. We’re surrounded by trees, pines, hummingbirds, deer, and birds of all colors. So Emma and I spend our time in the backyard with our dogs, chickens, slide, and sandbox soaking up Vitamin D. My girl toddles around exploring the ins and outs of pine needles, rocks, dog water, and sticks and I use this opportunity to read a short story or a chapter in a book. I might take my notebook and colored pen out and attempt a little short story of my own. But my mind gets weighed down with my character or the conflict that needs to surround him, the voice of inadequateness drowns out the voice of creativeness until I seek refuge in facebook or a round of Words with Friends on my phone. Eventually I become distracted enough with technology that I don’t even notice when my fictional character sneaks away and drowns in the river next to our house.

Lunchtime comes and goes, a cuisine suited to a toddler palette: noodles, goldfish crackers, bananas and the like. A yawn or sometimes a one year old frenzy indicates naptime so we shake the sand from our shoes and climb into an unmade bed for an afternoon nap. She wallers and hums. I pat and sing, and eventually she dozes off. I then sneak out of bed and quietly bottle around the house doing odds and ends; housework, exercise, more reading or occasionally I may be so bold as to nap with her.

During late afternoon, we pack up and head to the Middle School to pick up my niece Ash from school, then it’s back home for more of the same. Usually after it’s too late, I realize I didn’t plan anything for supper. This realization throws me into a maddening search on the internet for a recipe consisting of tomato sauce and salmon.

My husband returns from work, and the evening passes as all other evenings in American households. Supper, dishes, baths, and bed.

Once a week we join a playgroup and two days later we visit the library where I engage in adult conversation, usually about kids.

I spend most of my day on a toddler level. I sing The Itsy Bitsy Spider, I read Goodnight Moon, I blow bubbles, mold homemade play dough, hold hands while climbing steps, clean noses, wipe butts, give hugs and kisses and receive as many back, wash high chairs, cook spaghetti, step on hair clips abandoned on the ground, wipe crayon off the wooden floor, wash sticky hands and faces, and wipe tears.

Through it all, I dream of writing.

Some days I wonder if this is all there is. I am in the trenches of motherhood. Stay at home motherhood. There are times I feel very purposeless, unimportant. Cooking and cleaning is my existence. But deep in my soul, I know there is no greater purpose for me than this girl named Emma, whose hair hangs in her eyes, whose nose wrinkles when she grins. I am the most important person to her right now. I won’t always be. This time is numbered, and I’m doing my best to make it count. For both of us.

This entry is #12 on the list of 30 things. Describe a typical day.

One tough camera

For nearly 9 years a disposable camera has been cruising with me in my car. A disposable camera all filled up with mystery pictures of which I can’t remember taking. What? you say. Nine years?!?!?! It’s short of a miracle I know. Never mind that I’ve had a car for 9 years, 12 to be exact, and I’m pretty proud that I’ve had a vehicle for 12 years in this day and age, but the fact that I am so huge of a procrastinator that I haven’t had filmed developed in 9 years is mind-boggling, no?

How many times in the past 9 years have I been to “The Walmarts”? To CVS? To Walgreens?

It is not due to lack of opportunity that I haven’t taken this camera into a photo lab and had it developed. The opportunity presented itself thousands of times, yet there the camera sat, in the little cubby hole underneath the factory stereo with a cassette player. What you say, is a cassette player? Well, boys and girls after 8 tracks they invented this music recorder called a cassette. You had to make sure you always had a pencil handy too when your cassette player ate your tape and you had to wind it back together…….

But I digress…..

This disposable camera has traveled more than 100,000 miles with me. It has toasted in the triple digit Texas heat locked in a car that a poodle wouldn’t last 5 minutes in, and it has froze in the below zero wind chills of winter.

At this point, there is no point in getting it developed. I am sure the film is ruined. But it is one of the cameras we bought for our wedding nearly 9 years ago and curiosity and maybe a bit of motivation got the best of me. Secretly I was hoping there might be a picture of my dad tucked away waiting to be unearthed.

I got a wild hair and took the camera to “The Walmarts” not knowing if they even still developed film the old-fashioned way. I had to ask an associate, a young girl, who looked at me as if my face had gone green, obviously clueless to what I was asking of her, and got an older lady associate to help me find the dillymebob where I drop film off. Using the word dillymebob will often cause people to look at you as if your face has gone green. You should try it.

7-10 days I waited. It’s nothing like 9 years. I actually forgot about it and received a call telling me my film was ready to be picked up.

And there they were. Pictures from 9 years ago. They actually developed if you can believe that. The Panhandle Texas weather aint got nothing on a 35 mm Polaroid disposable camera.

The only wedding pictures happened to be of my sister and I getting our hair fixed for the wedding. The rest were just of life.

Like this one, which I just love. My younger, moustached husband bottle feeding a calf while a sun bleached Ash sits astraddle. The look on her face is priceless.

Here’s my sister, who probably is going to kill me. She’s smiling big, isn’t she pretty? I’m not sure whether she was sun bleached or just bleached, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her blonde.

My mom who despises getting her picture taken, but in my opinion, there’s just not enough pictures of her floating out there on the internet, and this one is good.

Then there were dune buggy riding, 4 wheeler riding, and ballet dancing pictures as well. Most things I don’t remember even occurring.

I’m glad I have these pictures to remind me.

Just the beginning

She’s barely one.

And I’m pretty sure I’m in over my head.

When she’s sleeping, I’ve got it made. Piece of cake.

But when she’s awake, she’s really trying to run the show around here. Already. At the end of some days, I need a 3 day vacation. But alas, this is a 24/7 job I’ve signed up for. Just hand me another coffee please.

She stiffens her legs, arches her back, and throws back her head when I try to put her in her high chair. Then once I’ve wrestled her in, in order to have the advantage on me, she throws all her food off her tray. Is this typical one year old behavior? Is she just not hungry? Is she a brat?

I wonder what I’m supposed to do. Should I break her spirit? Force her to do everything that I, the all-knowing mother, think necessary? Because really. I’m kind of new at this too.

We fight tooth and nail. She usually wins right and left.

She is nineteen pounds of sheer determination.

If she had her ‘druthers, she would walk around with a naked hiney, a dirty face, eating goldfish crackers and watching Elmo all day. And then I’d be raising a wretch.

But whose to say I’m not.

Mama knows best. Well, about some things anyway, for instance children shouldn’t pee on the floor and occasionally they should eat a fruit.

I might not know much, but at least I know that.

I’m hoping she’s receiving some vitamins and nutrients from the dirt she eats, because she’s rather fond of that too.

She is a busy girl. And this is her childhood. The only one she’ll ever have. The one she’ll look back on with either fondness or dismay. The one that will shape her. The Nurture to help balance her Nature. It’s kind of a big deal when you think of it.

She’s exploring, discovering, and learning. As all children should be allowed to do. Within reason, of course.

While she’s busy growing up, I am busy watching, worrying, and trying to find the fine line between interfering or giving her the space she needs to become the independent little girl that she is becoming.

And trying desperately not to raise a wretch.

12 months

It’s unbelievable.

It’s inconceivable.

It’s unfathomable.

I’m sitting up in bed with you sleeping soundly beside me, studying your precious face and shaking my head in disbelief. Can this really be true?

One year, Emma Kate. One year.

This time last year, after a serious ordeal of labor and delivery, you made your appearance and have been a joy to me every single day since.

Let me tell you a little about yourself. First off, nearly every recent picture I have of you is blurry because you are on the go all the time. You took your first wobbly steps almost 4 weeks ago, and now you are practically running.

You love songs, books, babies, dogs, fish, cats, bath, outside, and your momma.

You dislike someone trying to feed you, laying still to get your diaper changed, having something taken from you, sleeping alone, and being left with strangers.

You can talk a blue streak. Some new words you began saying this month are juice, more, fish, Elmo, Emma, and no, no, no.

You love to talk on the phone and often have someone’s cell phone up to your ear pretending. You like to put things in little hidey holes too. I opened the pots and pan cabinet and found a sippy cup and found a sock in a cereal box.

A blurry picture of you with your necklace.

Your daddy thinks you might be a girly-girl because you love bracelets and necklaces and wear them around the house. Even if it’s not a “real” necklace, you turn it into one. You were wearing a cell phone cord around your neck, dragging it on the ground the other day, and you’ll put anything on your wrist that’s circular and then walk around holding your arm up so it rests on the crook of your elbow.

You like to watch Elmo’s World and sing the Barney song with your Grandy. When she starts singing, you begin to sway back and forth and give a big hug (with a grunt) and blow a kiss too.

You’re really super affectionate mostly and pat the people you love on the check and give kisses and hugs. But with people you don’t know very well, you are reserved and solemn, barely cracking a smile or interacting, but instead sitting back and watching.

You make us laugh all the time at your new antics. And I love to watch you walk. You have this funny side-step-shuffle with your elbows bent upward. You also learned to drink from a straw this month.

You still only have 6 teeth, your eyes are big and beautiful, you are cute as a bug, and you have learned how to really cry hard when you aren’t getting something you want or something is being taken away from you.

You still don’t sleep all night long, but I guess there’s worse things in life, and we’ll all survive. We’ve made it 12 months so far, I’m sure a few more months won’t kill us.

This past year, you have taught me to love more than I ever knew I was capable of. You have taught me to savor the moments because they vanish so quickly. You have taught me to see the world with the same kind of newness you do, and to adore chubby little bellies and dimpled hands. You are my baby girl. And even though your first year is now behind us, and we are moving into toddlerhood, you will always, always be my baby.

I love you so very much sweet one.

XOXO,

Mama

11 months

Dear Emma Kate,

How did this happen? I blinked twice, maybe only once, and you have been with us now for 11 months. My goodness, this is zooming so fast. It makes my mama heart sad knowing your littleness is gone forever, and knowing that the next 18 years will fly past as well, but it makes my mama heart happy each and every day as I watch you grow and learn.

You are quite the little girl! And you have so many people who just adore you. There is no other way to say that.

This month you are standing alone really well and have just begun to take one or two steps as long as you have something ahead of you that you can grab onto. I know as soon as you get the courage to go, you will be all over the place!

You are talking up a storm too. You attempt to repeat many words when told what something is, but you can plain-as-day-say mama, dada, ash, night night, horse, ball, bye-bye. You can almost-plain-as-day-say Grace, cat, I love you, bath.

You love music, singing, and dancing. You sway back and forth singing a precious little “la-la” when its a soft song, and you bounce up and down and throw in some Elvis legs when you really want to get down.

You are a serious child mostly, and only let loose around people you feel comfortable with. In a strange place around unfamiliar people, you study and watch and observe.

Climbing is your thing. You climb on anything you can easily reach, and you think it’s great fun to get in small spaces like cabinets or to sit on things like boxes.

You celebrated your first Christmas and learned pretty quickly what that was all about. Of course it took a while and you wanted to stop and play with all your toys. You loved each and every one, except the pony we got you! It is a bit scary to you for now.

Sleeping. It just isn’t happening still. You my dear, will sleep when you’re old I guess. Its a struggle; not to get you to go to sleep, but to get you to stay asleep. We’ve tried it all, and the best I can figure is you do best with a routine and lately that isn’t happening with the holidays and traveling and moving to a new state. I hope soon it will all settle down and become normal again.

We went to see your favorite book, Pete the Cat’s author at a school where I used to work and you are all but old enough to start going to school. You loved the children and when he started reading “I Love My White Shoes”, you crawled towards the stage and sat attentively. It was so cute!

Even though you are super cute, setting limits is our next job with you it appears. You have started doing some things that mama and daddy don’t think are so cute. Like throwing fits and food. As much as we’d love to let you have everything you want, it would turn you into a brat, and brats aren’t any fun to be around. There will be times when it seems like we’re being mean, but we’re only loving you the best we can.

I love you so much! The past 11 months have been a joy for me. I’m trying to take it all in. I can’t slow down time, as much as I wish I could, but each day I’m trying to make last.

xoxo,

Mama

Tight Spaces

Forgive the quality of the photos in this post. I think I must have been drunk when I took these. Just kidding. Really, they were taken with my phone, which is so old it’s considered a dumb smart phone.

Lately our little EK has been quite the explorer. Finding just the right spaces to crawl into is her current obsession.

First, she empties the small space to make room for herself.

And then she climbs in.

She’s especially partial to cabinets.

Although she doesn’t discriminate. Sometimes, she prefers drawers.

And occasionally, she’ll attempt to fit herself in a canvas bin.

When she’s not squeezing into small spaces, she’s climbing on top of them.

And going after what she wants.

Even if she has to get on her tippy toes.

The To Do List

I try to start my day off with a list of to-do’s. Not because I want to, I actually despise lists, but because without one, I’m pretty dad gum worthless. We all know that one person who doesn’t have a lazy bone in their body right? Well, that’s not me. My body is chock full of lazy bones. 206 to be exact. I can whittle away the hours doing nothing and be perfectly content. It shows too. My laundry and refrigerator are proof.

Lists are my husband’s thing. He swears by them. Each day, he makes a list for his day and is fully self-driven enough to accomplish more than he has written down.

I’m fully self driven enough to make a list and then sit down.

I try.

I usually fail.

But I try.

Here’s my list from about 5 days ago.

Yes, you read that right, it says “Get Dressed”. I always do, but if I write it down, at least I can scratch one thing off. It makes me feel as if I’ve accomplished something. Trivial maybe, but something.

But as you can see, nothing is checked off this list. And I did some of these things, I really did. But I never came back to check the list to see what I did and didn’t do. I’m still waiting to blog the rat pic, it’s coming, be aware. And I’m still waiting to exercise. It’s probably not coming, be aware.

As I was writing my list, my little Emma Kate wanted to write her own list too. So she took the pen and I guided her little hand as she jotted down some of her to-do’s as well. Now I realize to the untrained eye, it may appear to be a bit of scribble, but it’s not. Don’t feel bad if you can’t read it. It’s kind of like speaking pig-latin. Either you got it, or you don’t. I got it. Call it mother intuition or deciphering phonetic writing of elementary children for too long or just a weird sixth sense, but that list is perfectly legible to me.

EK’s To Do List

1) Pull out all the Tupperware lids from kitchen drawer

2) Remove the dish towels and burp clothes and scatter them among the kitchen floor from kitchen drawer #2

3) Open the cabinet drawers in the dining room and eat the Scentsy bars of wax

4) Be sure and get the toilet brush in my mouth at least one time

5) Fake mom out where she thinks I’m actually going to nap for more than 15 minutes

6) Pull books off the bookcase

7) Take off my socks

8) Eat crumbs from my high chair seat that have been there excessively too long

9) Throw my food in the floor

10) Smear snot all over my face

11) Prevent mom from completing her to-do list so she has someone else to blame besides her 206 lazy bones

And like her daddy, she gets it all done and then some!!

Halloween #1

I was torn.

My motherly decision making center of the brain was shorting out. What to do? What to do?

The practical, frugal Rocket Surgeon side of me said celebrating EK’s first Halloween is ridiculous. She’s nine months old for Heaven’s sake, she has no earthly idea what in the world we would be doing, she can’t even walk, much less ring a doorbell and say Trick or Treat. She can’t even eat candy! It’s silly to spend money on a costume she is going to wear once in her lifetime. We’ll have plenty of years to do the whole Halloween thing.

The sentimental, sappy Rocket Surgeon side of me said celebrating EK’s first Halloween is essential. She’s just nine months old, she’ll be so cute in a costume, she’ll need a picture for the baby book, she might think I was some horrible mother later on down the road (which will happen when she’s sixteen anyway) if we don’t. Why would I want to miss out on this opportunity to share her with others?

So on October 31st, at around 11:00 a.m. I made up my mind.

We would do a small version of the Halloween thing.

Put on a costume, go to some family and close friends, visit out church festival, then come home and go to bed.

I found a very cute and easy Candy Corn costume to make at this site: http://www.chicaandjo.com/2010/10/18/candy-corn-costume/

So while she took a nap, I was able to put her costume together. And then of course, since I’m a beginner sewer, I was able to rip some of it out and re-put it together. But it came together fairly simply with not too many frustrations on my part.

She hates hats. Absolutely won’t leave them on. Even with a “stampede string”, we fought that thing. She kept pulling it off, until I showed her herself in the mirror, and just like that she decided it was too cute to take off.

We made our rounds and enjoyed the night.

I must admit, she looked sweet enough to eat!