Here's the latest that's circling around the mom-blog-and-listserv-world, a British article about how boring it is to be a mom. In a way, I don't even want to be continuing this discussion. In part, it's really important to challenge all the "I love being a mom and every minute is wonderful" celebrity dish that's being passed around--by mothers who have nannies and night nurses to help them through the day. But the tone, oh why does every article about motherhood these days have the same awful, petulant, "it's-all-those-other-moms-against-me,the-only-one-who-sees-the-world-as-it-really-is" tone. Oh, that's right, its the mommy wars theme, once again. The thing that also bugs me about every new article about motherhood--unlike other sorts of politics, no one feels like they should pay attention to what other mothers, writers and journalists have already said. It's all about reinventing the wheel, getting a contract, finding an edge against others. We've already seen the motherhood-can-be-boring-and-annoying theme before. It's from the book Mother Shock, which says the same thing without the venom. In every other field of writing, the theme has to be new, but when it comes to writing about motherhood, newspaper and magazine editors lower their standards and keep contracting the same old, same old. Too bad for us.

Welcome to our lovely new home for Everyday Mom, decorated with lots of calming Hylands-blue, and an easier-to-use format. We'll be unpacking over the next few weeks, adding to our blogroll, and starting a resource section for things that moms need to know.

Help us move in. If you have a website or blog that you'd like me to add, just leave a comment here and it will be done. Same thing on resources. All of us have services (like Craigs List for babysitters, or Kangaroo Korners for slings) that we'd like to share, and what better way to build community than to spread those around.

Glad you're here,

Miriam

This week was filled with more doctor's appointments for the baby.

On Tuesday we went to the pediatrician. Amelia is gaining weight, and has officially been declared a Thriving Baby. All's well that ends well, I thought. The doctor didn't want to do any follow ups. No weekly weight checks, no more blood drawn or urine tests, as I thought. All good, see you at nine months for a well baby check up.

On Thursday, we returned to the Children's Hospital for the big tests. I was so sure this would be a folly waste of money. Totally sure. The first test, a renal sonogram, turned up a pair of healthy kidneys, but can I tell you how weird it is to view the inside of your child's body? There we were, in the darkened room, with a very nice sonogram tech named Rob. Isn't that me who should be on the table? Peering at my baby inside? Pregnancy is the only time I've ever had sonograms.

No. It's Amelia on the table, and the smallest little sonogram tool rubbed gently on the lower part of her abdomen. And her state of mind: well, the TV was on. (Funny note: SpongeBob was on when we entered the room, and the very nice sonogram man changed it of his own accord to Clifford the Big Red Dog. He didn't want to be the one to introduce the baby to Sponge Bob.) I'm not sure Amelia has seen much TV. It's rarely on in our house, not because we're stridently against TV, but well, it just never seems to be on except for HBO on Sunday nights. She was captivated, and the sonogram was over quickly.

The VCUG was a bit more intense. It raised more issues for me, since it's a series of x-rays. Yes, as it turned out, it was necessary. The techs kept telling me it's a pediatric dose, and no more radiation than one experiences on a beach, or on an airplane ride. I'm trying to figure out who I know who can comment on the truthfulness of all this. The upshot: I got to see my baby's bladder. And the reason she had a UTI (read below): she has reflux from her bladder. Apparently it's relatively common. That's not to say lots of kids have it, but it's a known condition, and will often fix itself in a few years as kids grow, and if not there are surgical options, not that we want ever to go there. A valve has not properly formed, and urine from her bladder goes back up toward her kidney. But happily, only on the left side.

I tell you, even when the diagnosis is not terrible, these tests tack their toll. Yes, little Amelia has her condition, and we'll watch it, and yes, this mom has had a few weeks filled with doctor visits and hospitals and big tests that thank goodness our insurance company is paying for. Yes, it's been hard and we worry. But there's a context. The hospital is filled with very sick parents and their kids. While waiting for the VCUG, I comforted a mom who's first language was not English, who'd just been in a car accident, and her daughter was in surgery and having her spleen removed as a result. I talked with another family who's one year old son was in a stroller loaded with monitors and tubes and feeding bags. I didn't even ask what was wrong, just looked at my little baby, now seven months old, with her one condition, and a totally manageable one at that, and counted my blessings.

Yes. Counted my blessings, and sent good wishes to families who are taking care of very,very sick children, offering them strength and hopes for their children's healing. Through it all, Amelia got very tired, but she's still smiley and happy and calm. We've made it through the rough period, haven't we.

Life and health are such surprises. I like mine calm and healthy. I'm no drama queen; I take no delight in telling tales of things gone wrong. So it was like entering another universe to be told by Amelia's pediatrician that she had lost two pounds between four and six months, and that this was a very serious thing.


I know her body had changed. She was a large and chunky newborn. I noticed her body slimming down. But well, like most parents, I just assumed she was thinning out, as some babies do. I was shocked to learn she had lost body weight.


The doctor went into full gear. At four months, facing a big baby, she said to hold off on solids till six months. At six months, she sent me home with directions to get some Earth's Best rice cereal right away and start solids immediately.

Ten days later we were back for a weight check, and the baby had gained a few ounces, but enough to change her on the charts. She went from the 95th percentile for baby weight, to the 3d, and a few ounces weren't enough to change that. I was beginning to understand how serious it was, but here's the crazy thing: Amelia wasn't in any pain or distress. She continued to be her happy, smiling self. Only, the doctor claimed that her muscle tone was a bit floppy, and this together with the weight loss concerned her greatly.


I must mention that my older daughter is so healthy that we've never even seen the inside of an emergency room.



I agreed to let the doctor do some blood and urine tests. She convinced me that whereas it can be okay when babies slow their rate of growth, losing weight is very distressful. She even gave her happy baby the diagnosis "failure to thrive."



Honestly, in part I couldn't believe it, and in part I couldn't take it. I'd never before faced any health problem that squarely. The tests were done, and two days later when I returned, the doctor was concerned enough about the odd results that she sent us to the local Children's Hospital where a senior pediatric diagnostic team could take a look and figure out what was wrong.



I couldn't believe it. I couldn't imagine that this was happening. The doctor wanted me to go immediately. I kept finding reasons I needed to stop off home (which I did, but quickly, deciding that a toothbrush and a book and a change of clothes would be welcome), and I drove across town and checked us in. Pretty soon, we were surrounded by medical students and residents and doctors, not to mention some of the nicest nurses on the planet. My friend Andi's husband stopped by, he's a fellow at the same hospital and helped us make sense of what was going on.


At first they thought that somehow, Amelia's body wasn't processing calories well. We worried about all sorts of dread diseases. They checked out her muscle tone, and ticked the bottoms of her feet. I had to feed her every few hours, which she enjoyed until the next morning, when basically, she closed her mouth and refused all food, sated. At 10 am, the whole team gathered for grand rounds. The medical student presented her case. And very dramatically, right at the end, the resident who had been staffing the wireless laptop announced that the urine culture was in. And positive. They had their answer!



We had been told that in these cases, 90 percent are resolved by just getting the baby to eat more food and take in more calories. 5 percent are caused by silent urinary tract infections, and 5 percent are the result of metabolic and neurological diseases, a whole array that, well, senior diagnostic teams like this one know how to track. We knew we were feeding her enough. We feel very lucky that our daughter's "failure to thrive" fell into the category that is easily rectified by a round of antibiotics.


And now we're home. All this was traumatic. For several days I kept replaying in my head the scene of driving to the hospital, sure she had some rare liver disease and was on her last days, and life was terrible. That has stopped. My older daughter was a trooper, and the day after Amelia came home, when she was napping that afternoon, Samira and I traipsed around town doing errands, which meant lots of nice car-time to talk. I let her know that the baby was okay, that it's normal to be scared. Meanwhile Amelia's dad feeds her, watches her eat, watches her baby cheeks puff out, and reassures himself that she's okay.

When we last left off the shadow of my summer solstice musings, I was writing about two blogs I like, Parentopia, and DaddyChip2. I was then interrupted by a radio call from Maria at BlueSuitMom.com, to which I can mostly say, thank you to the cosmic beings that make sure that overtired moms are at their desks, with their little babies happily sleeping, at the exact time in the afternoon that another mom is about to call and put her on the air, even when usually on-top-of-things mom #1 has forgotten to peek at her calendar that day. Parentopia had a blog entry about Freecycling that I wanted to write about (http://www.parentopia.net/blog/index.html--and then scroll down to the entry for June 15, 2006: "File Under News You Can Use.") Freecycles are organized in several countries, and many communities. The vision is that we all have things we don't want that others might, and better than filling our trash with them, why not have an internet-based way of finding that futon mattress's next owner. I've checked into my local freecycle. Someone had posted that she had five artist's canvasses, already stretched on frames, that I thought would be nifty around the house. I was already imagining myself and my daughter experimenting with paint when I learned the canvasses had been snatched up in a minute, the minute before I got there! Anyway, Freecyle is a wonderful organization, so check them out if you have stuff to get rid of, or if you're looking for an item that someone else might be sending back into the world. Good luck!

My summer solstice mood continues. I'm not actually in a free-for-all cleaning frenzy, the way we often imagine stocktaking. I am slowly cleaning things up, and this has been coming in the form of cleaning my desk and the many small projects on it. I'm trying to attend to each. Often I pick out the fun project and focus only on that. In my life, that's usually whatever writing project I'm most interested in, and you can bet that more often than not, this work is unpaid.

Then, in the few remaining moments of the day, I look at all the other stuff--the things I am paid to do. Often I throw up my hands and make a note to start with that the next day. But lately, I'm trying to focus on all of it. At least for the sake of being able to tick it off the mental to-do list (and the paper list on the wall near my desk). Not to mention for the sake of having one less thing to do.


The other thing I'm doing is visiting my friends who have online homes. I am blessed to have made friends online. Some I've met in person, and that's been great, and others I look forward to meeting eventually. When life gets busy with parenting and work and all the meal making and camp dropping off and laundry of daily life, I'm left with little time to scoot around online and click to my friends' websites and blogs. My new--I don't want to use the word resolution, it's so horrid, really--desire is to visit them more often. Over the past few days I've visited two: Parentopia and DaddyChip2.


Parentopia's written by the two women who co-wrote the book Mommy Guilt, which is one of those books that you pick up to hear someone nice reassure you that it's all okay, and how much more helpful when they're social workers and parent educators. The book is a nice hug to parents everywhere. I like their blog because it continues the same tone. I tend to think about the big picture and the culture and politics of parenthood. Ask me why there's no paid family leave. Ask me why Time spends millions to get celebrity baby pictures. But don't ask me for advice on how to toilet train, or get a 2 1/2 year old to sleep, or what kinds of toys a six-month old would enjoy. That kind of creativity and detail eludes me.


That's why I go to the Parentopia blog. Often they entries are based on questions that people write in, or which come up at public events. The most recent blog entry starts with the story of a dad who is poor, and....


This writing was just interrupted by a call from Maria at BlueSuitMom Radio. Apparently we had scheduled a call-in to her radio show several months back, and all I can say is it's a good thing it's raining out and I hadn't put the baby in the sling and gone out for a walk. We had a nice talk. Maria comes from the corporate and working mom side of the equation, and she, like many of us, is tired of the Mommy Wars, from whichever side the venom comes. We had a nice talk about how sometimes as women we're afraid to say things we think are controversial. Often we are very invested in soothing everyone's emotions and keeping life even-keeled. We also talked about the kinds of judgment we experience, and how it hurts. She told a story about having adopted one child, and then becoming pregnant with another, and having, as a result of a second pregnancy, three children under 20 months. Her first baby was five months, she was pregnant, and someone accosted her for bottle-feeding, and explained how she could pump her breasts and get the milk to flow and breastfeed her adopted baby.


Yes. She could, was her response. But it might just put her over the edge. We talked about why we all feel the need to judge and offer advice, about the feelings of control that gives. I did tell her that on my more generous days I think we're all in a village and people are well meaning. She laughed a bit, and asked about my other days.


I ended by reminding people to relax. To stop sweating the details. And to be generous and kind, as my daughter and her friends were taught in pre-K, where a jar stood ready to be filled with a penny for each act of kindness, whether someone else noticed it or not. And finally, we need to remember that there are so many ways to raise good kids and have a good life.


When I return in two days--suspense here--I will write about Parentopia's suggestion about FreeCycling, and about how great DaddyChip's blog is, and how important it is to hear from smart and caring dads.

I usually don't think of the shift into summer as a time to stop and size things up and make changes. Fall and spring feel more like stocktaking times. We talk of fall clean up and spring-cleaning. Noticing the summer solstice has had the interesting result of offering me another time to figure out what's going on in my life, and what I can do to make the rhythms as good as they can be.

First insight: the entry of camp drop-off into my life has been noticeable. Since camp starts later than school, my husband can't do it. The baby has to nap earlier, and you know what, her waking time now corresponds not to having fun times together with plastic toys on the rug, but to sitting in the car seat and making funny noises while I can't see her. By the time we get home, she's nearly ready for her nap (she's still a child who doesn't stay awake for long). I was also used to having an hour of alone time in the morning while she naps. Now, that time is spent with my older daughter, making peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches, serving breakfast, and folding the laundry. I do love having time with S while she's not rushing around to get ready for school. It's definitely more fun to say, "did you put your bathing suit on under your clothes?" than "You remembered to do your math homework, right?" But it's not the same as personal time alone. Just one day I want to put the baby down for her nap, and walk outside to our new hammock with a cup of coffee (well, in all honesty, it's a splash of coffee in a mug of warm soymilk) and enjoy ten minutes while there's still a breeze.

Second insight. Readers here know that I didn't weigh myself during pregnancy. I've continued that. Well, it's been quite easy, actually, since I don't have a scale at my home, and the only times I've made it to the Y this winter and spring have been while bringing my daughter S. to swim team practice. Were I inclined to check out the scale, you know I'm not stepping near it fully dressed, with a baby in a sling on my chest. With the summer solstice, though, I've realized I'm ready to slide down to my pre-baby weight. Ready to do some tummy crunches with regularity to regain a few muscles in my stomach. Ready to feel more active. A friend made the usual joke about looking great in a bathing suit. At 42, that's not really my big concern. Besides, bathing suits are so forgiving these days. There are so many cute skirty ones, and so many fashionable cover-ups, that it's not my major concern. It's more about feeling like I'm treating my body the way I really want to. That I'm focusing on health and energy. That feels good, so I thank the summer solstice for that.

Third insight. Weather matters. That lifesaving blue fleece sling I bought last winter that was so cozy when the weather was 35 degrees and rainy? Yes, I'm still using it. Spring 75 degree weather was fun, but it's been ridiculous to walk around town cuddled in fleece on 90 degree days. two days ago I went for a walk at midday, and I was covered in sweat in minutes. I realized that it didn't make sense to wait until September to act.
That afternoon I went straight away to my computer and ordered a summer sling. It came today--yes, I put out the extra money for two day delivery!--and what a dream to wear a white mesh sling that lets the air in to the baby and doesn't rest quite so heavily on me. Mothers: take care of yourselves, whatever your "sling" is, whatever it is that you're putting off that would make your life just a tad easier and more comfortable. Do it. Comfort matters.

So says the summer solstice.

It's the summer solstice, here in the Northern Hemisphere at least, and time to begin a new thread. For those of us with kids who are on a school schedule, the summer solstice is often one of those time-markers that pass without notice. There's no artwork coming home, no teachers reading new-age board books to the preschoolers announcing the longest day and shortest day of the year, no first-graders asking if they can stay up really, really late on a school night to see when sunset is.

I've been thinking about suns and sunset ever since Sunday, when I read that enticing article in the NY Times Travel section about Iceland, and a two week visit in which the sun never sinks below the horizon, in which they're so high up toward the North Pole that around the solstice, there's just no darkened night. The description grabbed by imagination. I wanted to drop everything to sit in geothermal baths outdoors and feel the strangeness of time passing without the usual rhythms of night and day.

It's those new rhythms of family life that we're getting used to around here. What is it they say? Don't get too used to anything with a baby, something will change before you know it. How true, and for older kids too. My eldest daughter started day camp. We all love that it starts later that school did. Drop off isn't till 8.45-9 am. We envisioned sleeping until 8, easily getting dressed, brushing teeth, and heading out the door just in time. I've never been an early morning riser, so you can imagine my glee. Sleeping till 8 sounds almost glamorous. Anything can happen when you've slept that late.

Go figure. My daughter S, who must be pulled and coaxed out of her bed for nine months of the year, has changed her tune. At six am she wakes up, pulls on her robe and flies into my room for a quick cuddle. After, she walks to the bathroom, flushes the toilet, and voila, little sister is awake too, the baby who goes to sleep so easily, and wakes quite easily, too. Day has started.

So much for plans, but haven't I learned in seven years of motherhood that plans are made to be broken, that they often don't pan out? Alas no. I could learn such soul-resting lessons, but mostly what motherhood has taught me in that regard is that if I plan the details and think about the elements ahead of time, chances are that things will work out. Not the big things in life, the ones that we all know are uncontrollable, but the little things. Like making sure the pool bag is packed, with snacks and water, when I leave to pick S up at camp. Like keeping the grocery list so that there's food in the house for dinner. Like starting to pack a week ahead for a trip, and keeping lists and remembering to fill the gas tank the night before. Motherhood has taught me to plan, and that planning is the way to feel in control.

It's the rhythm of the year, then, that reminds me of the opposite, that planning is great for what it is, but all the plans in the world can't make a seven-year-old sleep past 6 if what she wants is to roam around the house doing projects, play in the backyard before breakfast and while the morning birds sing, and thrill when she realizes it's Wacky Wednesday Zoo Animal day at camp, and Mom, can you face-paint me like a pink bunny rabbit? I didn't even realize they had pink bunny rabbits in the zoo, but thank goodness the face-painting book includes bunny rabbits and I can copy their idea onto my daughter's face.

Ah, summer solstice. The day is hot and the day is long. It will be so no matter what I do, and perhaps that, and the new 6 am wake-up hour in my house, are my best reminders that best intentions aside, we are not always in control. That’s my summer solstice reminder, and I’ll think about it as I marvel at how long the sun tonight will last